Her mother's lover

SCARLETT I, Scarlett Hilary, never imagined betrayal could wear the face of the woman who gave me life. My mother, Maria, once draped in black mourning for my father, now wears a white lace as though grief can be erased with vows spoken too soon. She calls it love. I call it treachery.And him—Damian. The man she chose. The man who stood beside her at the altar while the earth above my father’s grave was still fresh. He is not my father. But he is everything my father wasn’t . Hard muscle, rough edges, eyes that burn with secrets, a very huge visible cucumber and a presence that unsettles me more than I dare admit. I tell myself I hate him. I tell myself I hate her more. But my body betrays me every time he looks at me, every time his voice curls around my name, every time his touch lingers in the air even when he hasn’t touched me at all.I am caught between mourning and desire, between disgust and hunger. Maria (my mother) sees only her second chance at happiness. But me? I see dan

SCARLETT I barely slept after last night.His shadow in my doorway lingered even after he was gone, the image burned into my eyelids. The way he stood there, watching me as if I belonged to him already. The curve of his smile before he disappeared into the dark.I couldn’t stop replaying it, over and over, until my body ached with hunger and extreme urges. I didn’t know how to quiet.By morning, I’d convinced myself I had imagined it. Maybe it had been the moonlight, maybe my exhausted brain. Maybe I had dreamed him into the doorway because I wanted him there so badly.But when I walked into the kitchen and saw him leaning against the counter, shirtless again, his cock proudly visible under his pants, tattoos alive under the light, coffee steaming in his hand. He looked at me like he knew.Like it hadn’t been a dream at all.I forced myself to move past him, to pour cereal into a bowl, to pretend the heat between us wasn’t suffocating.But when I reached for the milk, his arm brushed

SCARLETT The day after he kissed me, I couldn’t breathe without feeling it.It lived on my lips, in my pulse, deep in the heat between my thighs. Every step I took, every glance in the mirror, reminded me of how his mouth had claimed mine, how his hands had crushed me against his body like I already belonged to him.He thought he could pull away, slam the brakes, pretend it hadn’t happened. He thought he could drown it in silence, in distance.But desire doesn’t vanish. It ferments, grows stronger, sharper, until it eats you alive.And I was starving.By mid-morning my mother was gone again, flitting off to some lunch or shopping trip. She was all perfume and distraction these days, as if marrying him had turned her into a queen who never had to worry about the kingdom she left behind.She didn’t even kiss me goodbye.The front door shut, the silence echoing through the house.I felt it in my bones: today would be different.I found him in the garage, shirtless, bent over the hood of

SCARLETT Morning sunlight feels cruel after a night without sleep.I stood at my bedroom window, arms folded, watching dust drift in the golden air. My heart still races from Damien’s whisper hours ago. We need to talk. Tomorrow. Alone.Tomorrow is here.The house lies silent except for the low gurgle of the coffeemaker. No clinking of plates, no hum of my mother’s voice. I pad down the hallway and pause. The smell of strong brew mixes with something sharper wine that never quite left after last night’s fight.On the kitchen counter a note leans against the sugar jar.Early meeting. Back late. –M.Relief flares through me. I almost laughed. Fate is reckless enough to give me exactly what I want.I poured coffee and let the steam sting my face. My pulse keeps quickening like a warning drum.A knock at the back door snaps the quiet.He’s here.Damien stands on the porch, hair damp, hoodie zipped halfway over a white T-shirt. The morning light cuts across his jaw, and for a heartbeat he

SCARLETT The morning air feels brittle, like it might shatter if I breathe too loudly. I stood at the kitchen sink, coffee untouched, watching a gray ribbon of mist drift across the backyard.Mom’s already gone her car missing from the driveway. She didn’t leave a note.Normally I’d assume she went to the clinic early, but after last night… nothing feels normal.I thumb open my phone. The last message from Unknown glares back at me. June seventh. Midnight. My father’s death date. The words dig under my skin like a sharp razor.I try to convince myself the sender is some bored stranger. But how would a stranger know that date? Or Damien’s name?I scrolled through contacts, hesitating over Detective Hayes, the officer who handled my dad’s case. Would he even remember me after two years? And if I tell him about the texts, I’ll have to explain Damien. The thought of exposing that tangled secret of Mom finding out what I almost let happen turns my stomach.Instead, I called Rachel.She pi