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The vanilla scent

ผู้เขียน: November
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-04-08 23:34:43

REIGN’S POV

The dining room felt like a funeral for a person who was still sitting at the table.

I leaned against the archway, my lungs still burning from the ride home. My skin felt grimy, coated in the thin, oily residue of Janet’s desperation and the cheap vanilla perfume that seemed to have bonded to my pores.

It was a peasant’s scent—common, loud, and shallow. It was the exact opposite of the room I was standing in.

I felt my father’s gaze hit me like a physical weight. Jordan didn't look
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  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The fractured foundation

    JORDAN’S POVThe house felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. The silence was heavy, pressurized by the secrets I had left festering in the guest wing. I stood in the foyer, the cold, stale air of the entranceway prickling against my skin. There was no sign of Ruth—no perfume, no familiar rustle of silk, no accusatory glare. The dining room was a ghost town, the meal I’d expected her to be enjoying now sitting untouched, the food congealed and lifeless under the clinical light of the chandelier.I checked the master suite first, my heart thumping a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs. The room was untouched, the bed perfectly made, and the walk-in closet—the only place she sometimes went to hide—was empty. I felt a surge of cold dread. She wasn't just hiding; she was retreating into the fortress of her own mind, where I couldn't reach her.I hurried to the guest wing, my boots echoing like gunshots on the marble. I reached the door of the visitor’s room and gripped t

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The mirror cracked

    RUTH’S POVThe drive to Jordan’s office was supposed to be a routine visit, a way to bridge the gap that had been growing between us like a fault line. But as I pulled into the private executive lot, the air felt different—thinner, colder. Jordan wasn’t in his office. His desk was barren, the mahogany surface wiped clean of his usual clutter, and the heavy silence of the room felt like a physical accusation.I didn’t wait for his assistant. I walked straight to the floor manager, a man who had been with Jordan since the firm’s inception."Where is he?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, though my pulse was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.The manager hesitated, his gaze darting toward the security monitors. "Mr. Blackwood left earlier, Mrs. Blackwood. He… he had visitors.""Visitors?""Toni Donald," he said, and the name hit me like a splash of ice water. "She’s been here quite a bit lately. This wasn’t her first or second visit. It’s been… a recurring arrangement. And then

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The mercenary’s submission

    REIGN’S POVThe tension in the room had shifted from a standoff to a predatory invitation. Bobby—the man I now knew as the heavy-set shadow who guarded Toni—didn’t look like a savior. He looked like a man who had spent too many years in the front seat of a car, smelling the expensive perfume of a woman he was never allowed to touch."You want to tell Alex?" I challenged, my voice dropping into a dark, gravelly resonance as I stepped into his personal space. I could see his eyes tracking the lines of my body with a hunger that wasn't professional. "Or do you want to see what all the fuss is about, Bobby? Because I think you’ve spent too many years watching. You’re starving, aren't you?"Bobby didn't answer with words. His jaw tightened, his breathing becoming a heavy, rhythmic rasp. He looked at Toni, who was huddled on the edge of the bed, then back at me. With a sudden, violent motion, he kicked the door shut, the heavy thud of the door followed by the decisive click of the deadbol

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The alter of the damned

    REIGN’S POVThe Mercury Hotel smelled of expensive regret and the kind of antiseptic anonymity that promised to bury a person's darkest indiscretions for a price. But Room 4112 had transformed into something far more primal—a heavy, musk-laden vault of absolute conquest. Toni Donald, the woman who held the city’s elite in a vice grip of blackmail, was currently pinned to the clinical white sheets, her high-and-mighty status stripped away along with her clothes.Her blonde wig lay discarded on the patterned carpet like a dead animal, revealing the dark, damp roots of her real hair and the frantic, visible pulse at her throat. I didn't give her the hesitant, "Saintly" treatment she’d grown accustomed to with Jordan. I wasn't there to be her toy or a victim of her extortion. I was there to be her master.I moved with a lethal, rhythmic aggression that shattered her carefully maintained composure within the first five minutes. I fucked her until the tears started to leak from the corn

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The debt collector

    JORDAN’S POVThe office was no longer a sanctuary of power; it had become a pressurized glass chamber. Every time the desk phone chimed, my heart did a frantic dance against my ribs. I was a man caught between three fires: my wife’s icy silence, Toni’s predatory extortion, and the dark, rhythmic pull of my own daughter. When the private line—the one only she had the number for—vibrated against the mahogany, the sound was like a gunshot."Dad," Emma’s voice drifted through the speaker, sharp and thin. "Three days. You’ve been hiding behind 'shipping manifests' and 'merger crises' for seventy-two hours. You made a promise to make it worth my while, and I’m still sitting here in this room, rotting, waiting for my installment.""Emma, sweetheart, please," I rasped, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The agonizing, metallic taste of absolute stress was constant now, a permanent film on my tongue. "Your mother is on the warpath. She’s locked herself in the guest wing. She’s suspicious, she’

  • Stepdad’s Pet, His Son’s Plaything    The higher bidder

    REIGN’S POVI sat in the front seat of my sedan, the silent hum of the engine matching the vibration of the black burner phone in my hand. I had pulled the number from Jordan’s private directory while he was busy scrubbing the sweat from his forehead in the executive washroom. The "Saint" was a sloppy man when he was terrified, leaving digital breadcrumbs for anyone with the stomach to follow them.I hit the dial. It didn't even ring twice."Jordan? I told you, don't call me unless you’ve cleared your afternoon," Toni’s voice purred through the speaker, dripping with a cold, cultured boredom."Not Jordan," I said, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly resonance. "This is the man who walked into the office this morning. The one you ignored on your way out."There was a sharp, clinical silence on the other end of the line. I could almost hear her brain recalibrating, shifting from predator to cautious observer."The help," she finally spat, her tone sharp with dismissal. "I don't deal

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