My Dark Obsession for My Best Friend's Dad

The invitation arrived on heavy, cream colored cardstock, the kind that resisted bending, as if it had been designed to endure judgment. Elena turned it over slowly in her hands, her thumb brushing over the embossed Vance family crest. Gold ink caught the light from the dorm’s overhead bulb, glinting like something alive.

To anyone else, it was a holiday invitation.

To Elena, it felt like a verdict.

“You have to come, El,” Chloe said, already halfway inside her suitcase. Silk dresses spilled over the edges, bright and impractical against the dull beige of their dorm room. “My dad is being unbearable this year. He wants the whole house full traditions, staff, formal dinners. If it’s just me and him, I’ll lose my mind. You’re my buffer.”

Elena didn’t answer right away. Her gaze had drifted back to the name printed at the bottom of the card, written in sharp, elegant script.

Julian Vance.

The name alone sent a strange, unwelcome shiver through her. It always had.

Julian Vance wasn’t just Chloe’s father. He was a billionaire venture capitalist, a man whose name appeared casually in business journals and donor lists. He was the reason Elena was able to attend this university at all. When her parents’ savings had collapsed under medical bills and bad timing, Julian Vance had quietly funded her scholarship, no press, no ceremony. Just a brief meeting in his office and a check that changed her life.

He was her benefactor.

He was her best friend’s father.

He was forty two.

She was twenty one.

And she had spent the last year pretending she didn’t think about him far more than was decent.

“I really should stay,” Elena said finally, forcing herself to look away from the invitation. “Finals are coming up. I need the quiet.”

Chloe snorted. “Quiet? El, the Vance estate has an entire wing that’s just a library. There’s a fireplace bigger than my car. You’ll study like a Victorian orphan and feel mysterious doing it. Please?”

Elena hesitated.

Chloe didn’t know. She didn’t know how Julian’s gaze always lingered a second too long during summer galas. Didn’t know how his voice low, calm, controlled had followed Elena into her dreams more times than she cared to admit. Didn’t know that Elena still remembered his scent from the last charity dinner she’d attended with Chloe: sandalwood, expensive Scotch, something darker beneath it.

Predatory.

Elena had tried to forget it. Tried to scrub him from her thoughts like a stain.

But the body remembers what the mind refuses.

“Please,” Chloe added, softening. “For me?”

Elena looked at her friend’s open, trusting face and felt the familiar twist of guilt.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll come.”

"Yay" ,she squealed so loudly my ears rang.

The drive north felt like crossing into another world.

As the black SUV climbed deeper into the Adirondacks, the landscape changed. Snow thickened, swallowing the road and dusting the pines until they bowed under its weight. The sky pressed low and gray, heavy with more to come.

By the time the estate gates came into view, Elena’s chest felt tight.

The Vance house wasn’t just large it was imposing. Stone walls rose from the earth like a fortress, dark against the white snow, every window glowing faintly with warm light. The driveway wound upward in a slow curve, forcing anticipation to stretch.

“This place still freaks me out,” Chloe said lightly, though her tone carried affection. “Like, who needs this many rooms?”

The SUV came to a smooth stop beneath the covered entrance. Staff moved efficiently, doors opening, luggage disappearing.

But Elena barely noticed.

Because Julian Vance was waiting in the foyer.

He wasn’t dressed for the holidays. No colorful knit sweaters, no casual indulgence. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, crisp and precise, as if the house itself had dressed him to match. His dark hair was neatly combed, silver threading at his temples in a way that felt deliberate, earned.

He looked… dangerous.

Chloe rushed forward. “Daddy!”

Julian barely glanced at her.

His eyes locked onto Elena.

The effect was immediate and visceral. It felt like the air had shifted, like the room had subtly rearranged itself around that single point of contact.

“Elena,” he said.

Her name, in his voice, did something unsteady to her pulse. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It didn’t need to be.

“You’ve grown up since the summer,” he added, his gaze sweeping her in a way that felt far too thorough to be innocent.

“Mr. Vance,” Elena said, summoning every scrap of composure she had.

She stepped forward, extending her hand.

He didn’t take it.

Instead, he closed the distance between them, invading her space with an ease that suggested he’d never learned to ask permission. His fingers reached up, brushing a stray snowflake from her hair.

The touch was light.

The effect was not.

His fingertips lingered at her temple for half a second too long, warmth seeping through her skin like a brand.

“It’s Julian,” he corrected softly. “While you’re under my roof. We don’t stand on formalities here.”

Chloe bounced between them, oblivious. “Dad, she’s exhausted. I’m taking her up to the West Wing.”

“Actually,” Julian said.

His gaze never left Elena.

“The West Wing is having heating issues. I’ve moved Elena to the East Wing. The suite across from mine. It’s warmer.”

Elena’s stomach dropped.

The East Wing was private. Staff rarely entered. Guests never stayed there.

“Oh okay!” Chloe said brightly. “Even better. Come on, El.”

As Chloe tugged her away, Elena felt it the unmistakable weight of Julian’s stare pressing into her back, slow and deliberate. She didn’t need to look to know exactly where his eyes were.

The suite was enormous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the frozen lake beyond, ice cracked like marble beneath drifting snow. The bed sat at the center of the room, a massive canopy draped in dark fabric that absorbed light rather than reflected it.

This wasn’t a guest room.

It was a space meant to be occupied.

On the vanity sat a small, neatly wrapped box.

Elena’s hands trembled as she opened it.

Inside lay a silk slip dress, midnight blue, soft and dangerous-looking. Beneath it, a note written in familiar, elegant script.

Wear this to dinner tonight.

I want to see you in something other than a student’s uniform.

— J

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t suggestion.

It was instruction.

Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the silk cool against her palms. A warning bell rang faintly in her chest, drowned out by something darker, heavier.

This was the obsession she’d sensed. The thing she’d pretended not to see.

Julian wasn’t hiding it anymore.

He was claiming space in her world.

The wind outside howled louder, snow slamming against the glass as the storm closed in. The estate felt impossibly far from everything she knew campus, rules, consequences.

Just across the hall, she knew, was Julian’s door.

Waiting.

She should have left. She should have packed her bag and found a way back down the

mountain.

Instead, she stayed where she was.

And the most terrifying truth of all settled in her chest like a secret:

A part of her didn’t want to escape.