Chapter 2: Love at First Sight

The stranger’s eyes were a piercing shade of dark blue, deep and intense against his striking features. His gaze locked onto mine, powerful and unyielding, and in that moment, I felt an undeniable pull toward him. He looked every bit as intriguing as he was handsome, standing tall in a perfectly tailored black suit.

Just as I took a step closer, someone seized my arm and tugged me away. “Come on,” Lara urged, excitement flickering in her eyes. “You need to meet Armand.”

Reluctantly, I turned to follow, casting one last glance over my shoulder—only to find the stranger had disappeared. “Wait.” I scanned the room, but he was gone.

“Who are you looking for?” Lara asked, frowning.

I chuckled softly. “I think I just met the future father of my child.”

Lara rolled her eyes and smirked. “You’re hopeless romantic. Now, let’s get through this so you can start working tonight.” We navigated through the dancing crowd, dodging swaying bodies, until we reached a back room filled with men playing cards. Every head turned; eyes fixated on us, as if we’d interrupted a sacred ritual.

“Oh, sorry!” Lara’s voice broke the silence as she quickly shut the door. “Wrong room. We’re looking for Armand.” We both stifled laughter, retreating quickly.

Finally, we found Armand in the restroom, and after a quick introduction, my trial shift began.

As the night wore on, the club's energy surged, and working as a waitress became a relentless task. The music pounded, and the air grew thick with laughter and booze. Men stumbled through the crowd, some with roaming hands and half-hearted winks. One particularly drunk customer decided to test his luck; after I handed him his beer, he patted my hip. My hand whipped across his face before he even had a chance to smile.

“What the hell?” He slurred, indignant. “Ever hear that the quote that the customer is always right?”

“Not with me,” I replied, my voice steady as I turned to walk away—only for him to seize my arm and yank me close. Just as my free hand tightened, ready to strike again, a stronger grip tore him away.

I looked up to find the stranger from earlier, his gaze now dark and intense. “Touch her again, and you’ll regret it,” he said, voice low and cutting. He placed a protective arm around my waist and guided me out of the club without another word, his silence offering a sense of calm I hadn’t realized I needed.

As we stepped outside, the night air was a sharp contrast to the hazy warmth of the club. The storm had past. My heart was still racing, the entire encounter playing over in my mind. “Thank you. I don’t even know what just happened,” I managed, feeling a strange mix of relief and disbelief.

He looked down at me, his expression softening. “You don’t need to be in there another minute. It’s not safe for you.”

I hesitated, feeling unexpectedly vulnerable. "I don’t really have a home right now,” I admitted, surprised by my own honesty.

A flicker of concern crossed his face, his brows knitting together. “Then let’s find somewhere for you, a private room, someplace safe.” He paused, searching my expression. “Anywhere you’ll feel comfortable? ”

I nodded, a plan forming. “Actually, I have an idea.”

We crossed the street and stopped in front of a modest, slightly worn motel. He led me to a chair in the lobby while he spoke to the receptionist, who gave him a lingering, flirtatious smile. A strange pang of jealousy tugged at me, though I shook it off, muttering to myself, “Get a grip.”

After a few moments, he returned with a key, holding it out to me. “Room 54,” he said, guiding me in and holding the door open as I stepped inside. He followed quietly, closing the door with a soft click. My gaze lingered on the single bed in the center of the room, and before I could stop myself, a vivid image surfaced—me lying there, sheets tangled, while he stood at the foot of the bed, his shirt casually undone.

“Are you alright? ”His voice cut through my thoughts, bringing me back to reality.

“Of course.” I forced a smile, hoping it looked natural, though I could feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. The embarrassment only seemed to deepen as his gaze lingered, concerned but unreadable.

He nodded, his expression neutral. “You can take the bed. I’ll take the couch.” His tone was calm, practical, as he walked over to the window, peering cautiously through the thin curtains. It struck me that he was on high alert; perhaps watching to ensure the man from the club hadn’t followed us.

I felt strangely protected with the man by my side, yet his alertness made me question. Why was he so intent on protecting me? The way he moved and the care in his gaze made him feel like more than just a kind stranger. It was almost as if he was guarding someone important.

But why me?

I sat on the bed, and the excitement began to ignite my inner being. I was the last virgin in our group, and Lara had her first experience at sixteen.

Lara told me everything about her first time in a man's arms. She lamented that he had given her all to the school's attractive older janitor. She told me to take my time.

I need to choose the ideal individual for my first experience in bed.

And as I looked at the stranger on the couch, my excitement level rose again. There were more "what?"

I had a lot of what-ifs running through my head, but I opted to share my first experience with a complete stranger.

The stranger sat silently on the couch, glancing now and then at the curtains, still on high alert. His vigilance made me feel slightly awkward, yet oddly comforted.

I finally broke the silence. “Why did you help me back there?” I crossed my legs.

He looked over, his expression calm. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. You can rest if you’re tired. I’ll make sure you get home tomorrow.”

I hesitated and then admitted, “I don’t have a home to go back to. I was evicted.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled. “Evicted? What happened?”

Part of me wanted to hold back the truth, uncertain if he would understand. But he was just a stranger who’d protected me without knowing a thing about me, and that made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t felt with anyone else—not even my father.

“I told my father I was pregnant,” I said with a small, wry smile. “That was enough for him to throw me out.”

He leaned forward, his gaze softening with concern. "And... is it true? Who’s the father?”

I took a breath, deciding to open up. “Actually, it was a lie,” I confessed. “I told him I was pregnant because... I thought it might make him care. But instead, he pushed me away.”

And with that, I found myself telling him everything that had unfolded in the hours before we’d met, words spilling out into the quiet night.

I found myself opening up about everything—how my father had tried to force me into marrying someone I barely knew, let alone liked. “I thought if I claimed to be pregnant, he’d finally reconsider,” I said, shaking my head. “But instead, he threw me out. I’m betting Justin’s out there looking for me now.”

The stranger’s gaze held mine, unwavering. “So what’s your plan? If they find you and force you into the marriage, what will you do? ”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to sound confident. “I’ll stick to my story. If I claim I’m pregnant, I’ll need a father for this imaginary child.”

He paused, his expression unreadable before he replied, “Then take me.”

I blink, my pulse quickening. “What?”

“Tell your father I’m the father of your child,” he said evenly, his gaze steady and his tone serious.

His offer left me speechless. I barely knew him—didn’t even know his name—yet he was willing to carry this lie for me. Something in his calm presence made me feel, maybe for the first time, like I wasn’t entirely alone in this.

“Who are you?” I asked, studying him closely.