Chapter 3 The Influencer Mom

Maria's POV

Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.

My name is Maria Kennedy. I'm 28 years old, a jewelry designer-turned-influencer, and I'm absolutely terrified of marriage-not because I'm broken or cold, but because society already did the breaking for me. But let's not dive into that mess just yet. Let's go back to where we left off.

Seven days of sun-drenched passion in the Hawaiian Islands. Seven days of escaping reality and losing myself in Henry Clark-his smirks, his hands, his mind. On the last day, the air felt heavier, as if even the island knew something was ending.

My assistant had already confirmed my flight back home. I was curled up on the couch, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt-oversized on my frame, the collar hanging just enough to tease a glimpse of cleavage. My bare thighs brushed against the cushions, warm from the golden afternoon sun pouring in through the balcony doors. I looked like a well-kept secret.

That's when Henry appeared, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

He didn't speak. Just walked over, watching me with those deep, unreadable eyes. He poured the wine smoothly, but when I reached for the glass, he came closer instead.

One hand slid behind my neck-firm, possessive. The other raised the glass to his lips. He took a slow sip, then leaned down and kissed me hard, letting the sweet red wine pour between our mouths like forbidden nectar. My cheeks flushed, the sensation dizzying.

Before I could react, he tilted the glass and poured the rest of it down the front of my shirt.

The white fabric turned crimson, sticking to my skin, clinging to every curve. I gasped-more from the surprise than the cold. It was decadent, ridiculous, and intoxicating.

It was our last night. Why not go wild one more time?

This time, I kissed him first.

The rest? The couch, the floor, the lingering taste of wine on his tongue-was history.

That night, after he fell asleep beside me, wrapped in the sheets we had just tangled into chaos, I got up quietly. No notes. No promises. I placed a bank card on the nightstand-my own version of closure-and slipped out the door.

My assistant was already waiting downstairs, engine running. Two hours later, I was flying home, heart steady and strangely satisfied.

Everything had gone exactly as planned.

A few weeks later, I missed my period.

I wasn't worried at all. Two little pink lines told what I was expecting. I stared at them in my bathroom for what felt like hours, a strange calm washing over me.

I was going to be a mother.

Not afraid, not anxious-just... thrilled.

I packed up and left for France, spending the remainder of my pregnancy tucked away in the French countryside, letting the world spin on without me. Ten months later, I gave birth to a breathtaking little girl. Emma.

She was perfect-soft curls, curious eyes, a smile that could melt stone. My parents were overjoyed. They stopped nagging me about my career and embraced their role as doting grandparents.

Life moved on.

Two years passed in a blink. Then, one afternoon, my mother accidentally uploaded a short video of Emma to her Facebook-Emma babbling in her tiny voice, chasing butterflies in the garden. The video exploded. Millions of views. Thousands of shares. I could practically smell the algorithm working its magic.

My business had been slow-luxury jewelry was a hard sell in a faltering market-but this? This was something else.

I pivoted fast. I dropped the artisan designer mask and rebranded myself overnight as the chic, stylish mom-next-door. Me and Emma-the trendy mom-and-daughter duo the internet didn't know it needed.

Within two months, we had over ten million followers.

Life was finally golden again.

But fate always has a way of knocking when you least expect it.

Emma had just turned two. Her cheeks were still baby-round, and her mischief level was legendary. We were in our prime. Even my assistant started consulting fortune tellers to keep the lucky streak alive. I wasn't just building a brand-I was building an empire.

As for Emma's father? I never gave him a second thought. It was a fling. I never looked him up, never cared. Honestly, I assumed he'd forgotten about me, just like I'd erased him from the picture. And even if he came knocking, I had more than enough money to throw at the problem.

What I didn't expect was that he had even more.

And he didn't want my money.

He wanted my life.

The night I hit 10 million followers, I celebrated alone with a bottle of expensive wine, barefoot in my living room. Emma was at my mom's for the night. For once, the house was quiet. I drank too much and passed out on the couch, a satisfied smile still lingering on my lips.

Then morning came.

I was yanked from sleep by the harsh blare of my ringtone. Groggy, disoriented, head pounding, I groped for the phone on the floor.

12 missed calls. All from my assistant.

I frowned, blinking blearily at the screen before finally answering.

The moment the line connected, her voice pierced through in a panicked scream:

"Boss, RUN!"

My blood turned to ice.

"What-?"

Before I could even ask, there was a deafening CRASH from downstairs.

Glass shattered. The walls shook.

My phone slipped from my hand.

Footsteps thundered up the staircase

And just like that, my perfect little world cracked open.