I once had a stupid, short-lived fling with Grayson Sterling.
We were both overseas at the time, and I thought he was just another broke-ass exchange student.
He was hot as hell, lean and tall, and my brain short-circuited the second I saw him. So I chased him.
No shame, no filter—we were wild for six months.
Then I found out who he really was. A goddamn Sterling.
Old money, New York elite. And, of course, the media’s favorite bachelor with a “never-get-married” policy.
So I hid my pregnancy and told him we were done.
He stared at me with those ice-cold eyes, quiet for a moment, then gave a tiny nod.
“Fine. From now on, we’re strangers.”
But life doesn’t play fair.
Four years later, we crossed paths again.
He was now that Grayson Sterling—Wall Street’s golden boy and heir to the Sterling empire.
And me? I was newly engaged… to his cousin.
I first met Grayson back when I was studying in Melbourne.
He and his friends were on some road trip down the Great Ocean Road. I was bored out of my mind, just lounging on the beach in my swimsuit when he walked by.
Holy hell, the man looked like a sin.
Sharp jaw, dark lashes, calm as hell. His shirt flapped in the sea breeze, barely covering that god-tier waistline.
I stared. Like, openly.
It hit me hard—like, that’s-it-I’m-done kind of crush.
My feet moved before my brain did. I ran up to him, straight-up bold:
“Wanna be friends?”
He turned, raised an eyebrow, completely caught off guard.
“What for?” he asked, all cold and aloof.
But I was thousands of miles from home, and when you’re that far from people who know you, you do crazy shit.
I smirked. “Maybe we could date?”
His friends started hooting. He coughed awkwardly, but when I pulled up my phone, he hesitated—then scanned the QR code.
“Let’s start with names,” he said.
Grayson Sterling was not easy to chase.
After he added me on social, the guy ghosted me like I never existed.
Even when I texted him, he left me on read.
That’s when it hit me—he didn’t give a damn.
He only added me back on the beach to save me from looking pathetic in front of his buddies.
So I backed off. I didn’t text again. I let it go.
The next time I saw him was at some university mixer.
He was leaning against the wall, white dress shirt crisp and spotless, looking like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. Cold. Perfect. Untouchable.
I noticed him right away but didn’t go over—hell, we weren’t even friends.
I stayed with an upperclassman the whole time, sipping wine and pretending to laugh at his dumb jokes.
But I kept feeling it—a stare. Like someone was burning holes through my back.
Then that senior accidentally spilled wine on my dress. He started fumbling with napkins, panicking. That’s when I found the source of the stare.
Grayson.
Watching me. Tight-lipped. Pissed.
When I stepped out to clean up, a hand yanked me into the hallway.
He shoved me up against the wall. His voice low, eyes locked on mine.
“You said you wanted to date me,” he growled. “Why the hell are you acting like we’re strangers now?”
Dude was clearly pissed. And yet somehow, still sexy as fuck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he talked, and my stomach flipped.
I tilted my head. “Grayson… are you jealous?”
He blinked. Bit his lip. Said nothing.
I laughed. “Takes more than good looks to earn that right, you know. You got no claim on me.”
His jaw clenched. His grip on my wrist tightened.
I leaned in, just enough to brush our noses, dropped my voice.
“Fine. One more shot. You wanna be my boyfriend, Grayson Sterling?”
“I’ll give you three seconds.”
“Three… two—”
Didn’t even make it to one.
He lunged forward. I met him halfway.
I meant to kiss him. Just kiss. But someone—I don’t even know who—lost control first.
He pinned me to the wall. One hand behind my head, mouth crashing into mine. It was messy, desperate, deep.
Like we were both starving.
Somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, I heard him whisper—
“Savannah… Let’s do this.”
I think my feelings for Grayson Sterling were more primal than emotional.
Every time I looked at him, I just wanted to get closer, touch more, take more.
But Gray wasn’t like me. The man was a control freak.
Even when we traveled, he always booked us separate rooms.
If it weren’t for the way his body reacted every time we kissed, I might’ve thought he couldn’t even get it up.
The first time we crossed that line was on his birthday.
I’d booked this ocean-view suite just for the two of us. We were curled up watching some dumb rom-com on the couch when I stripped off my oversized hoodie and revealed what was underneath—black bunny ears and a barely-there lingerie set with a fluffy little tail.
He froze. His breath hitched.
But he didn’t say no.
He just stared down, letting me guide his hand to that ridiculous bunny tail.
So I pushed my luck—grabbed his collar and started nibbling down his throat, then slowly peeled up his shirt to trace the lines of his abs.
And holy hell, he was even better than I imagined.
Hard chest, chiseled stomach, that tight V-line running down his hips like a damn arrow.
But the man had discipline. Freakish, inhuman control.
His chest was rising fast, skin hot as fire, but he wasn’t making a move.
Wearing nothing but lace and ears, I looked up at him and said, “If you’re not into it, I’ll leave.”
Then I leaned down, bit lightly on his abs, and made for the door.
I had one hand on the handle when he snapped.
In two strides, his arms were around me, his teeth sinking into my shoulder.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he growled in that rough, husky voice.
“Dressing like that, teasing the hell outta me, and then pulling this ‘I’m leaving’ crap? You’re fucking evil.”
That night, the calm, cold, collected version of Grayson finally shattered.
He wrecked me. Over and over. Until sunrise.
We were together for six months after that.
We went everywhere—Pink Lake in WA, Hyde Park in Sydney, Bruny Island in Tasmania.
And every place we stayed, we left the sheets a mess.
I thought, this is it. This is what being in love’s supposed to feel like.
But then I posted a cute photo of us on Instagram. Just a harmless couple pic.
And someone commented:
“Damn, Savannah. You really scored the second son of the Sterling family? Props.”
That one comment ruined everything.
Studying abroad made it easy to blur the lines between rich and filthy rich.
Sure, Gray wore designer watches and dressed like he had a black card, but I figured he was just well-off.
I had no clue he came from that kind of money.
Old-money, legacy-name, east-coast-elite kind of rich.
The kind of family that gets written about in Forbes and controls more than just wealth—power, connections, the works.
And of course, Gray had a reputation.
The guy was famous in his circle for being anti-marriage. Like, allergic to commitment.
And the day I found all that out?
I was standing in a bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test.
Double fucking lines.
It’d happened a month ago. We were too into it, the condom tore.
I took Plan B right away—but yeah, my body had other plans.
I didn’t even know if the rumors were true about him hating the idea of marriage and kids, but that night, I decided to test the waters.
“Hey Gray,” I said casually, “I walked past a bridal shop today. Saw this insane dress in the window.”
He looked up from his laptop, unamused. “Uh-huh?”
“Speaking of weddings… you ever think about getting married someday?”
He frowned. “I don’t want to get married.”
I bit my lip. “What about kids?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t want kids either.”
Most people would’ve stopped right there. But not me.
I pushed. “Okay… but what if someone got pregnant? What would you do then?”
He hesitated. “Wouldn’t happen. But if it did—I’d expect her to take care of it.”
His voice was flat. Dismissive.
Then he came over, kissed me soft like he always did, his eyes already darkening.
That was always his tell. When Gray wanted sex, his gaze turned dangerous.
Normally, I’d melt into it.
But not that night.
When he lifted me in his arms, I stopped him.
“Tonight’s not a good night.”
It wasn’t about cramps or any real excuse. I just… couldn’t.
I’d already seen the OB. My body’s weird. They said I’m a longshot case—getting pregnant was rare, and keeping a pregnancy? Even rarer.
This baby might be my only shot.
My parents were gone early in my life. I grew up alone.
Having a kid of my own… it mattered.
And Grayson? Gorgeous, emotionally steady, brilliant—he had good genes.
So I made the decision. I was keeping the baby.
But if I wanted this kid, I had to cut him loose.
No strings. No expectations. No interference.
I waited till the night before we flew back to the States.
He was packing, talking about plans.
“New York’s gross in summer. We’ll stay in the hotel during the day. Evening, I’ll take you to SoHo, maybe walk by the High Line, get drinks at that rooftop bar near the Flatiron…”
“Grayson,” I cut him off. “We need to break up.”
He blinked. Froze mid-fold. “Come again?”
“I’m flying back to Portland tomorrow. Not New York. And… we’re over.”
Guys like Grayson don’t get dumped.
So when I told him it was over, he didn’t take it well.
He needed a reason. He kept asking. Pressing.
And I had a million of them—
I was pregnant and he didn’t want kids.
I wanted love, a family, marriage. He didn’t.
We came from different worlds, and his world would never accept mine.
But I didn’t say any of that.
Instead, I stared him dead in the eye and said, “What if I just got bored?”
“Bored?” His voice dropped.
I nodded. “Yeah. Like eating too many sweet things. A lychee, you know? It’s nice at first—soft, juicy, sweet. But after a while, it just gets gross.”
His face darkened. He grabbed my shoulders. “Savannah. Say that again.”
I smirked, keeping my voice cold. “Come on, we’ve fucked how many times now? Doesn’t it feel stale?”
Grayson stared at me like he was trying to read my soul.
He didn’t say a word. Not when the sky started turning gray. Not when I zipped up my suitcase.
Then, right at the door, he finally spoke.
“Savannah. Do you even have a heart?”
“You said you liked me. Now you’re walking out like it meant nothing. Am I just some disposable toy to you?”
His lips trembled, eyes red, knuckles white. He looked like he was about to shatter.
And for a moment, my chest tightened. I almost wavered.
Then he said it. Clear. Sharp. Brutal.
“I wish I’d never met you. From now on—strangers.”
He didn’t ask me to stay. Not once.
I gave him a nod. “Okay.”
Then I walked out, boarded that flight, and disappeared from his world.
We were done. For real.
No texts. No calls. I deleted everything.
He went north, I went west. Thousands of miles between us.
I didn’t hear a damn thing about him after that.
Eight months later, I gave birth to Noah.
Noah was an easy baby. Didn’t cry much, slept on his own, barely gave me any trouble.
His face? Mine.
But the eyes? All Grayson.
I raised him quietly, never told anyone who his father was.
I truly believed Grayson Sterling would never know he had a son.
Turns out I was dead wrong.
Noah was three when they finally came face to face.
I had this friend in Portland—Dylan Rivers, flaming gay, bougie as hell, and totally a bottom.
His parents were old-school conservatives, the kind who’d slap you with a Bible if you so much as hinted at being gay. They’d been begging him to settle down with a girl and have kids. Finally gave him an ultimatum: bring a girlfriend home this year, or get the hell out.
So the genius came to me.
“Look, Savvy,” he said, all dramatic. “Noah kinda looks like me, right? Those eyes? That pouty mouth? We could totally pull this off.”
His plan? Pretend I was his girlfriend and Noah was our lovechild. He’d say we were living together in Portland, I didn’t want to deal with in-laws, and that’s why he never brought me to New York.
Never mind the fact that he came to Portland to hook up with some hot dom. This mess had nothing to do with me.
Naturally, I said no.
Then he Venmo’d me two hundred grand.
Yeah. That shut me up fast.
I used to have principles. College me would’ve walked away. But post-college, single-mom me? That bitch knew money talks—and daycare ain’t free.
So I kissed my morals goodbye and booked a flight to New York with Noah in tow.
“All you have to do is show up, meet my parents, smile through dinner, and stay for a week,” Dylan promised. “That’s it. Easy.”
Sounded simple enough. But I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in my gut.
New York’s a massive city. But still…
What if I ran into him?
No. I was being paranoid. There were eight million people in this city. No way I’d bump into Grayson Sterling again.
Noah sat next to me on the plane, holding his little stuffed raccoon, nodding like a soldier while I prepped him for the fake family charade.
“Remember,” I whispered, “you’re Uncle Dylan’s son for this week.”
“Got it,” he said, dead serious.
We landed, and everything went off without a hitch—until Dylan dropped the bomb.
“My folks invited the whole damn extended family. Like, full banquet. They’re going all out.”
I thought it’d be some private dinner at a steakhouse or something. Nope.
We walked into a chandelier-drenched ballroom that screamed old money and tax evasion. Crystal lights everywhere, waiters in tuxedos, wine flowing like water.
Dylan leaned in, smug. “Forgot to mention—we’re loaded. But don’t worry. My parents are dumb and rich, not suspicious. Just smile and fake it.”
Before I could murder him, we were already surrounded.
Noah and I got passed around like party favors.
Dylan’s mom hugged me like we were long-lost sisters. His dad grilled me like a detective.
Thank God we’d rehearsed. I nailed every question.
Then the parents got their hands on Noah and instantly lost their minds.
“My God, he’s got Dylan’s eyes!” Mrs. Rivers gushed.
“And his nose,” Mr. Rivers added. “You can’t deny blood. That’s a Rivers boy, through and through.”
Noah played along like a pro, flashing dimples and calling them “Grandma” and “Grandpa” in his sweetest little voice.
I thought we were in the clear—until Dylan pulled me aside, looking nervous.
“Uh… my cousin showed up. My super important cousin. The one taking over the family business. He’s kind of a big deal.”
“And?”
“And I need you to go say hi. Like, right now.”
I powdered my nose, rolled my eyes, and strutted back into the ballroom.
He was there already. Tall. Broad. Back to me.
Wearing a dark tailored suit that hugged every expensive inch of him.
I only needed one glance.
Grayson.
Fucking. Sterling.
My stomach dropped.
I hadn’t seen him in four years. I thought I was done with the past. Clearly, the past had other plans.
Before I could even fake a smile, Noah spotted me and yelled across the ballroom:
“MOMMY!”
Grayson turned.
His gaze landed on me.
I froze.
Dylan rushed up like a moron. “Gray! This is my girlfriend, Savannah. The one I told you about. Finally convinced her to visit the city.”
He nudged me. “Say hi, babe.”
“…Hi,” I managed. “Cousin.”
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