The Billionaire And His One Night Stand

Los Angeles, SebastianContent held by NôvelDrama.Org.

As I stepped out of the office, the weight of the day’s meetings and responsibilities still lingering in my thoughts, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of resignation. I was on my way to my parents’ house for a family dinner, and while the prospect of spending time with my loved ones was generally appealing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be more to this gathering than meets the eye.

I adjusted my tie with a sigh, slipping into the waiting car that would transport me to my childhood home. The driver, experienced and discreet, navigated the familiar streets with ease. The Los Angeles skyline passed by outside my window, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I missed Mia, more with each passing day, and I longed for her presence by my side.

A part of me wished she would consider relocating to LA, but I knew that such a decision would be complex and come with its own set of challenges. Mia had her own life, her career, and a world she was deeply rooted in. I couldn’t ask her to make such a sacrifice for me, and I respected her independence and aspirations. Still, the thought of a future together weighed on my mind, and I knew that one day we would need to have a serious conversation about where our child should grow up.

The car rolled to a stop as we pulled into my parents’ driveway. I could already see signs of the gathering from the number of cars parked along the curb. Patrick and his wife, Sophia, were in town, and I knew that family dinners during such occasions often served as a cover for discussions and catch-ups.

I exited the car, straightened my attire one last time, and made my way to the front door. I knocked, and it didn’t take long for the door to open, revealing the familiar and comforting surroundings of my childhood home.

My brother, Patrick, stood on the other side of the door, his face breaking into a warm smile as he welcomed me. “Sebby, good to see you,” he greeted, embracing me in a brief but heartfelt hug.

“Patty,” I greeted jokingly. I know he hated that nickname. “Have you found anything?” I whispered to him. “We’re close.” He said. “But not yet.”

As my mother approached, her warm smile lighting up her face, she extended her arms to envelop both Patrick and me in a loving embrace. “My handsome boys,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with maternal affection. We returned her hug, cherishing the familiarity and comfort of her presence.

“Come, let’s go to the kitchen,” she suggested, guiding us toward the heart of the home where so many family gatherings had taken place. We followed her willingly, drawn by the anticipation of another family dinner.

Upon entering the kitchen, I noticed a young woman sitting beside my mother, her presence unfamiliar to me. She appeared to be a few years younger than me, and I couldn’t help but wonder about her connection to our family. The prospect of guests during our family dinner was nothing out of the ordinary, but there was a sense of intrigue surrounding her presence.

My mother, with her characteristic warmth and hospitality, invited us to take our seats at the table. “Let’s have dinner, and then we’ll talk,” she suggested, her eyes twinkling with an unspoken secret. My father, his expression calm and composed, nodded in agreement. It was clear that this dinner would not be without its discussions and revelations.

The dining table was adorned with a variety of dishes, a testament to my mother’s culinary skills. There was a delectable spread of baklava, creamy mashed potatoes, succulent steaks, tender chicken tenders, and a medley of steamed broccoli and asparagus. The assortment of flavors and textures held the promise of a delightful feast.

Before we began our meal, my mother led us in a brief prayer, a moment of reflection and gratitude. The atmosphere was filled with an air of familiarity and warmth, a testament to the cherished traditions that had been passed down through generations.

As we dove into the delicious dishes, the conversation flowed naturally. My father turned to Patrick, inquiring about his work. “How’s work?” he asked, his tone conveying genuine interest.

Patrick took a moment to chew his food, savoring the flavors, before responding. “Hectic,” he admitted, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. “But I like the New York department more than the LA one.”

My mother joined the conversation. “That’s nice to hear,” she remarked, her voice filled with maternal pride. She then turned her attention to me, her gaze filled with warmth and concern. “How’s Mia? Is she doing okay with the pregnancy and all?”

I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of Mia. Her strength and resilience had never ceased to amaze me. “She’s doing amazing,” I replied, a sense of pride and admiration evident in my voice. “Mia’s handling everything with grace, and we’re both looking forward to the future.”

My mother’s words hung in the air, casting a heavy shadow over the cheerful atmosphere of the dinner table. The once-lively conversation fell into an awkward silence as her statement sent shockwaves through the room.

“Future?” she repeated, her eyes fixed on me with a peculiar expression. “He said future.”

I was taken aback by her sudden change in tone and focus. “Yes, future,” I replied, my confusion growing. I exchanged glances with my father, trying to make sense of the situation.

My mother couldn’t contain her amusement, and her laughter rippled through the room. “What’s so funny?” I asked, bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.

Her laughter continued, but there was an unsettling undertone to it. “There’s no future with you and Mia,” she clarified, her voice laced with an unusual certainty.

The room was filled with a palpable tension as her words hung in the air. Sophia and Patrick, equally perplexed, exchanged looks with each other and with me. My mother’s proclamation had thrown us all off balance.

“Mia is his wife, Mom, what are you talking about?” Patrick questioned, trying to make sense of her statement.

My mother shook her head, her gaze unfaltering. “She’s your wife for now,” she insisted. “After she gets that baby, you will divorce her, take the baby, so you and Amanda can raise it together.” She beckoned to the girl who sat next to her.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mother’s words were not only shocking but deeply hurtful. It was as if she was proposing a heartless scheme, something that went against everything I believed in.

“Mom, are you out of your mind?” I protested, my voice edged with anger. “Mia is the baby’s mother and my wife. Why would I raise my child with a stranger?”

My mother remained undeterred, her conviction unwavering. “Amanda is not a stranger,” she argued, gesturing toward the girl who was nervously fiddling with her napkin. “She’s the Pastor’s daughter, and she would raise the baby like a good Christian woman. That girl, Mia, is not good for you.”

I was stunned. The audacity of my mother’s words left me speechless. This dinner had taken a dark turn, and I couldn’t fathom the implications of what she was suggesting.

“You married us,” I hissed, my frustration mounting. “And now you want me to divorce her?!”

My mother’s response only deepened my anger and disbelief. “You two are married because she’s with child. But once that baby is born, you can leave her and take the baby with you. I bet she doesn’t even want it.”

The room seemed to close in on me as her words settled, and my heart ached with the audacity of the situation. No one would speak about Mia in such a callous manner, especially regarding our unborn child.

I couldn’t sit at the table any longer. The injustice of my mother’s words was unbearable, and I could feel my anger rising. Without a word, I pushed my chair back and stood up, tossing the napkin onto my plate.

“I’m done here,” I declared, my voice sharp with anger as I stormed out of the house.