The Billionaire's Possible Baby

Zara Bennett slammed the door of her Brooklyn apartment so hard that the framed photos on the wall rattled. The sound echoed down the narrow hallway like a gunshot. She didn’t care. Her chest burned, her eyes stung, and every breath felt like swallowing glass. Selene and Esme, her best friends since high school, froze in the living room. Selene’s hand hovered mid-air, halfway through twisting a strand of her long, curly hair. Esme sat up straighter on the couch, her phone forgotten in her lap. They exchanged a quick glance, the kind that said they knew better than to speak first when Zara looked like this. Zara kicked off her heels. They skidded across the hardwood floor, one bouncing off the baseboard with a sharp crack. Her bag followed, thudding against the wall before sliding to the floor. She stood there in her work blouse and skirt, her shoulders heaving, fists clenched at her sides. I’m so angry,” she said, her voice raw and cracked at the edges. Selene found her voice first. “What happened, Z?” Zara crossed to the couch and dropped onto it as if her legs had given out. She buried her face in her hands. For a long moment, she was silent before the words spilled out in a rush. “I went to Jaden’s place. To talk. To see if we could fix things, because I don’t know why he has been acting distant. And he was there with some girl. On the couch. Kissing her. Hands everywhere. They didn’t even hear me come in at first.” Esme sucked in a breath. “Oh, Zara.” ““They were…” Zara’s voice broke. She pressed her palms harder against her eyes, trying to push the image out. “I stood there like an i***t for five seconds before he noticed me. Then he jumped up and started babbling. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’ Then he switched to begging. He said he’d always loved me. He said he had waited for me even when I wouldn’t sleep with him. Two years. He waited two years for my virginity like it was some prize he earned.” She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “He said he tried to be patient. That I denied him s*x for so long he had no choice. Like I’m the one who broke him.” Selene scooted closer, resting a gentle hand on Zara’s knee. “That’s nonsense, and you know it.” Esme moved to Zara’s other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “What did you say?” “Nothing actually.” Zara wiped her cheeks roughly. “I just turned around and left. He chased me to the door, still talking about how much he loves me. How this was a mistake. How we can work through it.” She shook her head. “I walked out. Didn’t even look back.” The room fell quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant honk of traffic outside. Zara’s friends held her, letting her breathe through the worst of it. She hated crying in front of anyone, hated feeling exposed, but tonight the dam had cracked too wide to hold. After a while, Selene spoke softly. “Remember when he proposed a few months back? You said no because you weren’t ready for marriage. You told him you needed time. And you still weren’t ready for s*x. He said he understood. Promised he’d wait.” Zara’s jaw tightened. “So I’m supposed to feel guilty now? Like I pushed him into bed with someone?” “No,” Esme said firmly. “You’re not the problem. But he waited two years, Zara. That’s a long time for someone like Jaden. He’s not exactly known for patience.” Zara pulled back, her eyes flashing. “Don’t. Don’t make this my fault.” “We’re not,” Selene said quickly. “We’re just saying he’s full of it. He could’ve talked to you. He could’ve ended it cleanly. Instead, he cheated. That’s on him.” Zara stared at the floor. Deep down, she knew they were right, but the guilt still twisted in her gut. She had kept him at arm’s length. She had held on to her boundaries. And part of her had always wondered if that made her unfair. If waiting had been too much to ask. The silence stretched. Then Selene clapped her hands once, decisively. “Okay. Enough of this. You’re not spending the night crying over that loser.” “I’m not going anywhere,” Zara muttered. “Yes, you are.” Selene stood, already pulling out her phone. “We’re going out. That rooftop spot everyone’s been talking about. Enchanting Views or whatever they call it—exclusive drinks, killer skyline. Perfect place to remind yourself you’re hot, single, and way too good for Jaden’s nonsense.” Zara shook her head. “I don’t feel like dancing or pretending I’m fine.” “You don’t have to pretend,” Esme said. “Just come. Have one drink. Let the city lights drown him out of your mind for a few hours. We’ll be right there with you.” Zara looked between them. They weren’t going to let this go. And honestly, the thought of sitting alone in this apartment, replaying the scene over and over, made her stomach turn worse than the betrayal itself. “Fine,” she said at last. “One hour. Then I’m coming home.” The girls cheered like they’d won a war. --- By 11pm, they looked like they belonged in a different world. Selene wore a deep emerald satin dress that caught the light, showing off her warm mixed caramel skin and long legs. Esme chose white—crisp, daring white—that clung to her petite curves and made her look both angelic and untouchable. Zara had gone for black. A fitted sheath that hugged her petite frame and full hips, the neckline modest but the cut exuding confidence. She left her curly brown hair loose, the coils framing her face like a soft halo. A swipe of gloss on her full lips and a touch of shimmer on her brown skin—and she almost believed the reflection staring back at her was unbreakable. They piled into an Uber and rode to Midtown, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and steel. The rooftop club—called Enchanting Views Lounge, one of those rotating pop-up names for exclusive nights—sat atop a sleek hotel, thirty floors above the chaos. Dim amber lighting, velvet booths, a DJ spinning slow, sensual beats. The air smelled of expensive cologne, citrus cocktails, and money. Zara hesitated at the entrance. She wasn’t built for places like this. Too loud, too shiny, too many eyes sizing you up. But the alcohol from the pre-game shots they’d done in the apartment was already loosening her edges, making everything feel a little less sharp. They claimed stools at the bar. Selene ordered without asking. “Three glasses of whiskey. Make them strong.” The bartender poured with practiced ease. Zara took her first sip and felt the burn slide down her throat, warm and welcome. The second went down easier. By the third, she was laughing at Selene’s exaggerated impression of Jaden’s pleading face. Her friends dragged her to the dance floor. Zara let them lead, moving to the rhythm without thinking too hard. The music pulsed through her, drowning out the ache for a little while. She closed her eyes, let her hips sway, felt the crowd press close and then part again. When she opened her eyes, she saw him. He stood near the edge of the terrace, his back against the glass railing, city lights glittering behind him like fallen stars. He was tall, with broad shoulders filling out a tailored black shirt. Tattoos peeked from beneath rolled cuffs—dark ink curling over muscled forearms. His hair was dark brown, slightly tousled, and his jaw looked sharp enough to cut. But it was his eyes that stopped her cold. Piercing blue, cold as winter glass, scanning the room with detached interest. He looked like trouble wrapped in control. The kind of man who didn’t chase; he waited for the world to come to him. Zara's breath caught. She should look away. She wasn’t here for this. But his gaze found hers across the crowd and locked on. No smile. No wink. Just a slow, deliberate hold that made heat crawl up her neck. A woman—blonde, loud, dripping in designer—sidled up to him. Melissa. She tugged at his sleeve and offered him a drink with a pouty smile. He took it, downed it fast, and handed back the empty glass as if dismissing a child. Melissa lingered, glancing toward Zara with narrowed eyes, but Aiden was already moving. The crowd parted for him without effort. He crossed the floor straight to her. Zara’s heart slammed against her ribs. She turned slightly, pretending to watch her friends, but she felt him stop behind her. Close enough that she caught the scent of cedar and smoke. “You okay?” His voice was low and rough, as if he didn’t use it often for small talk. She turned. Up close, he was even more intimidating. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head. Those blue eyes held no warmth, but they weren’t cruel. Just guarded. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You don’t look fine.” She lifted her chin. “And you look like you don’t usually talk to strangers.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “I don’t.” “Then why are you talking to me?” He studied her for a moment. “Because you looked like you needed someone to remind you the night isn’t over yet.” Zara felt something shift inside her chest. Not love. Not even lust, exactly. Just a pull. Dangerous and alive. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel invisible. She held his gaze. “One night,” she said quietly. “No names. Just tonight.” His eyes darkened. “One night.” He extended his hand. She took it. And just like that, the rooftop, the music, the city below—all of it faded. Something had begun. Neither of them knew how much it would cost.