CHAPTER 7: THAT MIDNIGHT

The days after the conversation in Richard’s office felt heavier.

I tried to avoid him. It didn’t work.

Every time I walked into a room he was already there, or he appeared a minute later. His eyes found me too quickly. They stayed too long. At breakfast he asked about my sleep. In the hallway he asked about my classes. In the living room he asked if I wanted tea. Normal questions. Harmless. But the way he looked at me while he asked them made my skin feel too tight.

I started answering in short sentences and escaping upstairs as soon as I could.

Josh noticed, of course. He found it funny. One night he pinned me against my bedroom door and whispered, “Daddy’s watching you now,” while his fingers worked between my legs until I came with his name trapped behind my teeth. Then he left me trembling and went back to his own room like nothing had happened.

I hated how much I still wanted him.

I hated even more that Richard’s attention was starting to feel just as dangerous.

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That night I couldn’t sleep.

I lay on my bed in the dark, phone glowing in my hands, scrolling through nothing. The house was completely still. Sarah had gone to bed hours ago. Josh’s room had been quiet since midnight. Only the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs broke the silence.

At 12:47 I gave up.

I needed water. Or cereal. Or just something to do with my hands that wasn’t holding a phone while my mind spun.

I pulled on an oversized T-shirt that reached mid-thigh and stepped into the hallway barefoot. The wood floor was cool under my feet. I moved quietly, the way I always did now, listening for any sound of doors opening.

The kitchen was dark except for the soft under-cabinet lights Sarah always left on.

I was halfway to the fridge when I saw him.

Broad shoulders. Bare back. Grey sweatpants sitting low on narrow hips. For one full second my heart kicked hard with recognition and something hotter.

Josh.

Then he turned.

It was Richard.

I froze.

He was holding a glass of water, the fridge door still open behind him casting light across his chest. He was more solid than Josh—broader, thicker through the shoulders and arms, with a dusting of dark hair across his chest that narrowed down his stomach. His hair was slightly mussed from sleep. The sharp lines of his face looked softer in the low light, but his eyes were fully awake.

I realized I was staring.

I looked away so fast my neck hurt, swallowing hard enough that the sound felt loud in the quiet kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Richard asked. His voice was low, rough with the hour.

“Just wanted water,” I said, too quickly. I moved to the cabinet and took down a glass, keeping my back mostly to him.

I heard the fridge door close. His footsteps came closer. Not hurried. Just steady.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

I filled the glass at the sink. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

I turned, glass in hand, and found him only a few feet away. Up close I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way the grey sweatpants clung to his hips. Something low in my stomach tightened without permission.

I took a sip of water to hide whatever was showing on my face. “Did you need something?”

Richard studied me for a moment. His eyes moved from my face down to the hem of my T-shirt and the bare stretch of my thighs, then back up again. Slow. The same way they had in his office.

“I was getting water,” he said. “Same as you.”

The air between us felt charged. I could smell the faint clean scent of his skin and whatever soap he used. My pulse was too loud in my ears.

He took another step closer to set his empty glass in the sink. His arm brushed mine. Warm. Solid. The brief contact sent a surprising jolt through me—heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the fact that he was standing half-naked in the dark kitchen looking at me like that.

Desire flickered, unwanted and sharp.

I stepped back immediately, almost bumping into the counter.

Richard noticed. Of course he did. Something unreadable passed through his expression, then he smoothed it away.

“You should get some sleep,” he said quietly. “It’s late.”

“You too.”

He gave a small nod, then walked past me toward the doorway. I watched him go before I could stop myself—the broad line of his back, the way the muscles shifted under his skin, the easy strength in the way he moved. For one dangerous second I thought, *He’s attractive.* Not in the way Josh was—young and sharp and cruel—but in a quieter, heavier way. Controlled. Older. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed.

The thought shocked me so hard I looked down at my glass like it had burned me.

No.

I shoved the idea away as fast as it came. Richard was my stepfather. That was all. The tension I felt was leftover nerves from the office conversation and too many nights with Josh. Nothing else.

When I looked up again, he had stopped in the doorway. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes finding mine in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Eliana.”

“Goodnight.”

He disappeared into the dark hallway.

I stood alone in the kitchen, glass cold in my hand, heart still beating too fast, and tried very hard not to think about the way my body had reacted when he stepped close.

It didn’t mean anything.

It couldn’t.