Chapter 2 One Night, One Mistake

I wake up with the sun already creeping through the thick curtains, casting long slashes of light across the room. The sheets are tangled around my legs, a weight I can't seem to shake. I blink rapidly, disoriented, my head pounding as I try to make sense of my surroundings. The room is too clean, too sleek. The kind of space that looks more like a model apartment than a home. Cold. Impersonal.

Where am I?

Then the memories come rushing back, fragments of last night-too much heat, too much desire, too much of Declan Moore. I can feel his presence in the room before I even see him, and the warmth from his body lingers on my skin like a burn. I run my hands over my face, willing the fog in my head to clear, but it's no use. The pounding in my temples only gets worse.

Declan.

His name feels like an electric shock to my system, a jolt that sends my heart into overdrive. I sit up, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness overwhelms me. I hold my head in my hands, trying to steady my breath. This is a mistake. A massive mistake.

His scent is everywhere-the cologne he wore, the faint traces of his skin still on my sheets, and I can't seem to get away from it. My body betrays me with each breath I take, remembering every moment of the night before.

I want to hate myself for this. I want to scream at myself for letting things go so far, for letting him in. But the truth is, last night felt good. Too good. There's no denying that.

I glance around the room, taking in the opulence. The polished floors, the designer furniture, the sprawling city view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. This is his world, not mine. And it's a world I don't belong in.

I have to get out of here.

I scramble to find my clothes, tossed haphazardly on the floor. My shirt is wrinkled, my pants are half undone, and I feel a wave of shame as I tug them on. I can't even remember how I got into bed. I must've been out of my mind.

I'm pulling my shirt over my head when I hear movement from the kitchen.

Declan.

I freeze, heart skipping a beat as the realization sinks in. He's here.

The door to the kitchen opens, and there he is, standing in the doorway, looking impossibly relaxed for someone who just spent the night with a stranger. His dark hair is tousled, eyes heavy with sleep, but there's something warm about him. Something that makes my chest tighten in ways I don't want to acknowledge.

"Morning," he says, his voice hoarse, like he's still half-dreaming.

I blink at him, unsure what to say. He's acting so casual about it, like nothing happened between us at all. I hate how it makes me feel, like I'm the one who's screwed things up. I'm not even sure what I expected from him, but this? This wasn't it.

"Uh, morning," I mumble, my voice feeling small and unsure.

He notices my unease immediately, his gaze sharpening. "You alright?"

I swallow hard, trying to steady my nerves. "Yeah, just... tired."

He watches me for a moment, but there's no judgment in his eyes. "You hungry? I can make something. No pressure. Just offering."

I nod, feeling the weight of his gaze settle on me, making me uncomfortable in a way that's hard to explain. He's too kind. Too damn polite, like he's some kind of gentleman who doesn't belong in my life.

I should leave. I should get out before things get any more complicated. But there's this pull, this strange comfort in his presence, that's hard to ignore.

"No, I think I should go," I say, my voice firmer this time, though it still cracks.

Declan raises an eyebrow, stepping closer, but he doesn't crowd me. He's giving me space, like he understands my need to leave. "Alright," he says quietly. "No expectations."

I look away, unable to meet his gaze for too long. "Thanks," I mutter, grabbing my bag off the couch.

I make my way toward the door, trying not to think too hard about the mess I'm leaving behind. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what any of this means.

Just as I'm about to step out, Declan's voice stops me.

"If you change your mind," he calls, "I'm not going anywhere."

I don't turn around. I just nod stiffly and leave.

---

Two weeks later

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection like I don't recognize the person staring back at me. My skin is pale, my eyes hollowed out from the lack of sleep, and the nausea that's been gnawing at me for days now isn't going away.

I clutch the pregnancy test in my hand, fingers trembling. I've taken a few already, all of them negative, but something in my gut tells me this one will be different. This time, I'm not as hopeful as I was the first time. This time, I know something's wrong.

I exhale slowly and glance at the test, heart pounding in my chest. The lines appear almost immediately-two pink lines.

Positive.

The world tilts beneath my feet. I stumble back, my breath catching in my throat. I press the back of my hand to my mouth to stop myself from crying out.

I stare at the test, the numbers and lines blurry.

What the hell am I going to do now?

The room feels smaller, like it's closing in on me. The walls are too tight, the air too thick. I hold the test in front of me, as if it's the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

It's positive. I'm pregnant.

But there's more than one possible father.

I sink to the floor, clutching the test against my chest like it's the only thing keeping me from falling apart. The thought that it could be Jordan's-my soon-to-be ex-husband-makes my stomach turn. But then, there's Declan. His face flashes in my mind. The way he touched me. The way he made me feel things I hadn't felt in so long.

I let out a shaky breath. "It can't be..." I whisper to myself, the words tasting like betrayal.

But it is. And now I have no idea what the hell to do.