The Billionaire And His One Night Stand

New York, Sebastian

As I watched Mia step out of the elevator, I couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang in my chest. Her trembling, the fear in her voice, and the vulnerability she had shown revealed a painful truth about her past. Beautiful Mia hadn’t experienced a happy childhood, and the realization struck me deeply. It wasn’t Gavin Campbell who had hurt her, but her own father. How could any parent treat their child in such a cruel manner?

The elevator doors opened, and Mia silently walked ahead as I held the door to my penthouse open for her. I attempted to lighten the mood, saying, “Welcome to my cozy home.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

She glanced around and commented, “It’s so… empty. Are you afraid of furniture?”

“It’s called simplicity.” I chuckled.

Mia sat on the plush white sofa in the living room, feeling its softness. “It’s so soft,” she remarked.

“Only the best of the best,” I replied, emphasizing the quality of the furnishings.

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Waw.”

“Why don’t you freshen up, and I will make us something to eat?” I say.

“You can cook?”

I nodded in agreement, acknowledging that I was quite capable in the kitchen. “Of course, do you think I would starve myself?” I quipped, humor lacing my words.

Mia laughed at my response. “You’re rich enough to have someone cook for you.”

I raised my eyebrows playfully, challenging her. “And risk their questionable culinary skills? No, thank you.”

Her laughter was a pleasant sound to my ears. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, diverting the conversation.

I pointed toward a hallway. “Right down there, second door on the left.”

She nodded and headed in that direction, her steps echoing through the empty penthouse.

I headed to my closet to retrieve a pair of boxers and an oversized shirt for Mia. I knocked gently on the bathroom door and said, “I’ll leave the clothes here,” as I laid them out on the floor, careful not to invade her privacy.

My next destination was the well-appointed kitchen, where I planned to prepare dinner. The minimalist design and sleek, modern appliances contributed to the ambiance of sophistication that permeated my penthouse. This was a space where I took solace in the art of cooking, even amidst the chaos of unexpected events.

I opened the fridge and pulled out the essential ingredients for pasta carbonara: eggs, Pecorino Romano cheese, pancetta, garlic, black pepper, and fresh parsley for garnish. Each component, I knew, would play a pivotal role in crafting this classic Italian dish.

With the eggs, cheese, and other ingredients neatly arranged on the countertop, I made my way to the kitchen table. I began the meticulous process of preparing the meal, a symphony of flavors that would, for a time, distract us from the whirlwind that had engulfed our lives.

As I diligently worked, the apartment gradually filled with the tantalizing aroma of sauteed garlic and the rich, smoky scent of pancetta crisping to perfection. The sound of bubbling water in the pot was music to my ears as I boiled pasta to al dente perfection.

My focus remained on the task at hand, but my mind couldn’t help but drift back to Mia. How had she managed to navigate the challenges life had thrown her way? We were two strangers, thrust into an extraordinary situation, yet in our shared vulnerability, there was a burgeoning connection.

The dish neared completion, and the fragrance of garlic and pancetta was joined by the tantalizing scent of creamy sauce. The moment was almost perfect, an oasis of normalcy amidst the chaos.

Just as I placed the final touches on the pasta carbonara, I heard the soft footsteps of Mia entering the kitchen. She looked adorable in the oversized shirt and boxers I’d provided. “It smells so good,” she remarked, her smile brightening the room.

I served a generous portion of pasta carbonara onto her plate, watching as she took her first bite with evident relish. Her enjoyment was gratifying; it was a simple but heartfelt gesture to make her feel at ease.

“You’re so good at cooking,” she complimented between bites, her voice filled with appreciation, “my child will be well fed.”

“Our…” I corrected her gently, meeting her gaze with a warm smile, “our child.”

Mia met my gaze, her eyes softening as she acknowledged the unity that had been thrust upon us by this unexpected twist of fate. “Yeah, yeah,” she replied, her words infused with warmth and understanding.

As we continued to share the meal, conversation flowed naturally between us, with laughter and moments of quiet reflection. It was a surreal situation, two individuals from different worlds brought together by circumstances neither could have anticipated.

However, just as we began to find a semblance of comfort in each other’s presence, my phone buzzed, shattering the tranquil atmosphere.

The sender’s name on the screen sent a shiver down my spine it was my father. I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to open it or leave it unread. Curiosity, however, got the better of me, and with a deep breath, I tapped the message to reveal its contents.

The words that appeared on my screen felt like a punch to the gut, and my heart dropped as I read them: “That woman is the devil’s reincarnation.”

He saw the failed marriage proposal.

I glanced up from my phone, a mixture of anger, frustration, and resignation swirling within me. My father’s disapproval and disdain for Mia had reached a new low. It was clear that he saw her as the embodiment of evil, an unrelenting force against which he needed to protect his family’s reputation.

Mia, blissfully unaware of the message’s content, continued to enjoy her meal. But I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease. My father’s reaction was only the tip of the iceberg. I knew that his displeasure was only beginning.

I locked my phone and set it aside, forcing a smile to mask my inner turmoil. I couldn’t let Mia see the message, not now. She didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my family’s judgment and prejudice. Instead, I needed to find a way to shield her from the storm that was brewing.

“So, Mia,” I began, changing the topic to something lighter, “what do you think about dessert? I have a rather impressive collection of gelato flavors.”

She glanced at me, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Dessert sounds wonderful. Surprise me!”

I offered her a reassuring smile, grateful for her willingness to navigate this unfamiliar territory with me. Little did she know that the challenges ahead would test us in ways we couldn’t yet imagine.

As I led Mia towards the dessert collection, I couldn’t help but wonder how we would face the storm that was gathering on the horizon. My father’s message was just the beginning, a warning sign of the obstacles and judgments we would encounter on this unexpected journey together.