ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

He was moving.

Through the crowd. Past the swaying bodies and neon haze. Coming right at me.

My stomach dropped. “Oh my God. Wendy… this guy—”

I turned, expecting her smug grin, but the seat next to me was empty. She’d vanished. Seriously? Now?

I swallowed hard, forcing my shoulders back as his shadow fell over me. “That’s… uh… that’s my friend’s seat.”

He didn’t even glance at it. Instead, his voice came low, smooth, almost teasing. “Then I’ll borrow it until she comes back.”

Before I could protest, he slid onto the stool, a presence too big, too magnetic, filling the space. The bartender, apparently in on the betrayal, set a fresh glass in front of him like it had been waiting.

He raised it slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “So…” He tipped his chin toward the dance floor, where the crowd pulsed to the beat. “You’re just gonna sit here all night? No dancing?”

The question was casual, but there was an edge in his tone—like he already knew I wasn’t the type to play along, and he wanted to see if I’d surprise him.

I blinked at him, trying to gather my words, but the alcohol was buzzing too loud in my head. “Dance? What, with a stranger?”

His lips tugged into something halfway between a smirk and a challenge. “Stranger, huh? I guess no one warned you that strangers are more fun.”

I laughed despite myself, covering my face with my hand. “Wow. That’s your line?”

He leaned in, close enough for his cologne to tangle with the alcohol fog around me. “You want me to use a better one?”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. God help me, he was charming. “Depends. Do you have better ones?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I own Meyer Enterprises. That’s better, right?”

The name slammed into me like ice water. Even through the haze, I knew that name. Derek had cursed it enough times, pacing our bedroom, spitting venom about his “snake of a competitor.”

Meyer Enterprises. Adrian Meyer.

I stared, heartbeat stumbling. My drunk brain wanted to laugh at the irony, the ridiculous cosmic joke of it all. My husband’s rival. Sitting inches away from me, watching me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

“Interesting,” I murmured, leaning back in my seat, trying to mask the sudden spark inside me. “Very interesting.”

“So…” I dragged the word out, tilting my glass toward him. “Meyer Enterprises, huh? That’s… big. What’s it like being you?”

He smirked, sipping his drink like it was water. “Dangerous question. I might tell you, and then you’ll never look at me the same.”

I leaned in, curiosity outweighing sense. “Try me.”

His gaze flickered over my face, too sharp for comfort. “How about you? What’s your name? Or should I just call you… mysterious stranger?”

I hesitated, biting down on my lip. Introduce yourself, Ari. Don’t overthink it. He doesn’t need to know.

“Ariette,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Ariette.” He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting it. “Beautiful name.”

Something fluttered in my chest, but I quickly masked it by tossing another question his way. “So why’s the big CEO sitting here, poking at strangers in bars?”

For the first time, his smirk faltered, just a little. “Because I’m freshly single. Girlfriend’s out of the picture.” He shrugged, casual but not really. “Guess heartbreak makes you thirsty. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

The truth burned in my throat, but I forced a laugh, shaking my head. “Guess we’re in the same boat then.”

He studied me, too closely, like he could peel me open with his eyes. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but I couldn’t look away. For a moment, it felt like the world shrank—just his eyes, my pulse, and the loud ache between us neither of us wanted to name.

One second, we were staring. The next, his lips crashed against mine. It wasn’t gentle—it was fire and hunger, sharp enough to drown the ache inside me.

I gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his jacket, and before I even knew what I was doing, the words slipped out in a whisper against his lips. “Let’s find a room.”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise and heat crossing them, but he didn’t hesitate. His hand slid to mine, firm and commanding, and he pulled me through the crowd like the rest of the world no longer existed.

The door shut behind us with a heavy click. I barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on mine again, harder, deeper. My head throbbed from the alcohol, but my body didn’t care—it wanted this, wanted him.

His hands were everywhere—tugging at the straps of my dress, brushing over my skin with reckless urgency. My fingers fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel more, to forget more. The taste of whiskey lingered between us as he pressed me against the wall, stripping away every piece of hesitation with every kiss.

His lips trailed down my neck, hot and urgent, and my head slammed back against the wall with a soft thud. My breath came out in shaky gasps, every nerve in my body alive as his hands roamed like he already owned every inch of me.

The room spun—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from him—but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. My husband had thrown me away, my kids had chosen someone else, and here I was—choosing this.

I clung to him, nails dragging down his back as he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His mouth claimed mine again, hard and desperate, while his body pressed into mine with an urgency that burned away every thought.

Clothes fell away—his shirt first, my dress slipping down in a rush, his hands skimming my bare skin like he was memorizing me. I moaned against his mouth, lost in the rhythm of his touch, the heat of his breath, the way he whispered my name like it already meant something.

And when he finally sank into me, the world disappeared. There was no Derek, no betrayal, no divorce papers—just the rough, relentless pace of his body against mine, the tangled sheets beneath us, the heat building until it consumed us both.

My thoughts blurred into nothing but sensation—his hands gripping my hips, his mouth devouring every sound I made, the way we moved together like we had been waiting for this moment all our lives. I felt alive, raw, wanted. For the first time in forever, I wasn’t invisible.

And the rest… the rest, as they say, was history.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

I woke up to the faint hum of an AC and the heavy rise and fall of a chest beside me. My chest tightened when I saw him. Adrian—still asleep, his face calm, lips slightly parted like last night hadn’t just happened.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My thighs ached, my head was pounding, and all I wanted to do was vanish. I scrambled quietly, gathering my dress from the floor, clutch, and heels, praying not to wake him. I wasn’t this kind of woman. I wasn’t.

By the time I slipped out of the room, I barely remembered how I even got there. My mind screamed you were drunk, Ari. And Wendy. God, I was going to strangle her for dragging me there.

When I finally got back to her place, Wendy opened the door with a smug little grin, arms crossed.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did you enjoy your night?”

I froze, heat flooding my cheeks. “No,” I lied—too quickly, too stiffly. The biggest lie of my life.

Images of him flickered in my head. His hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. I shook my head hard. No. I didn’t even know him. I wasn’t that kind of woman.

Wendy raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

I dropped my bag on the couch and collapsed next to it. “Never again.”

Big lie.

I wanted to crawl under Wendy’s couch and disappear. My head was pounding, not just from the wine but from shame. I can’t believe I did that with a stranger. Not just any stranger—Adrian. His face kept flashing in my mind, those lips, those hands, the way he—ugh, stop, Ari. Stop.

“You’re blushing,” Wendy teased, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just ruined my life.

“I am not,” I shot back, tugging my hair into a low bun. “And last night doesn’t count. I was drunk. I don’t even know him.”

Wendy arched a brow. “Oh, so you accidentally climbed into his lap, then his bed, while drunk? Got it.”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

She laughed, completely unbothered, then suddenly gasped. “Wait—aren’t you late?”

My eyes widened. “Oh my God, the conference!”

In a whirlwind, I snatched my purse, nearly toppling her vase in the process. This was no time for regret spirals. Vanessa Langford’s company was waiting. Vanessa—the queen of elegance, the kind of woman who could turn perfume into pure luxury. And me? I was supposed to go and pitch my idea to partner with her for the new line of body oils. Missing this would be social suicide.

“Ari!” Wendy called after me as I struggled with my heels by the door. “Don’t forget to smile. Perfume deals are all about mystery, allure…” She wiggled her brows. “And clearly, you’ve been practicing allure all night.”

I shot her the deadliest glare I could muster, but she just smirked.

“Ugh. I swear, when I come back, I’m strangling you,” I muttered, slamming the door behind me.

Still, as I rushed down the street, Adrian’s face slipped into my thoughts again. His touch. His heat. The way he made me forget everything for a few reckless hours.

I shook my head violently. No. Absolutely not. I am not that kind of woman.

This was a partnership, a career move, a chance to prove myself. That’s what mattered now. Not some man I’d never see again.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

By the time I got to the conference center, I’d practically run a marathon in heels. My chest was still heaving when the assistant ushered me inside. The air was cool, sterile, laced with expensive perfume that made me even more self-conscious.

And there she was—Vanessa Langford. The woman looked like she was carved out of marble and money. Silk blouse, perfect chignon, diamond studs that probably cost more than my apartment rent for a year.

Her eyes swept over me, unimpressed. “You’re late,” she said, her tone clipped. “Sit. You have five minutes. Give me what you’ve got.”

I swallowed hard, clutching my notes, but then something inside me snapped. I didn’t come this far to cower. So, I stood tall, steadied my voice, and poured everything out—my vision, my passion, the way her perfume line could evolve into something women didn’t just wear but felt. I painted it with words: intimacy, confidence, a brand that would touch not just the skin but the soul.

For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. My heart soared. Maybe—just maybe—this was my breakthrough.

But then, Vanessa leaned back in her chair, lips curled in disdain.

“That’s cute,” she said flatly. “But passion doesn’t sell, sweetheart. Strategy does. Do you even have the numbers to back that little speech? Because right now, all I’m hearing is a girl who thinks perfume is therapy. And I don’t run charities.”

Her words stung like a slap. I tried to keep my face neutral, but my chest tightened.

“I— I believe women want more than numbers. They want to feel—”

She cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Feelings don’t close deals. Come back when you’ve grown up.”

I stood there frozen, cheeks burning. Every ounce of confidence I’d brought into the room crumbled, leaving me raw and small.

But instead of crying, I forced a smile, nodded, and gathered my things. If Vanessa Langford wanted to see me break, she’d be disappointed.

As I turned to leave, my head was pounding again—not just from the hangover, but from the weight of last night, from the insult that hung heavy in the air, from the ache of wondering if maybe she was right.

But deep down, I knew she wasn’t. I just had to prove it.

I was almost at the door when Vanessa’s voice rang out behind me.

“Oh, and for the record—” she said smoothly, her heels clicking against the floor as she rose from her chair. “You didn’t get the contract.”

Her words sliced through the air, final and cruel.

I nodded once, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble, then pushed the door open and walked out with my head high—even if inside, I was breaking.

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

When I got back to Wendy’s place, the silence hit harder than Vanessa’s rejection. No cheerful voice. No teasing laugh. Just me… and the echo of failure hanging over my head.

I tossed my bag on the couch and paced. My phone buzzed, a notification popping up. Against my better judgment, I opened it.

Derek.

Tasha.

Smiling like the perfect little family in a glossy post that made my stomach twist.

My thumb hovered for a second before I pressed unfollow. Then block. Both of them.

They’d see.

They’d see exactly what I was made of.

But Maxine… my daughter. My own child. How could she? Was she so dazzled by Derek’s wealth and Tasha’s fame that she couldn’t see what this was doing to me?

The front door clicked open, snapping me out of it. Wendy walked in, a file under her arm, and froze when she saw me.

“Ari?” she said softly. “What happened?”

I slumped onto the couch, the weight of everything pressing down.

“I didn’t get the job,” I admitted, my voice small, almost embarrassed.

Wendy dropped her file on the coffee table and sat beside me. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around me.

“Ari, listen,” she said firmly. “Rejections, mistakes, failures, frustrations, insults… they’re all part of progress and growth. Nobody has ever achieved anything worthy without going through them. Not one person.”

Her words sank in, not immediately soothing, but like a warm blanket draped over my shivering body. I let out a shaky breath and leaned into her.

She hugged me tighter, rocking me gently. “You’ll get your chance, Ari. Trust me.”

We stayed like that until she suddenly groaned and pressed a hand to her stomach.

“Wendy?” I frowned, pulling back. “What’s wrong?”

She winced. “Ugh, nothing. Just cramps. My period’s making me miserable.”

Cramps. Period.

I blinked. My mind did a quick calculation. I’d been so wrapped up in Derek, the kids, the divorce, last night, Vanessa’s rejection… everything. But…

Oh.

I hadn’t even realized mine was late.

Probably tomorrow, I reassured myself quickly. Probably tomorrow.

But the thought lodged itself in the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

*****

Two weeks later, and I could barely recognize myself in the mirror.

Dark circles carved under my eyes, my body ached like I’d been carrying bricks all day, and no matter how much I tried to push through, fatigue clung to me like a second skin. Stress had become my shadow—lurking behind me with every rejection email, every polite-but-cruel “we’ll get back to you,” every door slammed in my face.

I was drained. Completely, utterly drained.

Some days, I barely had the strength to get out of bed, but Wendy wouldn’t let me rot. “Get up, Ari,” she’d say, yanking the blankets off me. “You’ve survived worse. You’ll survive this.”

And I believed her… mostly.

But there was something else. Something I couldn’t ignore. My body felt different—off. The kind of tiredness no coffee or nap could fix.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, the thought creeping in again.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

Still, the possibility hovered like a storm cloud, growing darker each day.

I’ve been a mother of two. I know this feeling.

Gosh… no, no, no.

My chest tightened as I shoved my wallet into my bag and forced myself out of the apartment. My legs felt like lead, every step heavier than the last, but I couldn’t sit around pretending anymore. I needed to know. I had to know.

The supermarket wasn’t far, but halfway there I already felt winded, like my body was mocking me.

“Please… just be a fever. Or a cold,” I muttered under my breath, ignoring the stares of strangers as I pressed a shaky hand to my forehead. “Maybe it’s the flu. Marcus caught it last week. Yeah. That’s it. Just the flu.”

But deep down, my gut already knew the truth.

And that truth scared the hell out of me.

I didn’t even waste time greeting anyone when I got home. The second I stepped in, Wendy opened her mouth to say something but I bolted past her, clutching that little bag like it was burning my hand.

Straight into the bathroom. Lock. Deep breath.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror above the sink—pale, tired, but no different. No weight gain. No bloating. If anything, I looked leaner, like stress had been eating me alive. No way I looked like a pregnant woman… right?

My hands shook as I tore the box open.

“Please… just be stress, or maybe the flu,” I whispered to myself, but my heart was already hammering, betraying me.

I unwrapped the test, sat down, and prayed under my breath while I waited.

My palms were clammy as I stared down at the little stick, my heartbeat thudding so loud it filled the room. I wanted to look, to know, but fear held me frozen. The knock on the door startled me.

“Ari, you okay in there?” Wendy’s voice carried concern.

“I’m fine!” I snapped too quickly, too sharply.

A pause. Then, softer, “Alright. If you need anything, just call me.”

I waited until I heard her footsteps fade and the faint sound of the door shutting. Only then did I finally let out the shaky breath I was holding.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I whispered desperate little prayers—please don’t let it be what I think… just stress, just fatigue… please, God. My hand trembled as I finally opened my eyes and glanced down.

Two bold lines. Positive.

My throat went dry.

“I’m… pregnant.” The words barely left me in a whisper.

Shit.