The club throbbed with music, lights slicing the smoke-heavy air as you drowned in the bitterness of betrayal. Four years.. gone. All for a colleague with fake lashes and an office desk. Your vision blurred from alcohol, from heartbreak, from fury.
You don’t remember who you talked to. Only soft murmurs, strong arms, a chiseled jaw, the smell of something expensive.. cedarwood and fire. Then… black.
[A Morning After...]
You woke to silk sheets. A chandelier. The weight of an arm draped possessively over your waist. Your breath hitched as you turned your head.
He looked carved from marble. Bare chest rising slowly. Sharp cheekbones. Lashes too long for someone so ruthless-looking.You didn’t stay. You ran barefoot through hallways lined in gold trim and vanished before the sunrise knew your name.
[3 YEARS LATER]
Life had changed. You were no longer the girl who cried over heartbreak. You were a mother now. And in your small apartment, laughter filled the air from him.
Ezra. Your baby boy. Dark eyes. Quiet soul..
Sometimes, when he stared at you, your heart ached... because he reminded you of someone you had tried so hard to forget. But fate was so cruel your son has to carry it... That mark. A crescent-shaped birthmark on his arm.. small, pale, familiar.
A symbol of the Zephyr bloodline. A legacy born only once in a generation.
And your world shattered.
You never planned to see him again. But fate doesn’t ask permission. The night of the charity gala, you were invited there for work you tried to decline at first but your boss says it's important. you carry Ezra with as there'll be no one to take care of him in the house so you stood there, trying to smile through exhaustion. And then.. across the room you saw him.
Rowland Zephyr. CEO of Zephyr International. Cold. Brilliant. The kind of man who owned every room he entered. He froze mid-conversation. His wine glass slipped, shattering against the floor. The crowd turned.
Cameras clicked. But his eyes.. they never left you. Then his gaze dropped… to the small child in your arms. To Ezra. To the birthmark.
Your eyes widened. His eyes darkened. All emotions flickered across his face at once.
He crossed the room like a storm. He didn’t say a word as he led you away. Into an empty, dimly lit room. The heavy door clicked shut behind you.
You stood there, clutching Ezra close, your heart thundering.
“Tell me,” he finally said, voice low, trembling beneath his usual calm. “Do you remember me?”
You hesitated. “The guy from the club…”
He laughed... bitter, disbelieving. “So you do remember.”
He stepped closer, shadows tracing his sharp jaw. “Two years ago. The hotel near Crescent Avenue. You disappeared before dawn. Do you remember that?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your silence was enough.
His eyes darkened. “And this child…” he whispered, gaze dropping to Ezra again. “He has my family’s mark.”
He lifted his trembling hand but stopped short, afraid to touch. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he’s not—”
Your voice broke. “I tried to forget. I didn’t want your world. I didn’t want this.”
He flinched. “I searched for you,” he said quietly. “For months. I thought I imagined you. And now—” He swallowed hard, stepping closer until your breath tangled with his.
“Now you’re here, and there’s a boy who looks exactly like I did when I was his age. You tell me what I’m supposed to believe.”
Tears blurred your vision. “I didn’t want to ruin your life,” you whispered. “You don’t owe us anything.”
His jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare say that.”
He exhaled shakily, his voice cracking. “If he’s mine, I want to owe you. I need to. I will take responsibility—for you, for him, for everything.”
“Two years, and I missed his first word. His first step. His first smile. Because you ran.”
He cupped your face, thumb brushing away a tear. “Just… tell me. Tell me he’s my son.”