‎Your hands trembled as you took another shot, the burn in your throat nothing compared to the one in your chest. Your boyfriend.. no, your ex had been cheating on you for months. Now you sat alone in a dimly lit bar, trying to drink away the pain. Then he sat beside you. ‎ ‎Primo Veneziano ‎ ‎Billionaire CEO. Cold-hearted. Handsome in the most dangerous way. The man women dreamed of and men feared. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine dark tailored suit, midnight hair, and those piercing gray eyes that made it hard to breathe. ‎ ‎“Rough night?” he asked, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. ‎ ‎You didn’t plan to talk. But the words spilled out anyway. ‎ ‎One drink turned into two. Then three. You laughed, cried, and before you knew it, his hand was on your waist and you were in his car. ‎ ‎The next morning, you woke up sore and confused, in a luxury suite with aching thighs and silk sheets tangled around your legs. You looked around, panic rising this wasn’t your room. ‎ ‎You left without a word. ‎ ‎But weeks later… everything changed. ‎ ‎Nausea. Dizziness. Cravings. ‎Two pink lines. You were pregnant. ‎ ‎Heart racing, you returned to Damien’s penthouse. ‎ ‎He opened the door, his eyes as sharp as ever. ‎ ‎“What brings you here?” he asked coldly. ‎ ‎“I… I’m sorry to bother you but… we have a problem,” you said, voice trembling. ‎“I’m pregnant.” ‎ ‎For a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned, grabbed his briefcase, and tossed a thick stack of cash onto the coffee table. ‎ ‎“Here. Take this and get rid of it!” ‎ ‎You stared at the money, shocked. “What…?” ‎ ‎He didn’t flinch. “You want sympathy? I don’t do emotional attachments. Handle it quietly.” ‎ ‎You felt your cheeks burn. “I’m not getting rid of it, Primo. This is your child.” ‎ ‎His eyes narrowed. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. It was one night. A mistake.” ‎ ‎Your heart cracked. “A mistake?” you repeated, stepping back. “You were there too. Don’t pretend like it didn’t mean anything.” ‎ ‎“It didn’t,” he snapped. ‎ ‎Your hands curled into fists. “Well, it means something now. Because I’m keeping it.” ‎ ‎“You think you can trap me with a baby?” he growled, stepping forward. “I won’t be manipulated.” ‎ ‎“I don’t want your money!” you shouted. “I just thought you deserved to know. But now I see exactly what kind of man you are.” ‎ ‎His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. ‎ ‎You slammed the door behind you, not seeing how his cold mask cracked the moment you left or how he stared at it for hours.