Page 2 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

“Strangers?” I lift my hand to my chest, playfully. “Here I thought we were getting along.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I don’t even know your name yet.”

I extend my hand. “Layla.”

His touch is deliberate as he plants a quick, soft kiss on the back of it.

“Valentino.” He says it as if the name were already known. Even with his notorious reputation, tonight he feels like an intriguing mystery.

“Pleasure to meet you.” I am very aware that this simple exchange might open doors I’m not sure I’m ready to walk through.

“Trust me. The pleasure is all mine.” His gaze, so intense, makes me forget my defenses for a moment.

There’s something dangerous in his tone, both alluring and cautionary. Still, his charm is impossible to resist.

He leans in as if we’re sharing a secret. “So, what brings you to Milan tonight?”

I take a breath.

“I’m here to celebrate the launch of my fashion line. It’s been my passion for years.” My voice trembles slightly with pride and nerves.

His eyes light up. “That’s impressive. Tell me more.”

“Really?”

In a city where romances are often fleeting, his sincere interest feels rare. And risky.

“I love hearing what drives people.” He sips his drink. “Most folks are just chasing the next thrill. It’s refreshing to meet someone with real passion.”

I smile, relieved, and my heart speeds up from guarded excitement. “I’m not usually the party type, but tonight is different.”

“And I’m glad for that.” His grin deepens as he studies me. Then, he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial shouted whisper. “But it’s too loud here. How about we talk somewhere quieter?”

Every logical part of my mind screams no, but a buried desire, tired of being chained to work, whispers, “Just this once.”

With a hesitant smile and a racing heart, I nod. “Okay.”

The club fades behind us as we leave together.

The journey becomes a blur. A sleek car ride through Milan’s midnight streets, an elevator filled with charged glances, and finally the soft click of keys in a lock.

Soon, I stand in the understated elegance of his apartment, a refuge of dim, ambient light and modern design that feels worlds away from the club’s chaos.

Valentino closes the door behind us. “Much better, isn’t it?” He casually strolls toward the open kitchen. “Pinot Noir or Chardonnay?”

I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smile despite the uncertainty fluttering in my chest. “You always do that with the girls you bring home, don’t you?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m guessing you want the Pinot Noir.” He guides me to a plush couch.

The apartment is intimate and inviting. A subtle trace of his cologne, a fresh, woodsy scent, lingers in the air, drawing us closer.

My pulse quickens as I settle beside him, trying to focus on our conversation rather than the charged silence that fills the space.

He sets his glass down casually. “I was going to have a real conversation. But it’s hard when you keep biting your lip like that.”

“Biting my lip?” I ask, both amused and a little embarrassed.

He leans in so his words are for me alone. “That little habit, it’s distracting… in the best way.”

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