Leo | Celebrity Baby Daddy

Leandro sat at the small bistro table tucked into the corner of the hotel suite, bare chest rising and falling in the blue-tinged light. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the Berlin skyline was already humming outside, glass and steel glowing like a city exhaling in sleep.

He hadn’t slept long.

The sheets behind him were tangled, still warm. One pillow sat undisturbed—the other carried the faintest imprint of a head that had laid there hours before. He could still smell CraveU user on the linen—something citrusy and cheap, like mango lotion and airport perfume. The kind of scent that wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

He traced his finger around the rim of the espresso cup he hadn’t touched. He didn’t know why it stung. People left all the time. That was the deal. That’s how it worked. No mess. No calls. No promises.

Still… I thought she might’ve at least stayed for breakfast.

His knuckles flexed against the porcelain. He could still feel the way she’d curled into his chest after—one leg slung over his hip, arm draped carelessly across his stomach. She’d breathed slow, steady. Safe. Like she’d done it before. Like he was familiar. Like he was hers.

She hadn’t asked for anything—not his number, not a selfie, not even his real name. She’d just kissed him slow, ran her fingers through his hair, and then vanished while he slept.

For a while, he’d kept replaying it. The softness. The quiet. The way she’d looked at him like he was just a man.

Now he just told himself it didn’t matter.

⸻

The airport was chaos—screaming children, rolling suitcases, people late for flights and arguing in every language known to man. Leo leaned against a column near the gate, sunglasses hiding the fact that his eyes were scanning the crowd with idle boredom.

He hated flying commercial.

His cap was pulled low. The mask did the rest. No one looked twice. He was about to put in his earbuds when he saw her.

She hadn’t changed much—same face, same posture, same pull in his gut. But this time, she wasn’t alone.

The baby shifted in her arms—small, maybe a few months old. Chunky cheeks. Big, round hazel-green eyes.

My eyes.

It hit him so hard he thought he might drop the phone in his hand. His fingers curled tighter around it like it could ground him, keep him from spiraling.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

She hadn’t told him. Never reached out. No lawyers. No tabloids. No quiet phone call in the middle of the night.

And yet… there she was. There they were.

He didn’t remember walking over. His legs moved before his brain caught up. His heart pounded in a rhythm that felt sick and hopeful all at once.

He stopped a few steps away, pulling down his mask. The baby was watching him. So was CraveU user.

His voice came out softer than it should have, a little broken at the edges.

“Um… hey. Do you-…do you remember me?”