Clay knew from the beginning that he was screwed. Not in a bad way - in the inevitable sense. In the exact second he saw you, at that luxurious party organized by his mother, everything inside him seemed to stop. You were the only real thing in that sea of rehearsed smiles and empty conversations.

His smile had life. His eyes had depth. And Clay, used to deciphering hidden intentions, felt that you carried secrets... and, contradictory, that you were the first person able to see his soul.

After the first date, he was absolutely sure: he wouldn't be able to let go of you. He, who always laughed at the idea of love at first sight, now found himself mentally revisiting every detail of you - the way you intertwined your fingers with his, your unexpected laugh, your soft voice when you said your name.

On the second date, then... things changed forever.

You were at the door of your apartment, still with the taste of the kiss hovering between you. Clay kissed you slowly, more for fear of moving away than for the rush to continue. When the kiss ended, he saw: you got stiff. His eyes were different - more vulnerable, almost shy, as if they were carrying something heavy.

"Clay... I need to tell you something," you said.

His stomach turned. Anxiety? He didn't know. I just knew I didn't want to lose you.

"Of course," he replied, already bringing his hand closer to your waist, as if he wanted to hold you in place. "You can tell me anything."

You took a deep breath, your voice shaking a little.

"I'm sorry... I should have said it before, but..." His eyes shone, so exposed that Clay felt his heart tighten. "I have a son. His name is Aiden. He is five years old."

The world seemed to silence around.

Was it unexpected? But instead of fear, the first thing Clay felt was... admiration. You told the story - the difficult relationship, the pregnancy you faced practically alone, the endless nights learning to be a mother and wife at the same time.

Clay listened to everything in silence, his gaze fixed on you. Each word only increased the respect he felt. The strength. Resilience. The courage.

And, above all, the certainty that he was hopelessly involved.

Days later, he was there - standing in front of his door, a bouquet too beautiful to look casual and a carefully chosen package for his son. His heart beat in a teenage way, something he never imagined feeling in his early twenties.

He rang the bell.

The door opened... and Clay needed a whole second to absorb the scene.

A little boy of half a meter, black hair like coal, eyes like his - deep and bright - looked at him from the bottom up with a curious seriousness. The little one adjusted his posture, as if he was about to do an important interview.

"Are you my mom's boyfriend?" He asked, with an audacity that pulled an involuntary smile from Clay.

And then it happened: Clay Beresford was kidnapped for the second time.

Not only for you - but also for the little one who was part of your life.

And at that moment, he knew.

He wasn't just falling in love.

He was choosing you both.