Chained by our past

The air was thick with the scent of champagne and expensive cologne, a tangible reminder that Isla Calloway had finally arrived at the top. The exclusive Parisian club buzzed with power players from the tech world, each celebrating yet another acquisition, another billion-dollar deal, another victory in the never-ending game of business. But tonight, Isla wasn’t here for business. Tonight, for the first time in years, she allowed herself a single moment of indulgence. She had just closed one of the most significant deals of her career, securing Calloway Tech’s dominance in the cybersecurity world. A moment like this should have been shared over boardroom toasts with her investors, but the weight of her success felt strangely hollow. Isla wasn’t in the mood for corporate formalities. She wanted something different—something untamed. Sitting at the VIP bar, dressed in a sleek emerald gown that hugged her curves with precision, Isla let herself relax, if only for a moment. She swirled the dark amber liquid in her glass, observing the room with sharp, assessing eyes. That was when she saw him. A man leaned casually against the bar, sleeves rolled up, exuding an effortless confidence that somehow felt out of place in a club filled with people who measured their worth by the number of zeros in their bank accounts. His dark hair was tousled, his sharp jawline dusted with stubble, and when he met her gaze, his green eyes held an intensity that sent a slow, burning thrill down her spine. Lucas Reyes. Of course, she didn’t know his name then. All she knew was that he looked nothing like the men in her world—the ones who calculated every move, who saw women like her as either threats or trophies. This man? He studied her with a different kind of hunger, a challenge rather than an expectation. "Looks like you're celebrating," he observed, his voice deep, smooth, teasing. Isla lifted her glass. "That obvious?" He smirked, taking the seat beside her. "A woman like you doesn’t come to a place like this alone unless she’s either drowning a failure or toasting a victory. Judging by that dress and the way you carry yourself, I'd say it's the latter." She arched a brow, intrigued. "And you? You don’t seem like the usual clientele." "I could say the same about you." The conversation crackled between them, a game of wits, of curiosity laced with desire. She didn’t ask his name. He didn’t ask hers. Maybe that was why it felt so easy, so free. No expectations. No consequences. Just one night. And so, when he leaned in closer, when his fingers brushed against hers, Isla made the kind of decision she never made. She let go. The night was a blur of stolen kisses, tangled sheets, and whispered promises that neither intended to keep. And by morning, the man with the green eyes was gone. No number. No note. Just a memory she told herself she would forget. Five weeks after that night in Paris, Isla Calloway sat in the sleek, modern bathroom of her penthouse suite, staring at the two unrelenting pink lines on the pregnancy test. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her usually steady hands trembling as she placed the test on the marble counter. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. She had been careful. Hadn’t she? A sharp knock at the door made her jolt. "Isla?" It was Samantha, her best friend and Calloway Tech’s CFO. Isla squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to get a grip before stepping out of the bathroom. Samantha took one look at her pale face and the test in her hand, and her expression shifted from confusion to shock. "Is that…?" Isla exhaled heavily, nodding. "It’s real. I’m pregnant." Samantha blinked, then sank onto the edge of the bed as if the news had knocked the air from her lungs. "Holy shit." "That makes two of us." Isla pressed her fingers to her temples, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Samantha’s sharp gaze lifted. "Who’s the father?" Isla hesitated. "You remember that trip to Paris?" Samantha’s eyes widened. "The one where you came back acting… different?" "Yes," Isla muttered. "The mysterious guy from that one-night stand?" Samantha gaped. "Please tell me he’s not some deadbeat loser." Isla laughed humorlessly. "I don’t even know his name." The weight of her own words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had spent one perfect night with a man who had disappeared before sunrise, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his touch. Now, she carried a piece of him inside her. "What are you going to do?" Samantha’s voice was careful, but Isla heard the underlying concern. Isla forced herself to take a steadying breath. "I built Calloway Tech from nothing. I didn’t come this far to let a man who isn’t even here derail my future." She lifted her chin, her voice turning resolute. "I can do this. Alone." Samantha hesitated. "You could find him." Isla shook her head. "And say what? ‘Hey, remember that wild night in Paris? Well, surprise, you're going to be a father?’" She exhaled sharply. "No. He left without a word. I don’t owe him anything." A long silence stretched between them before Samantha finally sighed. "Then I guess we make a plan."