Claimed By My Boyfriend's Father

I should have known the moment Aiden's hand tightened around mine in the restaurant parking lot.

"He's... intense," Aiden said, his usual confidence flickering. "But he'll like you. Everyone likes you."

I smiled and squeezed back, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. Six months of dating, and I was finally meeting Jamie Whitmore—the man Aiden spoke about with equal parts admiration and fear.

The restaurant was the kind of place where they don't list prices on the menu. Slate-gray walls, Edison bulbs casting amber shadows, and a hostess who looked like she moonlighted as a runway model. I tugged at the hem of my black dress, suddenly feeling like an imposter.

"Whitmore party," Aiden told her, his voice steadier now that we were inside.

She led us through the dimly lit space to a corner booth where a man sat alone, phone in hand, his attention elsewhere. He didn't look up as we approached. Didn't acknowledge us at all.

"Dad."

The word hung in the air for a beat too long before Jamie Whitmore finally lifted his gaze.

And everything stopped.

I'd seen pictures, of course. Aiden had shown me the occasional photo his father at charity galas, cutting ribbons at building openings, shaking hands with politicians. But photographs lie. They flatten. They can't capture presence.

Jamie Whitmore was all presence.

Tall, even sitting down. Broad shoulders beneath a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent. Dark hair threaded with silver at the temples, cut sharp and precise. But it was his face that made my breath catch—angular, weathered, with lines around his eyes that suggested he'd seen things he'd never speak about. His jaw was tight, his mouth a hard line.

And his eyes.

Gray. Cold. Assessing.

They swept over me in a single, efficient glance—from my face down to my shoes and back up again. It lasted maybe three seconds, but I felt stripped bare, cataloged, and filed away.

"Lilith," Aiden said brightly, oblivious to the way my pulse had kicked into overdrive. "This is my dad. Dad, this is Lilith."

Jamie stood, and I realized he was even taller than I'd thought. Six-three, maybe six-four. He extended a hand, and I took it.

His grip was firm. Warm. His palm was calloused in a way that didn't match the expensive suit—the hands of someone who'd worked for what he had, not inherited it.

"Lilith," he repeated, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. "Aiden's told me very little about you."

It wasn't an insult. It was a statement. But something in the way he said it made heat crawl up my neck.

"That's probably for the best," I said, attempting lightness. "I'm much less impressive in summary form."

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "We'll see."

Aiden laughed, breaking the tension, and we slid into the booth—me beside Aiden, Jamie across from us. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Something woody and dark, with an edge of smoke.

The waiter appeared, and Jamie ordered a scotch without looking at the menu. Aiden got wine. I asked for water, my throat suddenly too dry for anything else.

"So," Jamie said, leaning back in his seat, eyes fixed on me. "What do you do, Lilith?"

"I'm finishing my degree in psychology," I said. "And I work part-time at a youth center downtown."

"Psychology." He said it like he was testing the word. "Planning to open a practice?"

"Maybe. Or I might go into research. I haven't decided yet."

"She's brilliant," Aiden cut in, his hand finding mine on the table. "Top of her class. She's already been offered a position at..."

"I can speak for myself, Aiden," I said gently, and his smile faltered.

Jamie's eyes flicked between us, something unreadable crossing his face.

"I'm sure you can," Jamie said quietly, and this time, there was definitely the ghost of a smile.

The conversation moved forward—polite, surface-level. Jamie asked questions, and I answered them, hyper-aware of the way he listened. Not like Aiden, who sometimes drifted mid-sentence. Jamie listened like every word mattered, like he was memorizing me.

It should have felt flattering.

Instead, it felt dangerous.

Aiden excused himself to take a call from a friend some crisis involving a DJ and a birthday party and suddenly, it was just the two of us.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"You're not what I expected," Jamie said finally.

I met his gaze head-on, refusing to look away. "What did you expect?"

"Someone... softer." He tilted his head, studying me. "Aiden usually goes for girls who agree with everything he says."

"I'm not one of those girls."

"No," he said slowly. "You're not."

Another beat of silence. His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth, then back up. So quick I might have imagined it.

"He's good to you?" Jamie asked, his voice lower now, almost rough.

The question caught me off guard. "Yes. He's... he's wonderful."

Jamie's jaw tightened. "Good."

But the way he said it didn't sound like he thought it was good at all.

Aiden returned, oblivious, grinning and apologizing. The rest of dinner passed in a blur food I barely tasted, wine I didn't drink, conversation I only half-heard. Because the entire time, I could feel Jamie's gaze on me.

Not constantly. Not obviously.

But enough.

When the check came, Jamie paid without discussion, waving off Aiden's half-hearted attempt to contribute. We walked out together, the night air cool against my flushed skin.

"I'll see you both soon," Jamie said, shaking Aiden's hand, then turning to me. "It was a pleasure, Lilith."

He extended his hand again, and I took it, expecting another firm handshake.

Instead, his thumb brushed across my knuckles. Just once. So subtle that Aiden, checking his phone, didn't notice.

But I did.

My breath hitched, and Jamie's eyes locked onto mine, something dark and unspoken flickering in their depths.

Then he let go, stepped back, and walked toward his car without another word.

Aiden wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. "That went well, don't you think?"

I nodded, unable to speak, my hand still tingling where Jamie had touched it.

As we drove away, I glanced back through the rear window.

Jamie stood beside his car, phone to his ear, but he wasn't looking at it.

He was looking at me.

........

When I got home that night, I found a text from an unknown number waiting on my phone.

**Unknown:** *It was a pleasure meeting you too, Lilith.*

My blood turned to ice.

There was no name. No explanation.

But I knew exactly who it was from.

And worse I didn't delete it.