Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 15: Daddy?

>Mallory

"Mara, where are you? We’re at baggage claim already," I said on the other side of the phone, hoisting Asher higher when he tightened his arms around my neck.

"I’m outside, right in front," Mara replied. I could hear honking behind her. "I’m wearing sunglasses. Hurry before airport cops circle me."

"I’m trying. He won’t walk."

"Try flying..."

"Mara—"

"Oh—I’m so getting a ticket," she muttered, then hung up.

I sighed and kissed the top of Asher’s head. "Okay. Almost done. Then we go see Aunty Daddy, alright?"

He didn’t answer, just pressed his face deeper into my shoulder.

We pushed through the crowd toward the exit. The rolling suitcase bumped unevenly over the tile, people brushed past us in impatient currents, and an announcement echoed overhead—

Then—

Asher’s whole body went rigid.

Before I even understood, he shoved off my shoulder—hard—and dropped to the floor.

"Asher—!"

He bolted forward, full sprint. I gathered my things clumsily and rushed after him, my heart jerking into panic.

Straight ahead, he ran directly into a tall man standing by a flight-information screen. The man barely had a second to react before Asher collided with him and latched onto his leg like he’d found something.

The stranger froze, staring down at the little boy, his eyes filled with sheer surprise and confusion.

I ran—breath sharp, chest burning—some of my things spilling across the polished airport floor until I just gave up on them and kept running.

"Asher! Oh my God—" I reached them and tried to peel him off gently. "Sweetheart, no—don’t run away like that—"

Then a sound came out of him. A small, trembling sound I hadn’t heard in years.

"...Da...ddy."

The world stopped.

My arms stopped.

My voice stopped.

The stranger’s eyes lifted to mine—dark, startled, utterly unsure what to do. We stared at each other for several seconds before a wave of shame crashed over me. His brow furrowed.

"I’m so, so sorry," I blurted, almost bowing. Then a few men in suits rushed up to him, forming a quick shield. His gaze never left mine.

"Young Master, we must hurry! Fans are gathering at the entrance and are running toward here!"

I used their distraction to pry Asher free and lift him back into my arms. He clung to me immediately, his breath trembling, eyes wide and confused.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, stepping back and scrambling toward my things scattered on the floor.

"Wait—" he sounded like he was about to say something, his eyes darting between the entrance and me.

Then the man gave one last glance—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes—before he turned away. A sudden wave of people swarmed around him, his confusion folded into sharp annoyance.

I didn’t linger. With that number of people chasing him, he looked like trouble.

"Let’s go," I murmured, holding my son tight as we moved toward the exit, my heart still rattling from what just happened.

And from hearing my son’s first word.

---

Outside, the warm air felt softer compared to the chaos inside. I carried Asher to a bench near the pickup area and sat down, my bags thudding beside us.

He curled into my side again, gripping my shirt like it was the only steady thing left.

I exhaled slowly, holding his small shoulder as i kneel before him. "Sweetheart... you scared Mommy back there."

He didn’t look at me. Instead, he pulled away just long enough to rummage inside his backpack. Then he tugged out a small, bent magazine—God knows where he even found it—and flipped to a page he’d folded.

A model with a strong jawline stared back. One who looked exactly like the man from earlier. My brows drew together. Asher’s eyes were determined, like he was begging me to connect the dots faster than I was capable of.

Asher tapped the magazine picture.

Then tapped under his own left eye.

Then tapped toward where the man’s left eye had been.

Then tapped in the direction of the terminal—toward the stranger he’d hugged.

Then back to the magazine.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He looked at me—my sweet boy—eyes earnest, almost pleading. My brain picked up speed, gears grinding.

Then he let out a tiny, exhausted sigh, as if deeply disappointed by my incompetence, and pulled out another picture from his bag. Mara’s.

He tapped the magazine, then tapped Mara’s picture, then tapped his own little mole.

"Oh..." I whispered, everything clicking heavily into place.

"You thought he looked like..." I squinted at the magazine. "...Aunty Daddy?"

He tapped again—harder, almost offended.

I exhaled, smoothing his hair. "If I squint really hard... I guess he does look a little like her."

His shoulders relaxed. After learning he had mild facial blindness, I’d realized he relied on context clues—tiny markers, patterns, features—to tell people apart. Maybe he’d thought it was Mara because they shared the same mole.

The same mole Mara bragged about relentlessly while telling my son she was his dad because of it. I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous and painfully sweet.

"But sweetheart... you can’t run off like that," I said softly. "Even if someone looks familiar, they’re not Aunty Daddy. And it’s dangerous, okay?"

He ducked his head but leaned into me again. It was his quiet way of apologizing.

I kissed the top of his hair. "I know you didn’t mean to. You just got overwhelmed. But stay with Mommy next time."

He nodded against my shoulder.

We stayed like that until his breathing evened out.

Then my phone buzzed.

"Mara," the screen read.

I stood, lifted Asher again, and headed toward the pickup zone.

---

Mara leaned against her Volkswagen with her sunglasses shoved up onto her head. The moment she spotted us, she lit up.

"Sweetheart! My baby!" she called, scooping Asher’s cheeks between her fingers, pulling out a tiny giggle.

I opened the back door, buckled him in, and as we both went inside.

"Why do you look like you’ve been to war?" Mara teased, adjusting her seatbelt.

"I think I did."

"Is the travel that bad? I told you should’ve booked first class-"

"He ran. Toward a stranger. Hugged him. Called him daddy."

Mara’s jaw dropped. "Called him what?"

I raised a finger. "Do not laugh."

She failed instantly, turning away as her shoulders shook with suppressed snorts.

"Mara," I warned.

"I’m sorry," she wheezed. "I mean—I’m disappointed because I’m not enough, but that poor child—you better find him a daddy soon."

"MARA!"

"Okay, okay," she breathed, wiping her eyes. "Serious face. Done."

I rubbed my temples, exhaustion finally settling deep into my bones.

"Daddy... daddy... daddy..." We both turned toward Asher, who was quietly rocking himself, whispering the word over and over.

"Let him..." I said before she could comment.

"Let’s talk about the job," I added as she started the engine.

"Alright. Straight to business, I guess."

She pulled out of the airport lanes.

"My cousin—you don’t have to get to know him—is being forced into an engagement," she said. "Grandfather’s idea. You know the stories I told you. That old man won’t take ’no’ unless it’s screamed into his hearing aid."

"And the fiancée?"

"Persistent. Her family clings to him like unpaid debt collectors. He’s pushed off the engagement as long as he can... he can’t do it anymore."

"So what does he want?"

"For the wedding not to happen."

"What should I do?"

"Any method," Mara said with a shrug. "His words. ’Anything effective and convincing, as long as it’s effective enough to stop the engagement.’ And after you succeed... you get the money. He doesn’t really care about his reputation, so do whatever you want with that."

One million dollars.

After.

Not before.

Enough to give Asher stability.

We drove in silence until familiar iron gates rose into view.

The Bryce Mansion. I’d never been here before, but Mara had driven me past it countless times.

The gates opened automatically. Mara parked her car near the front steps and tossed the key to one of her attendants.

I stepped out, staring up at the massive building, my heartbeat steady but weighted.

"I’m finally back in this country," I whispered.

This time—

I’ll stop running away. For my son.