"Emma... relax a bit, you're too tight," He
murmured softly, his voice strained but filled with a surprising tenderness.
His hand moved to brush her hair back, his fingers gentle as they grazed her
skin, a stark contrast to the intensity that pulsed between them.
Emma's breath came in shallow gasps as she lay beneath him her body tense, her mind racing with the whirlwind of emotions flooding
through her. She could hardly process the intensity of the moment, overwhelmed
by the unfamiliar sensations.
"Are you a virgin?," He whispered near her
ear, his breath warm against her skin. His tone wasn't mocking, just...
surprised. He paused for a moment, his hand caressing her cheek, as though
giving her time to process.
Emma's eyes fluttered, locking onto the reflection above
them. In the dim light, the mirror on the ceiling revealed their entwined
bodies, and she watched the scene unfold like it was happening to someone else.
Her heart raced, but beneath the uncertainty, there was a sense of
surrender—something she hadn't expected.
How did it come this? Oh yeah Emma remembered, this was all part of her plan, her grand scheme of having a child for herself...
‐----------------------------------------------------
Emma Dee has it all figured it out.
She is 28, Stunningly Beautiful, Brainy, and Single Since Birth.
She was killing it a work, she social media is updated on the latest trends. She had enough stamps on her passport to make a flight attendant jealous, and her social calendar was so packed she practically needed a personal assistant to keep up.
Yet, every family gathering was the same: A relentless matchmaking attempts disguised as innocent conversation. A long list of
questions here and there;
"When will you get a boyfriend?"
"When will you have someone? It would be too risky to have a child so late in the game."
"When do you plan on settling down?"
"Your time is tickling down..."
Even her grandmother will begin with a look that was half-hope-half-scheming.
"Emma, darling, You're not getting any younger. When are you going to bring a nice man in our family gathering, the man who would take care of you?"
Emma would chuckle, throw in a charming deflection like,
"Oh Grandma, Nowadays no want's to be a Disney Princess anymore. I am One independent woman..." and skillfully redirect the conversation to safer topics-like Aunt Susan's questionable casserole choices. But there was no denying it: the pressure was starting to build.
It wasn't that Emma hadn't dated before. Actually she had-plenty of times. But her love life? Let's just say it was less than a "rom-com" but rather a sci-fi theme.
None of the men she dated ever gave her that
"this-is-my-soulmate" spark her friends kept gushing about. While they shared stories about heart-fluttering chemistry and fireworks and butterflies, Emma was just grateful if her date didn't ramble on about
Cryptocurrency and about their toy collection for an hour. Dating for her, felt more like sipping on a lukewarm cup of tea when she'd been hoping for a doubleshot of espresso of Starbucks.
And no...., it wasn't because she lacked in the looks department. Emma was gorgeous, with a bit of a don't-mess-with-me vibe that
made some guys a little nervous. She was smart, outgoing, and had her fair share of admirers. But love? Nah. Emma was not a girl wandering around looking for her prince. If anything, she was more likely to just skip the fairy tale altogether. Love is like a cliche.
Emma had always viewed love as an optional accessory, like a fancy handbag-nice to have, but not strictly necessary for a well-rounded life.
Why bother swiping through dating apps, sitting through cringe-worthy blind dates, and pretending to be fascinated by someone else's 'life-story' , When she could just download a Baby instead? Cut out the
middleman and go straight of having a baby who will take care of her and whom
will love her unconditionally. It's like skipping pain of dating, getting to know each other and impressing the other party and going straight to the boss level!
No messy relationship, no awkward breakups, and certainly no need for someone hogging the remote during Netflix binges. She was an independent woman with a capital "I" (She probably owned an
"Independent Woman" tote bag to prove it).
Emma's views on relationships or love were probably shaped by her rather... colorful family history. Her mother had raised them solo after her dad tragically-and let's be honest, embarrassingly-passed away in the arms of his mistress when Emma was just two years old, a tale her mom used to tell her as she grows up. Her mom never remarried and still did a stellar job raising them, until she passed when Emma was 13.
From then on, her sister took over and became a Hokage of romance, with men practically lining up to woo her like love was some kind of sport. Meanwhile, her brother-bless his heart-got married and promptly
surrendered all personal agency, living life firmly under his wife's thumb.
So it was always a bit of a mystery to Emma why her relatives treated "finding a life partner" as the ultimate LIFE achievement.
Emma adored her mother, and that love was more than enough for her. What she wanted wasn't some knight in shining armor, but to
experience that pure, unconditional love her mom had given her. If only she could just have a baby... her very own little bundle of joy... who she will love and will love her back unconditionally.
And so the Baby-Making-Project was born.
But how exactly was she going to do this? Well, of course, she needed sperm-but not just any....sperm...
Determined to crack the code of romantic chemistry, she approached it the only way she knew how: like a work project. Naturally, this called for... spreadsheets.
Out came the laptop, and soon enough, she was building a list of attributes like she was shopping for premium ingredients.
Intelligence? Check.
Kindness? Absolutely.
Good genetics and looks? Triple check!
Well, if she was diving into the gene pool, she might as well aim for the deep end! After all, she was on a mission to find the perfect
DNA, why settle for less? Time to swipe left on mediocrity and right on a designer baby!
By the time dawn rolled around, Emma had assembled a list so thorough, it could have been mistaken for an FBI dossier. Names of guys from Instagram, Facebook, her phone contacts-each one scrutinized like she was
running background checks for the CIA. Some she knew through family
connections, others were friends of friends, or, in some cases, just that cute
guy who liked all her vacation photos.
She had already crossed out the ones who didn't meet her stringent requirements: too short, too tall, questionable use of emoji's,
suspiciously attached to their gym selfies. The checklist was brutal, but hey, this
was a serious business.
As she closed her laptop, exhausted but satisfied, she realized she might need to expand her search to the office. Why not? As long as it didn't fall into that dreaded "conflict of interest" zone.
Emma worked at one of the biggest financial firms in the country. Third Officer in charge of the Marketing and Advertising Section, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Mondays, however, were like a horror movie in her department-chaotic, stressful, and always full of surprises. This particular
Monday? Well, it was the plot twist nobody asked for.
Emma was running late. Late!
The one thing she prided herself on was punctuality, and today it was as elusive as a Pikachu of Pokémon. Blame it on staying up half the night crafting the world's most detailed sperm-list. Sure, the list was organized, but her morning? Absolute chaos.
She overslept, naturally. No time to shower—just a quick corporate transformation:
blazer on, hair brushed, and toothbrush hastily shoved into her mouth mid-sprint. She looked like she was auditioning for a role as a multitasking superhero. Then came the drive, where she channeled her inner "Fast and
Furious" action star, parking her car like she had five seconds before the credits rolled. If there were awards for reckless efficiency, she'd definitely be a nominee.
She dashed towards the elevator, her disheveled hair bouncing with the sort of urgency that said, -Yes, I overslept, but I'm still trying!
The elevator doors closed just as she reached them. Classic Monday. But then, miraculously, they opened again, revealing a guy in casual, ragged jeans.
"Jeans? In this building?" Emma blinked.
She flashed him a wide, slightly frazzled smile. "Thanks," she panted.
The guy just grinned back and gestured toward the buttons. "You might want to actually get in the elevator."
Right. Focus, Emma. She joined him inside and quickly hit her floor button. No one else seemed to be around at this hour. A rare
occurrence, but also a blessing. Less witnesses to her current state of chaos.
Emma glanced to the guy in front of her. Tall. Check. Dark and handsome. Double check. In fact, he ticked a lot of her internal boxes: good looks, seemingly good genes, but with an air of nonchalance. But seriously, who wore ragged jeans in a corporate building Did Casual Friday become Casual Monday?
Unbeknownst to her, the guy was also watching her through the reflective elevator doors.
"You work here?" he asked, breaking the
silence.
Emma blinked, a bit surprised. "Uh, yeah.
You?"
The guy let out a chuckle, one of those deep, knowing laughs that suggested he was in on some cosmic joke. "Nope. And I never
will."
Emma raised an eyebrow, about to ask for details when suddenly, the lights flickered, and the elevator jerked to a stop. They were
plunged into darkness.
Both stared at each other, wide-eyed. The floor gave a little tremble.
Earthquake. Of course, because nothing said
"Monday" quite like being stuck in a metal box during a natural disaster!
The guy chuckled again, his voice echoing in the dim space. "Yeah... definitely never working here."
Emma, on the other hand, was gripping his arm like her life depended on it—because, in
her mind, it did. She was petrified. Elevators high above the ground during an earthquake? That was basically her worst nightmare wrapped in a metal box. The
guy looked at her, trying to catch a glimpse of her face in the dim, flickering light.
"Hey…" he said, his voice calm, like they weren't potentially plummeting to their doom.
Emma didn't respond. She just kept clutching his arm, her fingers icy cold, like she'd just grabbed a handful of snow. Instinctively, he took her hand, hoping to soothe her nerves. " Hey...There's nothing to worry about, I'm right here. Besides, we're in
a building owned by one of the top financial firms in the country. You know they didn't skimp on safety. If we fall, we'll just sue them and get filthy rich."
Emma,despite the terror, couldn't help but chuckle. "That's if we survive the fall," she
muttered.
They both laughed, a little hysterically, but laughed nonetheless. Just then, the shaking
stopped, and the emergency lights flickered on.
"Well," he said, "looks like we'll just have to wait for either the cavalry or for this
thing to start moving again."
As they waited, conversation flowed. Emma found herself ranting about her family's
insistence she settle down by 28—as if that was some sort of expiration date.
And work? It was a never-ending cycle of corporate monotony. She just wanted to
live her life, dammit.
He listened intently, watching every expression that crossed her face, clearly enjoying her company. It was like an impromptu therapy session, minus the couch and plus a potential deathtrap.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably more like ten minutes, the elevator
doors creaked open—on Emma's floor, no less.
"Sir,Ma'am, are you okay?" the elevator technician asked, looking relieved.
Both nodded. The guy nudged Emma with a grin. "Now you've got the perfect excuse for
being late."
Emma smiled back and was about to ask his name when he turned to the tech. "So, can this thing still be used? I'm headed to the penthouse."
Emma blinked. Penthouse?
What was a guy in ragged jeans doing heading to the penthouse? Maybe he was a
maintenance worker or a tech guy fixing someone's Wi-Fi?
The technician pressed a few buttons and gave him a thumbs up. "All good to go."
Before stepping back into the elevator, he reached out, touched Emma's arm, and
smiled. "Bye for now, Emma."
Emma's jaw dropped. Wait—how did he
know my name?
He grinned at her before saying
"It's me, William"
And with that, the elevator doors slid shut, leaving Emma standing there, dumbfounded. "William? "They hadn't exchanged names. She blinked twice, wondering how on earth she'd just spent the last ten minutes trapped in an elevator with a mysterious, smooth-talking-stranger-named William-who-knew-her name and headed for the penthouse?