Chapter 3

Greer's POV

I closed the door so softly it barely clicked. Then I stood there in the hallway, back pressed to the cool wood, heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. My legs felt unsteady, like the floor might tilt and drop me any second.

I had just seen my stepfather naked.

Not just naked—thick. Veined. Eight inches of him hanging heavy between his thighs, the kind of cock that looked made for slow, deliberate ruin. I squeezed my eyes shut. Tried to shake the image. Counted backward from one hundred. Pictured cold water. Winter wind. Anything clean and safe. It didn’t work.

The picture stayed. Burned behind my lids. The way the veins curved along the shaft, the slight upward tilt even soft, the dark hair at the base. I could almost feel the heat of it if I let myself imagine reaching out.

I pressed my thighs together. A shameful throb answered between my legs. Wet. Instant. Wrong. I was supposed to want Wells. Wells, with his easy smile and gentle touches. Wells, who had made me feel seen for the first time in years. Not his father.

Not the man who was about to become family. Not the man whose voice had gone rough when he said my name. I pushed off the door and started walking. Fast. Anywhere. My bare feet slapped quietly against the runner. I needed motion. Distance. Something to drown the pulse between my thighs.

But my mind kept circling back. What would it feel like? To be stretched by him. Filled. Taken apart slowly until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but arch and beg. I’d always been good at being alone. I’d raised myself. Cooked for myself. Came for myself in the dark with my phone screen turned low, headphones in, volume barely above a whisper so no one would hear. I knew my body. Knew what made me shake. Knew the difference between quick relief and the kind of orgasm that left you trembling for minutes after.

And Calder… God. He looked like the kind of man who would know exactly how to draw it out. How to pin wrists. How to whisper filthy things in that low, controlled voice until I broke. I stopped in an empty corridor and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I wasn’t innocent. Not really. I’d watched enough p**n to understand power dynamics, age gaps, forbidden lines. Stepfather. Stepdaughter.

The taboo of it had always made me clench harder, come faster. But this wasn’t fantasy. This was real and I was wet because of it. Footsteps echoed from the stairwell. I straightened fast, smoothing my shirt, trying to look normal. Wells appeared at the top of the stairs, still in his football practice gear—gray hoodie, black shorts, hair damp with sweat. He carried his cleats in one hand, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked flushed, alive, boyish in a way that used to make my stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he said, smiling that half-smile that used to undo me.

“Hey.” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. He tilted his head.

“You okay? You look… flushed.”

“I’m fine.” Lie. “Just hot. The house is warm.”

He stepped closer. Close enough I could smell grass and clean sweat and the faint cedar of his cologne underneath it all.

“You sure?” His hand lifted like he might touch my arm, then dropped again. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.”

I forced a smile. “Just wedding stress. You know how it is.”

He studied me a second longer. Then nodded. “Yeah. Dad’s been weird too. More than usual.”

My pulse jumped at the mention of Calder..

I looked away.

“I should go.”

Before he could say anything else, I slipped past him and hurried down the hall. My chest ached with something like guilt. I used to daydream about Wells. About stolen kisses in the library. About him choosing me over Indira. About him seeing me the way no one else ever had. Now all I could see was his father’s cock.

I hated myself for it. I hated Veda for bringing us here. I hated the part of me that wanted more. I needed to fix this. Needed to make it right somehow. If I gave her my blessing—really gave it—maybe the guilt would lift. Maybe the thoughts would stop. Maybe I could look at Calder without my body betraying me. I turned toward her suite.

The door was cracked, just enough for voices to drift out. Veda’s laugh—so high, practiced, the one she used when she was trying to sound delighted instead of calculating. Then a man’s voice. Low. Smooth. Not Calder’s voice.

I froze mid-step.

“…he’s still dragging his feet on the prenup, but I’ll get him to sign. You know how these old-money types are—cautious until you stroke their ego just right.” Veda’s tone turned syrupy, intimate.

“Mmm, you always know how to handle them. Just make sure the transfer is ready when I say.” The man said.

“I’m not staying in this house forever if Calder gets cold feet. I’ve got options, darling.”

The man chuckled—deep, confident.

“You’ve got me. And the villa in Capri is still waiting. One call and it’s yours. No questions.”

My stomach twisted.

Veda sighed, almost dreamy.

“God, I miss privacy. This place is suffocating. And Greer… she’s becoming a problem again. Moody. Clingy. Always in the way. I thought she’d fade into the background once we moved in, but she’s still here….” A pause.

The man’s voice softened, coaxing. “She’s eighteen. She’ll move on. Or you’ll make her. You always do.” Veda laughed again and it was sharper this time. “She’s just like her father. Weak. Needy. I gave her a roof, clothes, this ridiculous new life. If she can’t be grateful, that’s on her. Once the ring’s on my finger and the accounts are secure, she can disappear for all I care.”

The words hit like stones. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep the sound in.

She wasn’t talking to Calder. She was talking to someone else. Someone who was already positioning himself as her backup plan. Someone who was promising villas and transfers and freedom from the very marriage she was about to walk down the aisle for.

I couldn’t listen anymore. I backed away, silent, until I was far enough down the hall that my footsteps wouldn’t carry.

Then I ran. Back to my room. Door locked. I slid down against it, knees to my chest, and let the tears come.

Not because of what I felt.

But because the only person who was supposed to choose me, my mother, she had just confirmed what I’d always suspected. I was never going to be enough. Not for her.

And maybe not for anyone. But the ache between my legs hadn’t gone away and neither had the image of Calder’s cock.

I buried my face in my arms and tried not to hate myself more than I already did.