Today is my ovulation cycle.
My name is Katy Stone. I am 25 years old and single, working as an actuary at Blackwood Industries in Silvercross. What no one knows is that tonight I'm on a mission.
I caught sight of him at Moonlight Bar—tall, powerful, radiating an almost primal energy that drew me in despite myself. I want a child, need a child, because my doctor's words still echo in my mind: "Your uterine lining is unusually thin, Ms. Stone. If you want children, you might only have one chance." And I'm not planning on getting married in this lifetime. Not after what I've seen.
"Luna, don't go..."
The stranger's voice was deep and husky as he kissed the small birthmark between my eyebrows, murmuring a name that wasn't mine. His scent surrounded me—woodsy, wild, intoxicating in a way I couldn't explain.
Luna? Who is she? His former lover, perhaps? Ex-girlfriend? Ex-wife?
It didn't matter. All I wanted was his seed, his genetic material to create the perfect baby. Something deep within me had recognized something in him—a strength, a vitality I wanted for my child.
So I felt no guilt as I played along, whispering back, "I'm here. I'm right here..."
I hadn't expected the pain of my first time, but there was something else too—a strange, almost supernatural connection that made my skin tingle wherever he touched me. His skill was exceptional, and with each passing moment, I felt myself surrendering to something I couldn't name. The satisfaction that eventually washed over me was overwhelming.
It was so intense, so all-consuming that I thought I might shatter into a thousand pieces right there in his arms.
When I woke the next morning, he was still asleep. I swallowed back the soreness between my thighs and silently dressed, ready to disappear from his life forever.
At the door, I couldn't help but look back.
He slept soundly, morning light streaming across his powerful form. The quilt wrapped around his waist revealed a chest that seemed sculpted from marble—broad shoulders, defined muscles, and what looked like a strange tribal tattoo over his heart. In the daylight, I could see how truly handsome he was: strong jaw, sensual lips, dark hair that fell across his forehead.
Looking at this magnificent man, I made a silent promise that I would cherish whatever came from our night together. I would raise our child with everything they'd need—intelligence, strength, compassion—all the things this stranger seemed to possess naturally.
In a surprisingly good mood, I met my best friend Rebecca Van at our favorite coffee shop later that morning.
"Rebecca, congratulate me," I announced, sliding into the booth with a wince that betrayed my activities. "Last night was a success. If everything goes according to plan, I'll be a mother in nine months!"
Taking a large cup of coffee, I recounted the night's events with pride, leaving out the inexplicable connection I'd felt—something I couldn't explain and didn't want to analyze.
Rebecca stared at me like I'd grown another head. "Are you freaking serious, Katy? You actually went through with sleeping with a complete stranger?" Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?"
With a touch of defiance, I pulled my collar aside to reveal the rather impressive mark he'd left on my neck. It was darker than I expected, almost like a brand rather than a typical hickey.
Rebecca nearly choked on her latte. "Jesus Christ! What is that? That's not normal, Katy!"
Her reaction seemed excessive, but she quickly recovered and bombarded me with questions. "Who is this guy? Did you even do a basic background check? Is he married? What about health issues—STDs, genetic disorders, family history of illness?"
I had no answers, and my silence spoke volumes.
Rebecca rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Unbelievable."
"Look," I defended myself, "I've been observing him for months. On the 15th of every month, he goes to Moonlight Bar alone. He never flirts, never leaves with anyone. He seemed... healthy." Even to my own ears, this sounded weak.
"Healthy," Rebecca repeated flatly. "Because you can totally determine someone's entire medical history and genetic makeup by watching them drink scotch once a month."
After arguing fruitlessly for several minutes, neither of us willing to concede, we shifted to discussing the latest office gossip.
"The client data breach was worse than they're letting on," Rebecca said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I heard the board has already decided to cut Zhang loose."
Rebecca always had the inside scoop.
"Who's taking over?" I asked, grateful for the change of subject.
"Some hotshot from one of the top 500 companies. Only 30 years old, apparently. Word is he's ruthless in business but devastatingly handsome." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Bosses come and go, but we peons remain largely unaffected."
Rebecca and I both work for Blackwood Industries—I crunch the numbers in actuarial while she handles customer service.
As we chatted, my phone rang. My mother's name flashed across the screen.
"Katy, honey, do you have a minute? There's something I'd like to discuss."
My mother's timid tone immediately put me on edge.
I sighed, already knowing what was coming. "Yes, Mom."
"Mrs. Kathy's nephew just moved to Silvercross. He's a doctor, very established, and she thinks you two would hit it off. When might you be free to meet him?"
Another blind date. My mother, perpetually unemployed but somehow with an endless network of eligible bachelors at her disposal.
"I'm free this weekend," I conceded, not having the heart to upset her. My mother's tears were weapons I had no defense against.
"Really?" Her surprise was palpable and somewhat hurtful.
She's been divorced from my father for over a decade. He married his mistress and started a new family—picture perfect with two children and a suburban home.
During my childhood, I witnessed my mother being struck by my father, watched her kneeling and begging him to end his affair. The sounds of their fights still echo in my nightmares sometimes.
Arguments, screams, violence, betrayal... This is what marriage means to me. This is why, despite the inexplicable pull I felt toward last night's stranger, I'll never trust in love or marriage.
But a child of my own? That's something worth fighting for—even if I have to do it alone.
