Seducing My Ex-boyfriend's Father

It is time.

"Let’s all give a warm welcome to the artist behind this spectacular gallery. Ms. Primrose Zobel!"

My hands shook, but I forced a smile for the crowd. The applause was deafening, a wave of sound that only made my heart beat faster with nerves.

This was it. My very first art exhibition. My eyes wandered around the room, landing on the paintings I had poured years of my life into. I started painting at sixteen; I am twenty-four now, and that passion had never faded. It had only grown more complex, more painful, and more beautiful.

"Thank you all for coming to my first exhibition," I began, my voice steadying.

"Every piece you see here has been part of my journey since I was sixteen. Many of them are for sale, please check the tags beside the frames. Feel free to explore, and I truly hope you enjoy the evening."

A roar of applause filled the room once more, and the guests began to disperse, wandering between the canvases like ships lost in a sea of color.

My eyes snagged on one painting in particular. It was simpler than the rest, less technical. It showed a playground with two young girls on a swing set. To anyone else, it was just a landscape, but to me, it was the soul of my childhood.

"That is easily the most beautiful thing you’ve ever painted," a voice said beside me.

I turned to see Zinnia, my younger sister. If there was one person who would truly understand the weight behind that image, it was her.

"Do you remember?" I asked, a wistful smile playing on my lips.

"Daddy built that for us because the other neighborhood kids were bullying us. It became our own little kingdom, just the two of us."

Zinnia laughed, a soft, musical sound.

"Of course I remember. I think I cried for three days straight just to convince him to build the swing set properly."

We stood in silence, studying the oil-slicked memories on the canvas. I was grateful for the closeness we shared. We had always been each other’s primary support system, encouraging one another's dreams. She reached out, gripping my shoulders.

"I’m so proud of you, Prim," she said, her eyes shining with sincerity.

"You’ve finally reached your dream."

"Thank you, Zinnia," I replied, leaning into her touch. "I couldn't have done it without you. You’ve been my number one supporter."

"Number one? Not when I’m here!"

Zinnia and I turned simultaneously to see Xavier walking toward us, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand. My heart leaped, my face instantly brightening at his arrival.

Xavier Abel Castellano had been my boyfriend for four years. We’d met in our first year of college, and he was the only person who knew the long, grueling road I’d walked to get to this moment.

"I thought you weren't coming?" I asked, genuinely confused.

He had texted me earlier saying a crisis at his family’s company demanded his full attention. Xavier was the only son of Lysander Gray Castellano, perhaps the most powerful billionaire in the city, a man who practically controlled the business landscape of Greenville. Xavier was the only heir, the one expected to shoulder the empire. Despite our four-year history, I had never met his father, Xavier always claimed his father was too busy.

"As if I could miss this," Xavier said, a sweet smile softening his handsome face.

"Your success is the most important thing to me. And I brought you these."

He handed me a bouquet of deep red roses and kissed my forehead. I couldn't help it, I pulled him into a tight hug. Everything felt perfect. The night, the gallery, the man I loved.

My joy was cut short, however, when I spotted my parents entering the room. I hadn't expected them to show up.

"Mom! Dad!" Zinnia called out, waving to catch their attention.

My parents were both esteemed doctors. They had spent years trying to push me toward medical school or a science-related degree, never fully understanding my pull toward the arts. Zinnia, on the other hand, had followed their path, making her the golden child in their eyes.

They spotted us and made their way over.

"I didn't expect such a crowd for your exhibition," my father remarked, his gaze sweeping over the gallery with a critical eye. He seemed distracted, scanning the room for people of status rather than looking at my work. He soon spotted a colleague and drifted off.

"Primrose! Congratulations," said the man, Richard, as he approached.

"I’ve seen a few pieces I’d love to purchase. You’re incredibly gifted."

"Thank you so much!" I beamed.

"And congratulations to the proud parents," Richard added, turning to my mom and dad. "She has a bright future ahead of her if she keeps this up."

"Thank you," my mother said, her smile polite but tight.

"Though, honestly, we wish she’d pursued medicine, like us. It’s such a stable path. Zinnia, here, is already well on her way. She’ll be a doctor in no time."

My smile faltered. I knew it. Even on my night, the conversation had to pivot back to her.

"Zinnia has always been such a bright, sensible child," my father added, beaming at her.

"We couldn't be prouder."

Of course. The validation was always reserved for her. I felt a familiar, cold weight settle in my chest, but Xavier squeezed my hand, grounding me. He shot me a look that said, I see you.

"Come on," Xavier whispered, pulling me away from the group.

"Let’s take a walk. In my eyes and in the eyes of everyone here tonight.... you are the star."

He gently pinched my nose, trying to coax a laugh out of me. I forced one, not wanting to ruin his mood.

"What time does this end?" he asked.

"Probably around 11:00 PM," I said.

"There are still people arriving. Why?"

"Zinnia and I have an after-party planned for you," he explained.

"The decorations weren't quite ready, so we need to head back to your condo now to finish setting it up."

An after-party. That sounded like a lovely way to cap off the night.

"Alright," I said. "Be safe, both of you."

The crowd thinned faster than I expected. By 10:00 PM, I was heading home. I wondered if they were finished with the decorations.

When I reached my condo, the lights were dim. I unlocked the door, letting myself in quietly. The living room was filled with streamers and snacks, but it was empty.

"Zinnia? Xavier?"

My heart stuttered when I saw my bedroom door ajar. I walked closer, intending to call out, but the sound of hushed, rhythmic movement stopped me dead in my tracks. My hand hovered over the door handle, pushed it open, and the world tilted on its axis.

My sister. Naked. On top of my boyfriend.

They froze, their eyes widening in terror. Xavier shoved Zinnia off him with enough force that she tumbled to the floor. They scrambled for their clothes, faces pale and guilty, while I stood there, rooted to the spot, feeling like a ghost in my own home.

"Prim, let me explain!" Xavier stammered.

Explain? How do you explain the person you love and the sister you trust destroying your life in one afternoon?

"How long?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Tears burned, but I refused to let them fall yet.

"Almost a year," Xavier choked out.

The sound of my own heart breaking was, ironically, the loudest thing in the room. They were the two people who were supposed to have my back, the two people I had trusted with my entire life.

Xavier reached out to touch my arm, but I recoiled as if he were burning me. I slapped his hand away.

"Get out," I commanded, my voice trembling with a rage so hot it felt cold. "Leave."

"Prim, please—"

"I SAID LEAVE! YOU DISGUST ME!"

My scream seemed to snap them out of their paralysis. They scrambled to grab their things and fled, leaving the air heavy and suffocating. I stared at the bed, the rumpled sheets, the absolute violation of the sanctuary where I slept. My hands were shaking so violently I couldn't stop them. I reached for the bottle of wine on the side table.

"A memorable night indeed," I muttered, chugging the wine straight from the bottle.

I drank until the bottle was empty, trying to drown out the image of them. But the memory was carved into my brain. I wanted to scream, to tear the room apart, to cry until I was hollow, but I felt paralyzed. I needed more. I couldn't stay in this room, in this house, with the phantom of their betrayal hanging in the air.

I grabbed my bag, reapplied my lipstick with trembling hands, and walked out the door. I didn't know where I was going, only that I couldn't be here.

The bar down the street was loud, crowded, and smelled of cheap perfume and stale beer. It was perfect. I didn't want to think; I wanted to feel nothing at all.

"One margarita," I told the bartender, my head throbbing. The music was a relentless thrum against my skull, and the neon lights were blurring into smears of color.

"You look like you've had enough, miss," the bartender warned. "Are you sure?"

I just nodded, pushing a bill across the counter. I downed the drink, wincing at the harsh, bitter sting of it. I wasn't a drinker, but tonight, I needed the numbness.

"You’re supposed to sip that with the lime," the bartender noted, looking concerned.

"I don't want it anymore," I snapped, turning away. I was dizzy, the room spinning violently. I needed to get out of the open floor. I saw a hallway with several closed doors, it's the VIP rooms.

I stumbled toward them, needing a quiet place to collapse. I pushed open the first door I found and tripped inside, my balance completely gone.

"Who are you?"

The voice was deep, commanding, and grounded. I looked up, blinking through the haze. He was sitting in the dim light of the booth. He had dark brown eyes, a sharp, defined jaw, and thick eyebrows that made him look intense, almost dangerous. He looked a bit like Xavier, but where Xavier was polished and playful, this man carried a dark, brooding storm.

"Sh*t!" I slurred, stumbling against the doorframe.

"I'm so sorry. I’m just... I’m so drunk. I didn't mean to—"

My brain short-circuited. Looking at him, seeing the vague resemblance, the anger flared up in me again. It was illogical, impulsive, and wild. Before I could stop myself, I lunged forward and slapped him.

"Why did you betray me?" I sobbed, the words tearing out of me.

He sat back, stunned, rubbing his cheek.

"Did you just slap me? Are you out of your mind?"

"Crazy? You’re the one who’s crazy!" I shouted, hitting his chest with my fists.

"Of all the women in the world, why my sister? Why?"

He caught my wrists, his grip firm but not painful. He smelled like expensive cologne and leather—a scent that was entirely, infuriatingly, not Xavier.

"Lady, you are drunk," he said, his voice hard.

"You have the wrong person. Go home."

"I don't have a home!" I cried, the tears finally flowing. The dams had broken.

"They took it! They took everything!"

I didn't want to go home. Home was where the betrayal was. I looked at this stranger, this man with the sharp jaw and the dark, sorrowful eyes. I wanted to destroy the memory of the last hour. I wanted to feel something that wasn't heartbreak.

I moved closer, weaving my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Make me forget," I whispered, my voice cracking, my soul laid bare.

He stared at me, his gaze unreadable, searching mine for a flicker of something real. He saw the devastation, the raw, bleeding wound of my night.

"I won't just make you forget," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough and low.

"I’ll make tonight worth remembering for all the right reasons."

He pulled me down, and his lips crashed into mine. It wasn't the tentative, gentle kiss I was used to from Xavier. It was demanding, possessive, and electric. It sent a jolt through my system that cleared the drunken fog for a split second, replaced by a searing heat.

I clung to him, desperate to be anchored to something solid. He groaned, the sound vibrating against my mouth, and his hands traveled down my back, pulling me flush against him. The fabric of my dress felt like a barrier I couldn't wait to shed.

He stood up, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, burying my face in the crook of his neck. The world outside this room, the gallery, the cheating, the shattered trust, ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his skin, the strength of his arms, and the overwhelming, primal need to feel something that wasn't a lie.

He laid me down on the leather couch, his eyes dark and hungry as he hovered over me. His touch was electric, a sudden contrast to the numbness that had been consuming me. He began to unbutton my dress with deliberate, careful fingers, his gaze never leaving mine, as if he were memorizing every tear-stained inch of my face.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"I don't want to think," I breathed, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw.

"Just... be here with me."

He nodded, a shadow of an unreadable emotion crossing his face.

"I'll make sure you don't think about anything else."

As he kissed me again, deeper and more urgently, I felt the sharp edges of my heartbreak begin to blur, replaced by a tidal wave of sensation. For the first time in my life, I wasn't just a daughter, a sister, or an artist. I was someone being seen, someone being pursued. And as the night deepened, I let the darkness of the room swallow me whole, welcoming the distraction, the passion, and the feeling of being alive again.

***