Tangled in the Billionaires Bed

I Wanted a Child-So I Chose Henry Clark

Three years ago, I made a bold, unapologetic decision: I wanted a child, and I chose Henry Clark.

It all began in Hawaii, during a seven-day whirlwind romance with him. Henry was magnetic-mysterious, impossibly handsome, with top-tier East Asian features and a quiet confidence that turned heads. He stayed in five-star hotels, handled business calls in multiple languages, and carried himself like a man used to being in control.

I wasn't just some starry-eyed tourist. I'd been watching, planning. For half a month, I engineered chance encounters-"accidentally" bumping into him at cafés, yoga spots, and beach resorts. Finally, I got what I wanted: I made it into his room. He was as skilled as he was stunning.

A little tipsy, my senses heightened. With my notoriously poor alcohol tolerance, I was extra vulnerable that night-but also sharply aware. When he reached for something on the nightstand, I gently stopped him.

"No need," I whispered. "I'm on the pill."

He paused-just for a second-then gripped my waist tighter, a smirk playing on his lips. "You little seductress."

At the end of the week, I left him. No tearful goodbyes, no phone numbers. Just a bank card on the nightstand. Then I flew home, satisfied.

Fast forward three years: I'd spent most of my life behind the scenes, but now I rebranded myself. Trendy. Hot mom. Influencer. And with my adorable daughter by my side, my following exploded. The day I hit ten million followers was the day everything changed.

A group of men in black surrounded my house.

Then he walked in.

Henry Clark. The man himself. The mysterious heir to the Clark family empire. He kicked open my door with the same intensity I remembered.

"Quite the trick," he sneered. "Leaving the father and keeping the child."