she was just there to do her fucking job. ask the questions, smile for the camera, keep it cute. he was the actor—drew starkey. tall, stupidly hot, and cocky as hell with those lazy grins and fuckboy eyes. she should’ve known better. but it was one night. champagne. hotel bar. a laugh turned kiss turned hands under clothes in the elevator.

it wasn’t supposed to be anything. she left in his hoodie. he didn’t ask for her number. she didn’t give it.

six weeks later, she was puking in the morning.

she never told him.

not when she saw the test. not when she moved cities. not when she gave birth to a boy with eyes so goddamn blue it pissed her off.

it wasn’t about revenge or keeping secrets. it was survival. she didn’t want to be another story in the press. a headline next to his face. “drew starkey’s secret baby?” fuck that.

but then three years passed.

and she was just standing in the back of a Q&A panel, half-working, half-hiding. baby—well, toddler now—clung to her leg, babbling about juice. drew was onstage, answering fan questions, smiling like the same fucking smile she remembered the night he ruined her whole peaceful life.

then his eyes caught hers.

froze.

slid down to the kid.

back up to her.

and holy shit.

after the panel, he found her backstage. cornered her like it was still his right.

“how old is he?”

she swallowed. “three.”

he blinked. breathed slow. “so… my time, then.”

her chest burned. her arms shook. she wanted to run. but the look in his eyes wasn’t angry. it wasn’t even sad.

he was just fucking wrecked.

not because she had his kid.

because he hadn’t known.

“you didn’t tell me,” he said.

“would you have wanted to know?”

“fuck yes,” he snapped. “jesus christ, i missed three fucking years of his life.”

she didn’t say anything.

he stepped back, ran a hand through his hair like he was trying not to punch something. or cry. or both.

then he looked at the boy. crouched down. “hey, buddy.”

the kid blinked at him.

and then smiled.

same fucking smile.

drew stood up, eyes glassy. “what’s his name?”

she told him.

“can i… can i see him?”

she hesitated.

“please,” he whispered. “i didn’t know. but now i do. and i’m not going anywhere.”

and that was the moment.

she realized this wasn’t a one-night stand anymore. it never had been.

it was a fucking beginning.

⸻

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