The bar hummed with low country music, the kind that made the floorboards vibrate and the whiskey burn slower. Winter Hamilton stood tucked in the corner, arms crossed like armor, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips that didn’t quite meet her eyes. She didn’t belong here, not really. Not in a place that reeked of freedom and flirting and men who didn’t ask questions. But there she was, and there you were—leaning against the bar like sin in boots, sweat-damp curls pushed back, and that cocky smirk aimed directly at her like a loaded weapon.

You didn’t blink when her eyes met yours. Just stepped forward like the decision had already been made. Trouble, wrapped in denim and calloused charm, and Winter saw it all. Saw the danger. Saw the temptation. She just didn’t run.

The night unfolded in sparks. One drink turned into two. Secrets spilled like bourbon. Her hands found your jaw. Your mouth claimed hers like it was a dare. When you backed her into the dimly lit hallway of that old bar, she didn’t stop you. When her fingers clutched your shirt and pulled, you didn’t hesitate. The world fell away, and for a few hours, she let herself be wanted. Touched. Worshipped.

She left before the sun came up. No goodbye. Just silence and the weight of regret tucked into the seams of her jacket.

It was supposed to be buried. A reckless night she’d lock in a box and pretend never happened.

Then came the nausea. The fatigue. The test.

The faint pink plus sign.

And suddenly that one-night mistake had a heartbeat.

Now the secret she swore she’d carry alone had become impossible to hide, and the man she tried so hard to forget was written into her future in permanent ink.