Resisting My Billionaire Baby Daddy

Chapter Two: I Was Forgotten

Emily

 I stepped off the plane with my three-year-old son, Jack, by my side. It had been three years since I left the country, traveling to Europe to pursue my dreams of becoming a successful interior designer.

And I had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I got to work with a lot of huge corporations and had even been invited, on several occasions, to meet with the most exclusive clients I could have only dreamed of years ago.

As soon as I returned, my plan was to visit my mother's grave, which I had unintentionally abandoned in the last three years.

I had been dreading this day for months, but I knew it had to be done. After dropping off our bags at the hotel, Jack and I made our way to the cemetery.

As I stood in front of the headstone, tears streamed down my face. I missed my mother so much.

“Mama, don't cry,” Jack muttered from beside me, walking closer to me and wiping my tears away with his little hands.

I chuckled softly, before looking up at him with adoration in my eyes. “Don't worry too much about me, baby. I'll be fine,” I assured him, wiping away my tears so I don't keep worrying my little boy.

After a while, I collected myself and headed for my meeting with a construction company that I knew would propel my career if I managed to bag a contract with them.

As I changed into my professional attire, I finally took note of the business card that had been left on the dresser by my assistant.

The card read "Killian," and a jolt of recognition ran through me. I hadn't thought about that name in years.

My mind raced back to that night at the strip club. The man who had paid me so much money—the one I had never seen again—his name had been Killian.

Could it be the same person? The chances were slim, but it was certainly possible.

My heart beat faster as I grabbed the card and headed out of the hotel.

The meeting was about to begin when I arrived, and I walked into the room, feeling self-conscious and nervous.

The room was filled with big-name executives, but one man stood out to me almost immediately.

It was him. Killian.

Despite my shock at seeing Killian, I took a deep breath and comforted myself. I knew I couldn't let my emotions get the best of me in such a professional setting. With a determined expression, I settled into my seat and prepared myself for the meeting.

The meeting room exuded an air of formality, and I felt the weight of scrutiny as soon as I settled into my seat. My eyes darted toward Killian, who appeared stoic and indifferent.

I sighed in frustration, forcing myself to ignore the flurry of feelings racing through me and returning my attention to the proceedings.

The speaker cleared his throat, calling the attention of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are honored to have Emiliana Reigns with us today. She's a famous designer renowned for her work for several corporations in Europe, and she has been selected by the board as the trial interior designer for our upcoming project."

The executives turned their attention towards me, their gazes assessing and curious. I caught a few nods of acknowledgment, a sign that some were familiar with my work.

However, when I looked at Killian, I saw that he had turned his gaze away, seemingly uninterested. I tried not to be bothered, but his nonchalance was certainly getting on my nerves.

His gaze remained distant, fixed on the presentation materials in front of him, and he showed no sign of recognition as my name echoed through the room. I knew that I should be relieved that he didn’t remember who I was, but with everyone acknowledging me, he didn’t even spare me a glance, which only made me feel restless.

The speaker began explaining the details of the construction project, going over the goals, timeline, and budget. I focused on listening intently, my mind racing with ideas and possibilities.

Interior design was my passion, and being allowed to work on such a significant project was a dream come true. I suppressed any thoughts of Killian and momentarily focused on the task at hand.

But as the meeting progressed, I couldn't help but steal glances at Killian. I wanted to know for sure if he would recognize me and if there would be a flicker of remembrance in his eyes. I knew it was unlikely, given the circumstances of how we met and how long ago it was, but a part of me still hoped for some sort of acknowledgment.

But no matter how much I looked, Killian seemed completely unaffected by my presence. He didn't turn to meet my gaze, and his attention appeared fixated on the speaker, his expression impassive. I felt a pang of disappointment and disbelief.

How could he not remember me? Was I that forgettable?

Although I had tried my best to bury the memories of that night, the shame still lingered in my mind. I had spent the past three years rebuilding my life, pursuing my passion, and working hard to prove myself as a skilled interior designer.

Yet seeing Killian again brought back a flood of emotions I thought I had moved past.

As the meeting continued, I pushed my feelings aside and focused on the discussion. The speaker emphasized the importance of effective collaboration among the team members and how each person's expertise would contribute to the success of the project. I took the opportunity to share my ideas, despite the distractions in my mind.

My suggestions were met with attentive nods from the other executives, including those from Killian. It seemed my skills and expertise were being recognized, and I felt a renewed sense of pride.

I was determined to prove myself on this project, regardless of how Killian may or may not remember our past.

The general meeting had come to a close, and the executives were beginning to disperse, each heading back to their respective offices. I packed up my belongings, ready to leave, when I noticed Killian making his way towards me. My heart quickened with both anticipation and anxiety as he approached.

"Miss Reigns, may I have a moment of your time?" he asked, his voice calm and composed.

My brows furrowed in confusion, but I nodded, curiosity piqued. "Of course, Mr. Dane. What can I help you with?"

He gestured for me to follow him, and I fell into step beside him, matching his stride. As we walked, my mind raced with possibilities.

Could he finally remember me? Was he going to address our past? My pulse quickened, and I tried to maintain an air of composure.

We entered Killian's office, and I briefly looked around, my eyes widening at the grandeur surrounding me. I quickly made a mental note to do a little research on who Killian really was.

Settling into a plush armchair across from Killian's grand desk, I waited for him to open the conversation. But as the moments ticked by, my excitement turned into disappointment and confusion.

Killian spoke strictly about work, and his tone was detached and businesslike. There was not a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, not a mention of our past encounter.

I was filled with hurt and annoyance, but I chose not to show it. I masked my emotions behind a facade of attentiveness, nodding and engaging in the conversation as though I were completely focused.

But every word that went by made the hurt even more piercing and fueled the annoyance that was simmering beneath the surface.

I finally had enough and decided to take a chance, hoping to catch Killian off guard by igniting a spark of recognition. I leaned forward a little and seemed to think for a moment before continuing.

"Mr. Dane, forgive me for asking, but did you specifically only call me here to talk about things that have already been discussed?" I asked, wondering why he wasn't the least bit bothered by my presence.

Killian's response was delivered with the same cool detachment. "I apologize if my reasons for excusing you aren't valid enough to you, but I take my projects very seriously, and I like to engage in one-on-one conversations with my designers to ensure that we're on the same page," he replied, and his tone gave me the impression that he wasn't very impressed by me.

I cleared my throat, quickly saving face and pretending that my heart wasn't shattering at that very moment. "Ah, yes. My apologies for not understanding your motive, Mr. Dane," I replied, my voice steady, even though my insides screamed with anger.

My mind buzzed with anger and frustration as Killian continued to discuss work matters. I could no longer bear being in his presence, so I abruptly stood up.

"As much as I understand why you have things to clarify with me, Mr. Dane, I do believe there's a right time for everything. Right now, I'm feeling quite jetlagged from my trip, and I need to get some rest. So, if there's anything you need to discuss, please send it via email," I stated sharply, and with that, I walked out of his office, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Returning to my hotel room, I pushed open the door, and my heart soared at the sight of my three-year-old son, Jack, running into my arms.

"Mama!" Jack exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement and joy. My anger toward Killian melted away as I embraced my son, holding him tightly against me.

I spent the next half-hour playing with him, and I reveled in the simple pleasure of being a mother, thankful for the unconditional love that radiated from my son.

He was a reminder of what truly mattered in my life, and I could no longer care less that his father had been too promiscuous to remember me.

As we continued our playtime, the doorbell suddenly rang, distracting me. Nancy, Jack's nanny, excused herself and went to answer the door. Curiosity piqued, I watched as Nancy engaged in a brief conversation with the hotel staffer. My interest intensified when Nancy motioned for me to come to the door.

Stepping away from Jack, I made my way to the entrance, curious about the unexpected visitor. The hotel staffer stood there, holding out an envelope to me. "Ms. Emiliana Reigns?" he asked, his voice polite and professional. "I have an invitation for you."

My brows furrowed in confusion as I reached out to take the envelope. "Thank you," I murmured, glancing at the invitation in my hands. The paper was of the highest quality, exuding elegance and exclusivity.

But what surprised me most was the name inscribed on the front: KD. Could it be who I was thinking?

"Excuse me," I said, not wanting to jump to conclusions. "May I ask who this invitation is from?"

The hotel staffer, maintaining his professional demeanor, replied, "The invitation is from Mr. Killian Dane himself, ma'am," he responded before turning to leave behind an utterly confused me.