Chapter 2 Chapter 1:
Arya:
3 years later,
The chiming of the doorbell makes me sigh in relief, grabbing my purse from the kitchen counter, I dash towards the door, flinging it open to reveal my older sister, Samantha.
“Thank goodness you are here; the babysitter cancelling at the last minute had me almost crying.” I tell her as she steps into the room.
“I have a night shift, and I can never resist spending time with my favorite niece.” My older sister, Samantha works as a chief doctor in a hospital near Manhattan.
I hate whenever I am late for work, my boss tends to get angry, the babysitter canceling was heartbreaking but then Samantha offered to babysit my two and the half year old daughter, Vera.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” I breathe in a sign of relief as she walks over to the living room with a bright smile, my daughter is sprawled on the floor, papers scattered beside her, she’s holding a crayon and doodling sketches that I can’t seem to interpret, her tongue is sticking out, her brows furrowed in concentration.
My heart melts, Vera has taken a particular interest in drawing, even if she doodles nonsense on the paper, there’s no mistaking that this is his child, she has the same dark hair he does and her light green eyes emits much warmth. When I found out I was pregnant, I was scared and lonely.
I had no idea what to do, but my family was there for me, so as my friends, I tried reaching out for the stranger from the cruise ship. I looked for him everywhere, but I didn’t find him.
Erasing the thoughts, I crouch down to my daughter’s level and ruffle her hair, “Okay, Vera, be good to Aunt Mantha, I will be back later, okay?”
She just nods her head and continues whatever she’s doing. Samantha gives me a quick hug and I race out of the penthouse, adjusting my hair. Being a fashion designer in New York can be exhausting, but with the pay, I can afford a penthouse and a modern lifestyle for my daughter and I. Besides, I love my job.
Since it’s Monday, I am wearing a white blouse and navy pants, my bag is strapped around my shoulders, and I already styled my raven hair into a high straight ponytail.
I branch into my regular coffee shop, the tiny bell above me chiming as I step into the shop, the sweet smell of coffee and steamed buns wafts through my nostrils.
“How have you been, Arya? And, how is my sweet little Vera?” The woman behind the counter smiles up at me; Mrs. Winters has been running the little coffee shop ever since I was a little girl, I remember when my parents would drop me here and I would get my hand dirty, missing dough and splattering flour all around, it was one of my favorite childhood memories.
“We have been good.” I smile, as my eyes drop to the glass counter that is lined with different pastries, my mouth waters and I make a mental note to get some for Vera when I am back in the evenings.
“Shall I get you the usual?” She asks with a bright smile.
I nod my head as she disappears into the door at the back, she comes back minutes later holding a paper coffee cup and a chocolate glazed donut. I thank her before leaving the shop.
I take a glance at my wristwatch, fuck. I am five minutes late, taking a gulp out of the pumpkin spice latte, I walk hurriedly along the street, clutching my bag tightly.
I turn my head and see a black sedan glide past me, the tires screeching as it comes to a smooth stop, the driver’s side window rolls out and a face peeks out. I stop suddenly.
“Are you Miss. Arya Morris?” The man clutching the steering wheel asks, his voice effortlessly smooth.
Why in the hell is a stranger talking to me and how does he know my name? I should turn and walk away, besides. I am late for work.
But, instead, I gulp and say. “Yes, is anything the matter?”
“Please step in, ma’am.” He says.
“What?” I recoil back in surprise, there’s no way in hell I am stepping into a stranger’s car and driving off, I am not getting kidnapped. “Thank you, but no.” I start to walk away but his voice emits behind me.
“I can assure you that I am not a threat, I am only following an order, if there’s any place you are safe. It’s in this car.”
An order? From who? Technically, I know some skills about self-defense, but I can’t take this man down. I bring out my phone from my pocket, if this man tries shit with me, I am calling 911.
I open the door before getting in the front passenger seat; the man gives me a polite smile, before igniting the engine and driving off.
“Can you please tell me where you are taking me?”
“I am sorry, Miss. But, I signed an NDA contract.” He says, without even looking at me.
I try to play out the scenarios in my head, what if he is just a serial killer pretending to be a driver? Or worse, what if he’s a vampire taking me somewhere he will suck my blood? Cold tingles run down my spine, I take another gulp of the latte, sighing in protest.
I stare out the window, still wondering where this man is taking me to, finally. The car stops and I stare up ahead.
The building is at least twenty storeys high, with its sleek, reflective glass facade, on the top of the building is scripted in silver shimmering letters, ‘Brookes Technology'
Why does the name sound familiar? The driver opens the door out for me and I continue gaping at the building. As we approach the building, the automatic sliding door glides open revealing the spacious lobby, the floor is a stunning mix of polish and marble, the receptionist center is at the right. This is the first time I am stepping into this company. For a moment, I try to believe that all this has to do with my work.
In my fashion brand, our boss is picking some people who will help find collaboration with a wealthy family, maybe this is it? But, judging from my boss' personality, I doubt she will send me here.
“Miss. Morris, there you are!” A voice calls out ahead of me and a woman wearing a sleek blouse and a fitted pencil skirt walks our way, she turns towards the driver. “You can go now; I will take care of it from here.”
“Welcome, Miss. Morris.” A smile crosses her light features when she looks at me, “I am Daphne, Mr. Brookes’ secretary.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
“I can assure you are safe here, please follow me.” Without a glance, she turns and walks along the lobby, her pumps click on the marble floor and I try keeping up to her pace.
We enter the elevator, and she punches in a number. Sweat forms around my forehead as I wipe it away with the back of my palm, I take a glance at Daphne, watching as she adjusts her glasses.
“Does this have anything to do with work?” I ask, hopefully praying for her to confirm this. “Am I in some sort of trouble?”
“No, ma’am.” She smiles, it feels strange being called ‘ma’am.’ I am barely twenty nine, yet the way she addresses me makes me feel old. “Mr. Devon Brookes is honored to have you.”
Mr. Devon Brookes...the name sound so familiar it punches deep in my gut, some sort of recognition flashes in my memory, a name.
Devon, I say the name quietly, afraid that the memory will strike me yet again. The man in the cruise ship, he told me his name was Devon, I could never forget, that couldn’t be right, Mr. Devon Brookes is a billionaire CEO, one of the youngest CEOs in their thirties.
My knees start to buckle as I face Daphne.
“Do you mean Devon Brookes as in-” The elevator makes a noise as it stops and Daphne steps out, I trail numbly behind her, my mind racing with different thoughts.
He can’t be Devon Brookes? Right? The man that owns this company is a freaking billionaire.
She stops in front of a wooden door, “This is Mr. Brookes’ office, he’s right inside.” She bows, and before I can open my mouth to ask her questions, she turns and walks away.
My hand wobbles around the knob as my breathing hitches, I am about to see a billionaire who may or may not be my daughter’s father. I know what the news says about him; he’s strict, never laughs and has never been caught in a scandal before.
I twist the knob and step inside, my heart thundering as I marvel at the size of his office, it’s large compared to my little shitty office downtown, a large ebony wood desk and a chair is placed at the center, a desktop on the table, behind the desk is rows of bookshelf and another glass shelf that displays awards and different certificate.
On another side of the room is a plush sofa and a chair circled around a glass coffee table. Seated on the chair is him. There’s no doubt that it’s Devon Brookes, the man I slept with three years ago on a cruise ship.
He’s right there, and he’s a billionaire.