The billionaire's secret baby

AVA

The sharp crack of my mother's palm against my cheek echoed through our cramped apartment like a gunshot. My face burned, but the pain in my chest hurt worse. I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek, blinking back tears that threatened to spill out.

"You worthless little brat!" Her voice was shrill, fueled by the cheap wine she'd been drinking all afternoon. "Eighteen years old and what do you have to show for it? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

I stood frozen in the doorway of our kitchen, still wearing my fast-food uniform that reeked of grease and desperation. My mother's bloodshot eyes blazed with a hatred I have grown used to but never quite understood.

"I work forty hours a week, Mom. I contribute.."

"Contribute?" She laughed, a harsh sound that made my skin crawl. "You call those pathetic paychecks a contribution? We can barely afford this dump, and it's all your fault. If I hadn't gotten pregnant with you, I could have had a real life. A good life."

The words hit me like physical blows. I'd heard variations of this speech countless times, but tonight felt different. Tonight, something inside me finally cracked.

"I didn't ask to be born," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"What did you say?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I said I didn't ask to be born!" The words came out louder than I intended, filled with eighteen years of accumulated pain and anger. "I'm sorry I ruined your life, Mom. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment. I'm sorry I exist!"

For a moment, she looked stunned. Then her face twisted with rage.

"You ungrateful little witch. After everything I've sacrificed for you, this is how you repay me? Get out of my sight. Get out!"

She grabbed the nearest object, a half-empty bottle of wine and hurled it at me. I ducked, and it shattered against the wall behind me, wine and glass exploding everywhere.

"Get out!" she screamed again. "Get out and don't come back!"

I ran. I grabbed my jacket and purse from the couch and bolted out of that suffocating apartment, her screams following me down the hallway. The tears I had been holding back finally came, hot and fast, blurring my vision as I stumbled down the stairs.

The night air was cold against my wet cheeks. I had nowhere to go, no friends to call, no family who cared. I was alone in the world, just like I have always been. The realization hit me like a physical weight, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe.

I walked for what felt like hours, my feet carrying me through parts of the city I'd never seen before. Gradually, the broken streetlights and boarded-up windows gave way to gleaming skyscrapers and expensive cars. I found myself in the wealthy district, surrounded by a world I could never belong to.

That's when I saw it, a sleek club with a line of beautiful people waiting to get in. The sign read "Azure" in elegant script, and everything about it screamed money and exclusivity. I almost walked past, but something made me stop.

Why not? I thought bitterly. What did I have to lose?

I wiped my tear-stained face and smoothed my hair, trying to look like I belonged. The bouncer barely glanced at me before waving me through. Inside, the music was loud, the lights were dim, and the air was thick with expensive perfume and possibility.

I made my way to the bar, using the last of my tip money to order a drink. Then another. And another. The alcohol burned away the pain, replacing it with a warm, reckless numbness.

"You look like you're drowning your sorrows."

The voice was deep, rich, and tinged with a British accent that made my skin tingle. I turned to find a man beside me, tall, dark-haired, with eyes the color of storm clouds. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that made my breath catch.

"Maybe I am," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

He smiled, and my heart did something strange in my chest. "Well, we can't have that, can we? Allow me to buy you a proper drink darling."

He ordered something expensive, I couldn't even pronounce the name and we talked. Or rather, I talked and he listened. About feeling trapped, about being unwanted, about dreams that seemed impossible. He didn't judge, didn't offer empty platitudes. He just listened with those intense gray eyes fixed on mine.

"You're beautiful," he said suddenly, his fingers brushing against my hand. "And you're stronger than you think."

The alcohol, the pain, the desperate need to feel wanted, it all combined into something I can't really phantom. When he leaned closer, I didn't pull away. When he whispered in my ear, asking if I wanted to go somewhere quieter, I nodded.

His hotel room was like something out of a magazine, all marble and silk and luxury I'd never imagined. But I barely noticed the opulence. All I could focus on was him, the way he looked at me like I was precious, like I mattered.

He made love to me with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt truly wanted, truly cherished. In his arms, I wasn't worthless Ava from the wrong side of town. I was someone worth loving.

Afterward, we lay tangled in Egyptian cotton sheets, and I felt safe for the first time in years. He stroked my hair and whispered things that made my heart soar. I never asked his name, and he never asked mine. We were just two strangers finding comfort in each other's arms.

I fell asleep listening to his heartbeat, feeling like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the sound of a door closing. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets already cold. I sat up, my head pounding from the alcohol and the sudden realization that I was alone.

There was no note, no number, no trace that he'd ever been there except for the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow. I dressed quickly, my cheeks burning with shame and hurt. Another person who'd left me behind.

I made my way home, back to the same broken apartment, the same broken life. My mother was passed out on the couch, and I crept to my room like a ghost.

Weeks passed. I got fired from my job for missing too many shifts, I'd been too heartbroken to function properly. I found another job, then another, each one worse than the last. Life continued its relentless march toward nowhere.

It was six weeks later, standing in the bathroom of a gas station, staring at two pink lines on a pregnancy test, that my world shifted on its axis once again.

I was pregnant. With his child. The stranger who'd shown me one night of tenderness and then vanished like smoke.

I sank to the floor, my back against the cold tile wall, and for the second time in six weeks, my life changed forever…