Power and Pleasure |The man my mother married|

Adler carefully rolled the cuff of his white dress shirt back down and fastened the button. The press conference had gone better than he expected. The questions had been straightforward,yes, but predictable. His aides prepared the entire narrative perfectly, painting him as a man the people could relate to, a man with roots. A man with a family. He had smiled when asked about “adjusting to married life,” glancing at Judy the way a husband was expected to and, she returned the gesture, her lips curving with that sweet but distant smile people wear when the cameras are still watching. They were good at this, he thought while smiling to himself. Or at least, good enough. Behind this image was the bargain. The performance. The careful architecture of appearances that kept his world steady. He’d replayed it all in his mind more times than he cared to admit—because rehearsing meant control. And control was what kept everything intact. The quiet room behind him looked nothing like the

For a moment, Jason let himself believe things were normal. That his dad was downstairs, reading the paper, his mom humming along to the radio as usual. But reality was sharper. He sat up, eyes catching the neat gray suit draped over the chair. Adler’s. Mom must have left it there. It was crisp and well-kept just like the man himself. He could hear the clinking of plates and Judy’s soft voice from downstairs while he took his time to dress, delaying what would inevitably be a morning full of forced smiles and fake conversation. When he came down, Adler was already seated, sipping his coffee like he owns the damn house. It was undeniable though. He looked good—because why wouldn’t he? Perfect hair, perfect posture, like the universe just handed him mornings on a silver platter. Immediately, Jason tore his gaze away before his brain got any dumber. “Good morning,” Judy said, her eyes flicking from Adler to Jason. He muttered something that sounded like morning and reached f

Jason's eyes burned from the cigarettes he had chain-smoked after the drive back. The smoke did nothing as his chest still throbbed with last night’s burn—the way Adler had looked at him. No, not Adler. His stepdad. Christ. He dragged a hand over his face, but the burn in his gut only sharpened. It was one thing to catch himself staring. Another to let the truth slip through, even in his own head. That it wasn’t just Adler, the man, the highly respected politician. It was his stepfather—the man his mother married. The wrongness made it worse He lay there staring at the ceiling, stale smoke clinging to his shirt, his body aching for another cigarette but his stomach already sour. The house was still, or maybe he just couldn’t hear it yet through the fog in his head. A minute later, a light knock came, exactly how his mum would knock when she was not sure of how he would take the intrusion. “Jason,” Judy called softly, voice thin through the wood. “Don’t stay in bed too long. We’ve