Shhh Daddy won’t Know

​The Vance estate was a masterpiece of modern architecture, a structure of steel and glass that seemed to float over the dark, restless waters of Blackwood Lake. To the outside world, it was a symbol of Julian Vance’s immense success as a litigator. To Elena, it was a translucent prison. Every wall was a window, and every window was a reminder that in Julian’s world, privacy was a luxury he only granted himself.

​Elena stood in the center of the master bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the plush cream-colored rug. At forty-two, she was at the peak of her elegance, but today she felt brittle. She was wearing a silk robe that cost more than her first car, the fabric cool against skin that felt perpetually feverish these days. She was waiting for the sound of tires on the gravel driveway ,the sound of her life changing.

​"Elena, have the linens in the north wing been changed?"

​Julian’s voice drifted in from the dressing room. It was a voice used to commanding courtrooms deep, resonant, and entirely devoid of warmth. He stepped into view, a man of fifty-five who kept himself in such peak physical condition that he appeared carved from granite. He was tightening a silver silk tie, his eyes fixed on his reflection.

​"I took care of it myself, Julian," Elena replied, her voice soft but steady. "I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for him."

​Julian scoffed, finally turning to look at her. His gaze wasn't one of affection; it was the look of a collector ensuring his prized vase hadn't been chipped. "Perfect? Lucas wouldn't know perfection if it hit him in the face. The boy is a degenerate. Expelled for fighting, wasting his tuition on charcoal and canvases instead of a law degree. Bringing him here is a matter of optics, nothing more. I won't have the press finding out my son is sleeping in a gutter."

​"He’s twenty-three, Julian. He’s not a boy anymore," Elena reminded him, a strange flutter of anxiety in her chest. She hadn't seen Lucas in nearly four years. The last time they’d met, he was a surly teenager who looked at her with a mixture of resentment and confusion.

​"He’ll always be a boy until he learns discipline," Julian snapped. He walked over to her, his hand reaching out to grip her chin. It wasn't a caress; it was a claim. "And while he’s here, remember your place. You are my wife. You are the mistress of this house. Do not coddle him. Do not let his 'artistic temperament' disrupt the order I’ve built."

​He leaned down and kissed her a hard, dry press of lips that tasted of expensive scotch and ego. Then, without a word of goodbye, he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the garage. He had a late-night meeting in the city, leaving Elena to welcome the son he despised.

​The silence that followed Julian’s departure was deafening. Elena walked to the window, watching his black sedan disappear into the treeline. She stayed there for what felt like hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long, bruised shadows across the lawn.

​Then, she heard it. A low, guttural rumble of an engine that didn't belong to a luxury car.

​A rusted, vintage motorcycle pulled up to the front steps. The rider was clad in a worn leather jacket, his helmet obscuring his face. He killed the engine, and for a moment, he just sat there, staring up at the house. Elena felt a sudden, sharp instinct to hide, but she remained frozen at the glass.

​The rider dismounted, pulling off the helmet. A shock of dark, messy hair fell over a forehead that was strikingly similar to Julian’s. But as he looked up, the porch lights caught his face, and Elena’s breath hitched.

​Lucas was no longer the scrawny youth she remembered. He was broad-shouldered and lean, his jawline sharp enough to cut. He moved with a restless, predatory grace that was the polar opposite of Julian’s calculated movements. He looked like trouble wrapped in denim and leather.

​Elena hurried downstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. By the time she reached the foyer, the heavy oak door had already swung open. Lucas stood in the entryway, a single duffel bag slung over his shoulder, smelling of gasoline, rain, and something intoxicatingly masculine.

​"Where is he?" Lucas asked. His voice was no longer the cracking tenor of a teen. It was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the floorboards.

​"Julian is in the city for a meeting," Elena said, trying to regain her composure. She smoothed her robe, suddenly hyper-aware of how little she was wearing underneath. "He... he said you’d be arriving tonight."

​Lucas’s blue eyes the color of the lake during a storm settled on her. He didn't look away. Most people looked at Elena and saw 'Mrs. Vance.' Lucas looked at her as if he were peeling back the layers of her skin to see the nerves underneath.

​"And what did he say about me, Elena?" Lucas took a step forward, his boots clicking rhythmically on the marble. "Did he tell you I was a failure? A disappointment? Or did he just tell you to keep the silver locked up while I’m around?"

​"He’s glad you’re here, Lucas. Truly," she lied, her voice trembling slightly.

​Lucas laughed a short, bitter sound. He stopped just inches from her. He was much taller than her now; she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The heat radiating from his body was an assault on her senses. In this sterile, air-conditioned house, he felt like a living flame.

​"You’re a terrible liar," he whispered. He reached out, and for a terrifying second, Elena thought he was going to touch her. Instead, he reached past her, his fingers brushing the silk of her sleeve as he grabbed a glass of water she’d left on the side table. "You’ve always been a terrible liar. I remember that much."

​The way he said 'I remember' sent a jolt of electricity down her spine. His eyes traveled slowly down her body, lingering on the curve of her waist and the swell of her chest where the silk hung loose. It wasn't the look of a stepson; it was the look of a man who had been thinking about this moment for a very long time.

​"I’ll show you to your room," she said, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

​She turned and began to climb the stairs, her hips swaying slightly a movement she couldn't help. She could feel his eyes on her, tracing the silhouette of her body through the thin fabric of her robe. The air in the stairwell felt thick, oxygen-deprived.

​When they reached the guest wing, she opened the door to a room that was cold and perfectly decorated in shades of grey. Lucas walked in, dropped his bag, and immediately walked to the window.

​"He’s got you in a cage, too," Lucas murmured, looking out at the dark lake. "Glass on all sides. Nowhere to hide."

​"It’s a beautiful home, Lucas. Julian provides a very comfortable life."

​"Comfortable?" Lucas turned around, his expression dark. He walked toward her again, and this time, there was nowhere for her to retreat. He backed her against the doorframe, his hands resting on the wood on either side of her head. "Is that what you call it? You’m like a ghost, Elena. You’re fading away in this house. I can see it in your eyes. You’re starving."

​"I don't know what you're talking about," she breathed, her chest heaving. The scent of him leather and raw skin was making her dizzy.

​"I think you do." He leaned in closer, his lips inches from her ear. His breath was warm, a stark contrast to the chilled air of the room. "I think you’ve been waiting for someone to break the glass."

​His hand moved from the doorframe, his calloused thumb grazing the line of her jaw. It was a touch that was both gentle and incredibly dominant. Elena knew she should push him away. She should scream for the housekeeper. She should remind him who she was.

​But as his thumb moved to the corner of her lower lip, pulling it down just a fraction, she didn't move. She couldn't. The forbidden thrill of it was a drug, hitting her bloodstream after years of emotional sobriety.

​"He won't be back for hours," Lucas whispered, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

​Elena’s heart stopped as he leaned in further, his intent clear. But just as his lips were about to touch hers, the heavy sound of the garage door opening echoed through the house.

​Julian was home early.

​Lucas pulled back just an inch, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He didn't look afraid; he looked energized. He leaned back into her ear, his voice a lethal honey.

​"Go to him, Elena," he hissed. "Go play the perfect wife. But remember how your heart is beating right now. Remember that I’m the one who made it do that."

​He stepped back into the shadows of the room, leaving her trembling in the doorway. Elena fled toward the master suite, her mind screaming. She reached the bedroom just as Julian’s heavy footsteps began to climb the stairs. She scrambled into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, her pulse still racing with the heat of Lucas’s touch.

​As Julian entered the room, his eyes scanning the space for any sign of disorder, Elena realized with a sickening jolt of desire and dread that her life of quiet safety was over. The predator was inside the house, and he knew exactly where she was weakest.

​Julian climbed into bed beside her, his body cold as ice. "Is he settled in?"

​"Yes," Elena managed to choke out, staring at the ceiling.

​"Good. Tomorrow, the rules begin."

​But as Elena closed her eyes, she didn't see Julian’s rules. She saw the blue fire in Lucas’s eyes. And she knew, with terrifying certainty, that this was only the beginning of a descent she wouldn't survive.