The Billionaire's Possible Baby

A Stranger With A Pull

Even after the quick shots back at the rooftop bar. She nodded at the bartender instead. “Decaf latte, please, no sugar” she said softly, her voice low. Halfway through, she realized she’d rather have water. “And a glass of water too,” she added, letting the clear liquid settle her nerves.

The bartender scribbled her order on a tab. “Name for the tab?” he asked

Zara paused. Her real name felt too heavy tonight. She opened a tab at the bar, cash in hand, and said, “Toni Davidson.” The bartender gave a polite nod and moved on.

From the far end of the terrace, Aiden’s piercing blue eyes caught the exchange. He didn’t approach, didn’t speak. A quiet tension hung in the air between them, unspoken yet electric.

Selene glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Toni Davidson, huh?”

“Just tonight,” Zara murmured, sipping her water, unaware how far the malevolent—or maybe watchful—eyes lingered on her.

Melissa’s shadow fell over him again as she walked by, her hips swaying deliberately. She brushed his arm, her voice sweet. “Aiden, come dance with me. You’ve been standing here like a statue all night.”

He sighed through his nose, a bored sound that had no warmth. “Not interested.”

She pouted, lingering for a moment longer, but his gaze never left the dance floor. All he saw was the woman in black—her curves moved with quiet grace, her curls caught the amber light, her brown skin glowed under the strobes. Something about her demanded attention. It wasn’t just attraction. It was a pull, strong and unfamiliar, like gravity had changed when she entered the room.

Zara sipped her whiskey, the ice gently clinking against the glass. Her eyes wandered—to the band’s pulsing rhythm, to Selene and Esme laughing near the edge of the crowd, then inevitably back to him. The tall stranger with tattoos and cold blue eyes. Her heart fluttered, an anxious beat. It wasn’t love. But it was interest. Sharp. Dangerous. She almost laughed at herself for feeling anything after the chaos with Jaden.

Then she felt his gaze again—like a warm hand on the back of her neck. She looked up. He was closer now, not crowding her, but near enough that the noise of the rooftop faded between them.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You’ll spill that.”

She blinked, surprised by the unexpected gentleness behind his stern tone. He wasn’t rude. Just… direct. She smiled through the pleasant haze of alcohol. “I’m fine.”

He nodded slightly, a small acknowledgment. Then his gaze flicked over her shoulder—for a split second, his expression softened in a way that felt private, almost vulnerable. Then the mask returned: composed, distant, untouchable.

Selene’s voice broke through from the dance floor. “Girll! Come on!”

Esme mouthed, Are you okay? Zara nodded quickly, though she wasn’t entirely sure she was. The lights flickered overhead, music grew heavier, and the crowd moved as one. Yet somehow, in the middle of it all, she and this stranger kept circling each other—pulled by some unseen force neither of them sought.

She bumped into him again. This time it wasn’t an accident. Some reckless part of her craved the contact. His hand steadied her elbow immediately, firm but gentle.

“Hey,” he said. Up close, she noticed the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the dark ink curling beneath his rolled cuffs like secrets etched in skin. “You okay?”

She laughed—small, genuine. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He held her gaze longer than necessary. It felt like an invitation. It felt like more.

Then, sensing the fragile moment might break if he lingered, he offered the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. It was enough to ease the tightness in her chest and to tighten something in his.

She exhaled and let her friends pull her back into the crowd. For a moment, she worried she’d lose sight of him in the sea of people. But when she glanced back, his eyes were still on her—steady, unblinking—watching the woman in black, who seemed like she didn’t belong there yet fit perfectly.

“Oh my God, Z,” Selene whispered, grabbing her arm. “Who’s that handsome guy staring at you like you hung the moon?”

Zara tried to play it cool, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t think he’s staring at me.”

Esme laughed. “Girl, please. He hasn’t looked away once.”

Across the terrace, Aiden watched the exchange, wondering what they were saying about him. His friends—two men in fitted shirts—leaned in, one clapping him on the shoulder. “She’s stunning, man. You gonna make a move or just brood from afar?”

He didn’t answer. His focus remained on her.

Melissa lingered near the bar, glass in hand, eyes narrowed. She had slipped a small white pill into his drink twenty minutes ago—nothing dangerous, just enough to loosen him up, to make him forget his usual iron control. She smiled to herself. Any minute now, the effects would hit. He’d be more relaxed. Open and hers.

Moments later, the rooftop felt too loud, too bright. Zara’s introverted side finally surfaced, telling her she’d had enough. She needed air. Quiet. Home. She slipped through the glass doors to the outdoor terrace, her heels dangling from her fingers, bare feet cool against the concrete.

She leaned against a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom parked in the private valet area, its polished surface reflecting the city like dark glass. The car was ridiculously expensive—she could tell just by looking—but right now, it was the only solid thing she could find. Her skin felt too hot, head dizzy, thoughts swirling. She started humming an old song under her breath, soft and off-key, trying to anchor herself.

Footsteps approached.

“You’re trespassing,” a deep voice said.

She jumped, looking up. There he was—tall, shadowed against the city lights, blue eyes locked on hers like he could see right into her soul.

“Um… I don’t understand.”

He didn’t speak. Just lifted a hand and pointed at the Rolls-Royce she was leaning against.

Her cheeks flushed. How rude, she thought. But then she noticed the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—he’d caught her reaction. His expression softened just a bit.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing out here alone?” he asked, his voice kinder now.

“I’m not alone,” she replied quickly. “As you can see, some people are going home already. I want to go home too, but my friends… they won’t want to leave yet.”

She blinked hard, her vision blurring at the edges. “Um… wait.” The words came out slurred. She didn’t even understand what she was saying anymore. “Can—you take me home?”

“Where’s your house?”

“My house,” she repeated, confused.

“Yeah. Your house.”

She laughed, the sound loose and helpless. “I don’t know where my house is.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. Something was wrong with him. He hadn’t drunk much—definitely not enough to explain the sudden heaviness in his limbs or the way his vision softened and sharpened unexpectedly. He was the type to drink all night and walk a straight line. Yet now he stumbled a half-step, car keys slipping from his fingers and clattering against the concrete.

His eyes kept drifting—to her lips, the curve of her neck, the way her black dress clung when she breathed. His breathing grew heavier. He rubbed his eyes hard, forcing himself to focus.

“So since you can’t remember your house,” he said, his voice rougher now, “what do you want me to do?”

She bit her lower lip, staring at his straight, symmetrical, full mouth. “Um… take me with you.”

“Take you to my house?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No second thoughts about strangers or danger or anything that should have mattered.

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Alright. Hop in.”

She swayed toward the back door, her hips moving in a lazy, drunken rhythm.

He caught her wrist gently. “Front seat.”

She sighed dramatically, as if moving was the hardest thing in the world. Before she could protest, he bent down, scooped her up in one fluid motion—bridal style—and carried her to the passenger side. She gasped, then looked up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes taking in every detail: the sharp jaw, the intensity in those blue eyes.

He noticed her gaze. It stirred something within him. He set her down in the front seat more firmly than necessary—almost roughly—trying to bring them both back to reality. Even though part of him loved the way she looked at him, wide-eyed and curious.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel tightly. The engine purred to life, low and powerful. He pulled out of the valet lane and merged into the bustling Midtown traffic.

His vision blurred at the edges. His pulse raced too fast. He didn’t know what was happening to him—but he kept driving.

The city lights streaked past in smears of color.

She leaned her head against the window, humming softly again.

He glanced at her—once, twice—fighting through the haze, fighting the pull.

They were almost there.

His building loomed ahead, sleek and tall.

He didn’t know what awaited inside those walls.

He didn’t know if he could stop what had already begun.

But the car kept moving forward.

And so did they.