Accidental Seduction: Teasing the Grumpy CEO

Polly's POV

They say every family has a star, and mine shines so brightly she burns the rest of us to ash. Yet, Shana Dennis, my stepsister, was the golden girl, the spotlight-gripper. Born with long, honey-blonde waves, ocean-blue eyes, and a waist so tiny you'd think she was sculpted, not born. She knew how to flutter her lashes just enough to get what she wanted. She wore red like it was her birthright and seduction like a perfume.

And then there was me, Pollyana Dennis. The other daughter. The often forgotten one.

My reflection was all soft red hair twisted into a no-nonsense bun, oversized glasses always slipping down my nose, and plain skirts that swallowed my hips. I wore beige like it was armor and silence like a habit. Every time someone touched me, even slightly, I flinched. My skin didn’t trust anyone, not even me.

And still, I said yes.

When my father sat at the head of our painfully long dining table and said, "Polly, you’re going to marry James Wellington," I didn’t argue.

Not like I had any choice. I blinked behind my fogged-up lenses and murmured, "Okay."

My voice barely carried across the wine glasses and roasted duck, but he heard me. So did Shana, who sat across from me in a skin-tight red dress, smiling into her wine glass like she was happy I would finally leave the house.

On the day we would have our first dinner date, I sat across from him and pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and cleared my throat. "I, um… I’d like to wait until marriage. Before anything… intimate happens."

James was sitting in front of me, his fingers tapping the table like he was bored already. He stopped at my words, then looked at me with that carefully crafted smile he wore at every charity ball.

"Of course," he said, voice slick as oil. "You’re a traditional woman. I respect that."

He kissed my knuckles like a gentleman, and I tried not to pull my hand away too fast. Even then, his skin made mine crawl. It was too warm and overly familiar.

The feeling of dread settling in my stomach didn’t waver. Not even when James lingered too long on my wrist before letting go.

The engagement came and went like an awkward moment. There were pictures in luxury magazines, champagne toasts, and a four-carat ring I kept forgetting to wear.

I knew James wasn’t mine, at least, not really.

His eyes wandered. His phone screen turned every time I walked into the room. His cologne lingered on shirts I hadn’t seen him wear to work.

I caught him texting someone named "S" once. He said it was his tailor. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want the answers. But something deep in my gut, quiet and cold, started whispering: Run. But where could I possibly run to?

It was a Wednesday night and it was really late. The house was too quiet. That eerie kind of silence that made your skin twitch and your heart start creeping up your throat so much you can hear it kicking.

I was heading to the kitchen for peppermint tea as I couldn’t sleep, again. I passed my father’s study and thought I heard something.

A soft thump followed by a low, breathy moan. I froze. Maybe someone left the TV on? Maybe they fell asleep in there? Then I heard it again. Longer this time. Very sharp and clear.

"Yes, yes—right there…" It was a woman’s voice.

I didn’t recognize it at first. But then, she giggle. So distinct it carved itself into my skull.

I tiptoed closer, not breathing. The door wasn’t fully closed. A sliver of light poured into the dark hallway.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve turned around and gone back to bed. But I didn’t. I pushed the door open and I felt my heart stop for a moment.

James was behind her, bare-chested, pants hanging just low enough to expose where his genitalia was connected to the woman's in front of him. His hand was fisted in Shana’s hair, pulling her back as he moved inside her with a force that had the table shaking.

My father’s desk.

The one he held family meetings around. The one he made me sit at during lectures about propriety and honor.

Shana was bent over it, lips parted, mascara smudged from sweat or tears, or maybe both. Her red thong dangled off one ankle like a trophy. Her perfectly manicured nails scraped at the desk’s polished surface as she moaned, "God, yes, don’t stop…"

James growled something filthy in her ear, his voice thick with lust. "You’re so much better than your sister, so hot."

My breath hitched.

Shana moaned louder. "You’re so much bigger than her imaginary dick. I bet she still sleeps with teddy bears."

They laughed together, making me the butt of the joke. My chest caved in.

The pain was instant and vicious, like someone reached in and tore something out. I stood frozen, glasses fogging, knees trembling, my body a statue carved out of shock.

Then Shana looked up.

Her eyes met mine in the reflection of the study mirror. She didn’t gasp or so much as panic. She smirked.

She freaking smirked.

"Oops," she said sweetly, still bent over. "Guess Polly can’t knock anymore. Now we have an audience."

James turned, his eyes wide for half a second, then blank. Like I was nothing but a mild inconvenience. Like I didn’t matter.

I staggered back, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. My lips moved, but no sound came out. The hallway spun as I stumbled away, heart jackhammering against my ribs.

My engagement ring cut into my finger as I clutched my hand too tightly. It never fit right anyway.