Henry's POV
I sat in the boardroom, my fingers tapping lightly against the polished surface of the mahogany table. The voices around me blurred into an indistinct hum, a chorus of business jargon and figures that I was supposed to be paying attention to.
But my mind was elsewhere.
It had been weeks since I last saw her, but Camila still haunted me. The curve of her hips, the scent of her skin, the way her lips curled into a teasing smile just before she kissed me every detail was burned into my memory.
I exhaled slowly, adjusting my tie, trying to focus. Yet, the moment the door opened and a secretary walked in wearing a red dress the same shade Camila once wore I felt my pulse stutter.
For a split second, it was as if she had walked into the room.
My heart clenched at the thought. The silk of that dress had once been bunched up in my fists as I lifted her onto the hotel room's bed, my lips tracing every inch of her exposed skin, my name trembling from her lips like a whispered prayer.
The way I opened her breast to the lamplight and touched the two beauties in my hands and mouth, sucking it like a hungry child that had been deprived of food for a day.
I swallowed as I thought about her gorgeous pussy that was all spread out like the way a plane's wings looked ready to be rocked by my big ass cock.
I swallowed hard. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. She was in the past—a one-night escape. A fleeting moment of madness.
But if that were true, why did it feel like that single night had rewritten something inside me?
The memory of her taste, her touch, the way her body molded against mine as if she was made to fit me was intoxicating. I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted her that night.
She had sighed my name, soft and breathless, her fingers threading through my hair as I traced my tongue down the sensitive column of her neck. I could still feel the way her body arched against mine when I pressed my lips to her skin, the way her breath hitched when I worshipped every inch of her.
Damn it.
I loosened my tie, shifting in my seat, but the heat pooling in my chest refused to dissipate. I wasn't a man easily shaken. I'd built an empire from the ground up, faced ruthless competitors, sat in boardrooms with sharks in suits.
And yet, a single night with Camila had unraveled me.
I clenched my fists beneath the table, forcing myself back to the present.
This meeting was important. My company needed me sharp. I had no business thinking about the way she had moaned my name as if it was the only word she knew.
A sharp voice cut through my haze.
"Sir?"
I blinked, suddenly aware that the room had fallen silent. Every pair of eyes was now on me—executives, managers, high-level strategists.
Shit.
I cleared my throat, schooling my expression into one of impassive authority. "Yes," I said, my voice even, betraying nothing.
One of the managers hesitated before continuing. "We were discussing the third-quarter sales figures. I was about to go into detail about the regional breakdown of the numbers."
I nodded, trying to look interested. "Please, go on."
As the staff member resumed the presentation, I forced my focus on the charts and figures displayed on the screen. But it was useless.
My thoughts drifted back.
To her.
To the way her nails had raked down my back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. To the way she had clung to me, whispering that she never wanted it to end.
Neither had I.
Her lips had been swollen from our kisses, her skin flushed beneath my touch, her body trembling with pleasure as I whispered how beautiful she was against the curve of her neck.
I had made her mine that night.
And now, she is gone.
Another sharp knock at the door jolted me back to reality. My secretary entered, striding towards me with a white envelope in her hand.
"A letter for you, sir," she said softly, placing it before me.
I frowned, glancing down at the envelope. My name was scrawled across it in unfamiliar handwriting, and there was no return address.
A sudden unease coiled in my stomach.
"Who delivered it?" I asked, my voice low.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "Someone handed it to reception and left before we could ask any questions."
I hesitated. Something about this didn't sit right.
A threatening message from a rival company? A legal issue? A blackmail attempt?
Or worse…
A letter from her.
I shook the thought away. No. Camila wouldn't—
Would she?
The logical part of my brain told me to set it aside, to focus on the meeting. But my fingers betrayed me, reaching for the envelope, my pulse quickening as I tore it open.
The moment I read the words inside, the air was stolen from my lungs.
"Dear Henry,
I demand that you relinquish your parental rights to Camila Brown's unborn child."
I froze.
My grip tightened around the letter, my vision tunneling, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Unborn child.
Camila… was pregnant?
My chest constricted, the weight of those two words slamming into me with the force of a hurricane.
The world around me blurred. The numbers on the presentation screen faded into nothing. The voices in the room became distant echoes.
Parental rights.
Someone was telling me to walk away.
From my child.
A whirlwind of emotions surged through me: shock, confusion, disbelief. But beneath it all, a fierce, undeniable claim.
She was having my baby.
My body moved on instinct. Before I realized it, I was on my feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stood. The boardroom fell silent once more, eyes widening as my executives exchanged uncertain glances.
"Sir?" one of them prompted cautiously.
But I couldn't respond.
I was already moving, my mind screaming for answers, my heart pounding with an urgency I couldn't control.
Camila.
I had to find her.