My best friend's father 1

Sienna’s POV

“Feel free and dance. It’s my birthday for heaven’s sake, not a funeral!” Yvonne shouted over the pounding music, her fingers lacing with mine as she tugged me closer to the center of the room.

“I am trying,” I said, though my stiff movements betrayed me. The bass vibrated through the floor,crawling up my legs and settling uncomfortably in my chest. I tried to mirror her rhythm, but it felt like I was wearing someone else’s skin, too tight, too loud, too wrong.

Yvonne had never understood that some people didn’t thrive in chaos.

“C’mon, don’t act so stiff and awkward,” she laughed, finally letting go of my hands. “I didn’t drag you all the way here so you could stare at everyone like a robot.”

“I know,” I groaned, rolling my shoulders as if that might loosen the knot sitting between them. “You know partying isn’t my thing. I’m only here because of you.”

“Yes, baby,” she said, swaying back toward me, her grin wide and reckless. This time, she placed my hands on her waist, warm beneath my palms. “This is your best friend’s party. Act like it.”

She began to move, her hips fluid and unbothered, pulling my hands along with her. The sharp scent of alcohol clung to her breath when she laughed, sweet and sour all at once. Definitely drunk. There was no mistaking it.

I swallowed and tried to follow, but my feet felt glued to the floor. The flashing lights, the noise, the press of bodies, it all felt like too much.

Partying wasn’t just not my thing.

It felt like standing in a room where everyone else spoke a language I’d never learned.

Searching for an excuse to escape the suffocating press of bodies, I leaned closer to Yvonne, my lips brushing her ear.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“What?” she shouted back, still moving to the beat.

“I said I need to use the bathroom,” I repeated, cupping my hand around my mouth as if that might shield my words from the music crashing between us.

“Okay,” she nodded absentmindedly, hips still swaying. “You know where my room is, right?”

Relief fluttered briefly, then faded.

“No,” I shook my head. “You said you moved out of your old room and promised you’d show me today.”

“Ohhh.” She smacked her palm against her forehead, laughing. “I don’t want to stop dancing. It’s like… my life. Can you wait?”

I nearly laughed. The glazed look in her eyes answered my question before I could ask it,yes, she was definitely too drunk to think straight.

I wasn’t in a rush, not really. But my chest felt tight, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and heat. I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could breathe.

And, if I was being honest, I was curious to see her new room.

“Okay,” she finally said when I didn’t respond, pointing vaguely past the crowd. “Top floor. Third door on your right. That’s my room.”

I nodded, already backing away. Turning sideways,

I wriggled through the tangle of bodies, the music fading slightly with every step, until I spotted the staircase and headed toward it like a lifeline.

I trudged up the stairs, each step easing the tightness in my chest. The further I got from the music, the lighter I felt, like I could finally breathe again. If there was such a thing as a perfect introvert, it was me, though that was a language Yvonne would never bother to learn.

At the top of the stairs, I slowed. The hallway stretched ahead, dim and nearly silent, the music reduced to a distant thrum. For a moment, it looked like a corridor from a horror film, long, shadowed, and unnervingly still. And yet, there was something beautiful about it.

Yvonne’s house was massive, all polished floors and quiet elegance. A far cry from my cramped apartment, where the walls felt close even when I was alone.

Following her directions, I stopped in front of the third door on the right. I exhaled, unaware I’d been holding my breath.

Then I pushed the door open, and my mouth flew open.

The room was nothing like her old one.

A massive king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in soft, expensive-looking sheets. Polished furniture caught the low light, and above it all hung a chandelier, crystals glinting faintly like frozen stars. Everything about the room whispered luxury.

Two doors stood opposite each other, one likely a dressing room, the other the bathroom.

A slow breath slipped from my lips.

God. I would never have a room like this. Not in this lifetime. I hadn’t even imagined she’d get such a drastic upgrade. For a moment, envy curled quietly in my chest.

I stepped farther inside, my footsteps slow, almost hesitant, as I took everything in. Yvonne really was lucky. She had a father who showed up, who provided, who cared.

I’d only seen Yvonne’s father once, at the launch of his company’s new app. I remembered how I'd been caught off guard by his looks. He was too young, too refined and too handsome to fit the image of a distant, powerful man.

His hair had been sleek, his smile charming. The kind that lingered longer than it should. The kind that made you forget your own name for half a second.

I lowered myself onto the bed, surprised by how warm and soft it felt beneath me.

My thoughts drifted and I remembered his build. Broad shoulders beneath tailored clothes. Arms that when they gripped you, you'd pray he'd never let go.

I shook my head, annoyed at myself.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him.

He was my best friend’s father.

Still… the thought clung stubbornly.

“Okay. Just stop,” I muttered, pushing myself off the bed.

I turned to leave—

—and froze.

The faint click of a door handle sliced through the silence.

My pulse spiked as I turned slowly toward the sound.

The bathroom door creaked open.

My mind raced. A burglar? Someone hiding? My gaze flicked around the room, searching for anything, anything, that could be used as a weapon.

But before I could move—

A figure stepped out.

Yvonne’s father.

Wasn't this supposed to be Yvonne's room? What was her father doing in it?

A towel hung low around his waist, secured just enough to be decent, and nothing more. Water beaded along his skin, tracing slow paths down his chest. His hair was damp, darker than I remembered, curling slightly at the ends. Droplets clung to his lashes and his skin steamed faintly.

My breath caught.

This was no imagination.

This was real.

My throat tightened as heat bloomed low in my stomach, sharp and unexpected.

“Fuck me,” I blurted before I could stop myself, the words tumbling out with a gasp.

“Excuse me?” His voice was calm, deep. Curious.

Heat rushed to my face.

Oh God. I’d said it out loud.

“I—no—sorry, sir,” I stammered, heat flooding my cheeks. My eyes betrayed me, drifting back to his bare chest before I could rein them in. Smooth. Broad. Still damp. “I didn’t mean to… interrupt. Your daughter directed me here. She said this was her room.”

A low chuckle rolled from his chest, deep, unhurried. The sound curled somewhere unpleasantly warm inside me.

“This is my room,” he said, one hand settling on his hip. The casual confidence in the gesture made my throat go dry. “Hers is down the corridor.”

Of course.

Yvonne had drunkenly sent me straight into her father’s bedroom. Perfect.

“I’ll just leave,” I said quickly, turning toward the door, desperate to escape before my thoughts completely betrayed me.

“Si?”

The sound of my name stopped me cold.

No one else said it like that, slow, curious, as if tasting it.

I turned back despite myself.

He was watching me now, really watching me, his gaze steady and assessing. The air felt heavier, charged in a way that made my pulse thrum in my ears. I became acutely aware of the space between us. Too small. Too quiet. Too intimate.

My heart skipped, and for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, I knew that whatever came next would change something.

I knew that whatever came next would change something.