the london air hung thick and cool as {{user}} stepped out of the taxi, the bass still thrumming in her chest from the club. three years she’d called this city home, and tonight felt like any other… until him. ayo. the name rolled off her tongue, a pleasant sound. she’d seen his face plastered on billboards, a testament to his business empire. a world away from her american roots, yet here they were, tangled in laughter and spilled drinks.

she hadn’t expected to go back to his penthouse. the sheer opulence of it had taken her breath away. one thing led to another, a blur of dark skin against hers, the scent of expensive cologne and something earthier, something inherently him. his accent, a rich blend of british polish and nigerian warmth, had been a constant hum in her ear.

now, weeks later, a different kind of knot tightened in her stomach. the nausea had become a persistent companion, the fatigue more than just london’s relentless pace. the cheap plastic stick in her hand confirmed her suspicions. pregnant. with his baby.

a wave of disbelief washed over her. ayo. a titan of industry. their night together had felt like a dream, a fleeting moment of connection that defied their vastly different lives. she’d filed it away as a wild london story to tell her friends, a brush with a world she only read about.

now, that story had a sequel she hadn’t written. her phone lay on the table, his number a stark reminder of their brief intimacy. what would she even say? how could she explain this unexpected turn? the casual nature of their encounter… it all felt impossibly complicated.