Perfect Scandal

Chapter 4

"f**k!" her eyes wide from realizing her words, "Oh s**t--- no.. Lord father, forgive me for my words."

Riley stood in the hallway outside her apartment, her breath fogging in the chilly December air as reality sunk in. She blinked, processing the moment of absurdity: she had stormed out of her own apartment, leaving Alistair Gomez—Hollywood’s golden boy—and a tiny, abandoned baby alone inside. The embarrassment of her hasty exit coiled in her chest like a snake. Going back in immediately would only compound her humiliation, *I'm so stupid to walk out of my own apartment* so she did the only thing that made sense in that moment—she headed to the elevator, her thin slippers slapping softly against the cold floor.

"That Alistair, is so full of himself, why ask me for help if he has the whole town around him, waiting for him to approach them?"

*Maybe the reason is.. He knew I didn't care about him, I wouldn't even post him on social media with the scandal he's currently facing right now. ---The hot bachelor, that everyone is drooling about, has a kid.

*Wait! Did I say, he's hot? -- stop it Riley!

The lobby was a flurry of festive cheer, decorated with garlands and twinkling lights. People came and went, bundled in coats and scarves, carrying gifts or chatting happily about their Christmas plans. Riley, however, stood out in her oversize sweatshirt, jogging pants, and flimsy slippers. The eyes of a few curious onlookers darted toward her, eyebrows raised as if to silently question her sanity.

"Oh, fudge--"

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the biting cold seeping through her thin layers. But pride and embarrassment propelled her forward. With her head held high, she pushed the lobby door open and stepped outside into the street. A shiver racked her body immediately, and she regretted not grabbing her coat on the way out. It was cold, not much snow on the ground but enough frost to sting her fingers and send a sharp chill up her spine.

The nearest convenience store was a block away, its bright neon sign blinking welcomingly through the crisp winter air. She hurried inside, the automatic doors opening to a burst of warm air scented faintly with instant noodles and freshly brewed coffee. A sigh of relief slipped from her lips as she rubbed her hands together and walked further in.

She quickly found the section with winter essentials and grabbed a pair of thick socks and a scarf. She wrapped the scarf around her neck, letting its warmth seep into her skin, and slid the socks on over her bare feet before her toes could protest the chill any further.

Next, Riley made her way to the small café counter and ordered a hot coffee. She cradled the cup in her hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world, letting its warmth seep through the cardboard and into her fingers. The first sip brought a sense of calm she hadn’t realized she needed. The chaos of the morning—the absurdity of finding Alistair Gomez in her kitchen, the baby’s soft coos, the argument, and her impulsive departure—began to blur at the edges.

As she sipped her coffee and glanced around, a bright package on a nearby shelf caught her eye: a box of baby formula. It sat among other baby essentials—diapers, pacifiers, wipes, and tiny bottles of baby shampoo. Riley’s heart clenched, a memory surfacing of her sister struggling to soothe her colicky newborn, the desperation in her eyes softened only when someone helped. Today's Christmas Eve, the stores will be closed really soon.

She thought about the baby upstairs, the innocent, wide-eyed little girl, wrapped only in a onesie and a thin blanket. The absurdity of Alistair caring for an infant alone hit her like a wave. He probably didn’t know the first thing about keeping a baby warm or fed. If she let herself imagine it, she could almost picture him knocking on her door hours later, panic-stricken and holding a lifeless bundle. The thought sent a shiver down her spine more potent than the chill outside.

"Well, I don't want a dead baby on Jesus Christ's birthday, right?"

Muttering under her breath, Riley grabbed a few more items: a pack of diapers, a small blanket, and baby formula. The paper bags felt heavier than they should have as she approached the counter and paid, the cashier giving her an amused look as if she couldn’t quite piece together the story behind the sudden baby supplies.

"Last shopping for your baby?" the cashier asked, looking at her, maybe thinking she was homeless or something, and there, she was right. "Miss, I have a spare stub for the city shelter for tonight, if you--"

"I'm not homeless. I'm buying this for some dad who's clueless about taking care of his child," she said in defense.

The cashier smiled, "Okay then.. Thank you and Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas."

Riley hurried back to her apartment building, her breath misting in short puffs as she reached the door. The lobby was quieter now, with only a few residents passing by. They spared her curious glances, but she didn’t care. Her slippers made muffled thuds against the hallway floor as she reached her door and pushed it open.

The apartment was eerily silent. The baby blanket that had been on the floor was now neatly folded on her couch, and the bottle she’d fixed earlier was missing from the kitchen counter. Her heart sank when she noticed a small note sitting in its place, written in bold, hurried handwriting.

*Riley—took the baby back to my apartment. Didn’t mean to intrude. Sorry for the trouble. – Ali.*

A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of relief and something else she couldn’t name. She set the paper bags down on the counter and ran a hand through her hair. The warmth of the store and the comfort of the coffee were long gone, replaced by the gnawing feeling that she’d just walked away from something important.

With a resolve she hadn’t expected, Riley picked up the bags again and left her apartment, crossing the hallway to Alistair’s door. She raised her hand, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked.

It was only a few seconds before the door swung open, revealing Alistair with a surprised look on his face. His hair was a mess, and he wore a loose, slightly wrinkled T-shirt. But what caught her attention was the way he cradled the baby in his arms, his expression a mix of exhaustion and uncertainty.

“Riley?” His voice held both confusion and relief. His eyes flicked down to the bags in her hands, and something softened in his gaze.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She pushed past him without waiting for an invitation, setting the bags on his kitchen table and turning to face him. “I thought you might need these.”

Ali’s eyes widened as he looked at the items she’d brought—diapers, formula, a new blanket. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the baby’s soft, rhythmic breathing.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the playful, cocky tone he usually used; it was sincere and raw. "I wondered where you went after you walked out of your own apartment."

Riley shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward under his intense gaze. “I-- I didn't walked out, I just couldn’t stop thinking about her being cold or hungry. It’s... it’s just basic stuff.”

“It’s more than that,” Ali said, shifting the baby gently in his arms. “I was starting to worry about what I’d do next. This helps. A lot.”

Riley looked at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders drooped slightly with fatigue. She hadn’t expected him to look so vulnerable, so utterly human. The sight of him, stripped of all pretenses, stirred something in her—an odd mix of empathy and frustration.

“Just so you know,” she said, crossing her arms, “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for her.”

Ali chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Noted. But still, I owe you one.”

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes landing on the baby, who stirred slightly and opened her eyes. The baby’s gaze met Riley’s, and a tiny, toothless smile broke across her face. Riley felt her heart squeeze, the sensation both foreign and familiar.

“Well, if you’re going to owe me one, then maybe you could start by learning how to make a bottle without nearly choking the baby,” she said, trying to mask the warmth spreading through her chest with sarcasm.

Ali’s grin returned, brighter this time. “Deal. But you’ll have to teach me.”

Riley sighed, the weight of the morning finally settling on her. “Fine. But after this, you’re on your own, Ali.”

“We’ll see,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice that made her raise an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, instead moving toward the kitchen to show him the basics. As the afternoon light filtered in through the window, casting a warm glow on the three of them, Riley felt the tension of the morning melt away.