"Good girl," he murmured, his voice soft now, almost tender, as he held me close. His fingers brushed through my hair, soothing and possessive all at once.
"You're mine, wildflower. For these 3 days ,Every part of you."
I nodded weakly, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of the pleasure he'd wrung from me. His touch was both grounding and electrifying, a reminder of the power he held over me—a power I willingly surrendered to.
He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with a hunger that mirrored my own. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me who you belong to."
"I belong to you, daddy," I whispered, my voice shaking but unwavering. "I'm yours."
He smiled, slow and satisfied, and leaned down to capture my lips in a searing kiss. It was possessive, demanding, and I melted into it, my body responding instinctively to his touch. His hands roamed over me, tracing every curve, every sensitive spot, until I was panting again, my need for him overwhelming.
"Again," he commanded, pulling away just enough to speak.
"I'm yours," I repeated, my voice firmer this time. "Yours to use. Yours to ruin."
"Good," he growled, his lips trailing down my neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin. His hands moved lower, gripping my hips and pulling me closer to him. "Now, show me how much you mean it."
I didn't hesitate. My hands, no longer bound, reached for him, tugging at his belt with trembling fingers. He watched me, his eyes dark with arousal, as I undressed him, revealing the hardness that mirrored my own desperation.
When I finally took him in my hand, stroking him slowly, he groaned, low and deep, and I felt a surge of power at the sound. "That's it," he murmured, his voice rough. "Take what's yours."
I didn't need to be told twice. I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth, savoring the taste of him, the way he filled me completely. His hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, encouraging me, until I was lost in the rhythm of him.
He pulled me back abruptly, his eyes blazing with need. "Not yet," he said, his voice tight with restraint. "I want to feel you come apart around me."
He lifted me effortlessly, positioning me above him before lowering me slowly onto his length. I gasped as he filled me, the sensation overwhelming, and he watched me with rapt attention as I adjusted to him.
"Move," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.
I obeyed, rocking against him, my body moving instinctively to chase the pleasure he offered. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, controlling the pace, until I was crying out with every thrust.
"That's it," he growled, his voice dark and approving. "Take what you need."
And I did. I let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure, to the power he held over me. I watched us in the mirror, our bodies moving together, our connection undeniable. And when I finally came undone, screaming his name, he followed me over the edge, his release hot and claiming.
He held me close afterward, his breath ragged against my skin, and I clung to him, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of what he'd done to me.
"Mam… Mam, we've reached."
A voice tugged at me from the edge of my consciousness.
My eyes fluttered open, greeted by the dim interior of the cab and the bright sun pouring in from the dusty window. I blinked against the light, reality slowly returning. My body was still warm, flushed from the dream—or rather, the memory. Him.
I had dozed off again. And with that sleep, came him. Or more accurately, one of those nights. Nights I could never escape. Nights that haunted me like a fever.
A shaky sigh left my lips.
"We're here, Mam," the driver said again, more gently this time.
I nodded silently and looked outside.
The venue stood tall and tastefully decorated, trimmed in white roses and blush ribbons, an attempt at elegance. But to me, it all felt surreal. A wedding. My mother's wedding. And here I was—just a guest.
Not a daughter.
Just a name on the guest list.
I paid the fare without a word and stepped out, my heels clicking against the stone pavement. A breeze lifted my hair gently as I paused to collect myself. But it wasn't just the wind or the weather that made me stop.
My thighs clenched, subtly but noticeably.
I could feel the ache still lingering between them.
I was damp.
Hot.
The kind of heat that didn't come from summer.
God. Not again.
It always happened like this—whenever I dreamt of him. Of his voice, his touch, his control. My body betrayed me, reacting as if he was still here, still whispering filth into my ear while pinning me to sheets soaked with secrets.
I exhaled sharply and tried to push the thoughts down.
Now was not the time.
"I really wish I was home right now," I muttered under my breath. "At least there, I could... get some relief."
But no. Instead, I was here, playing the role of a polite, presentable daughter-turned-guest, pretending like I wasn't one second away from squirming in my seat.
I rolled my shoulders and straightened my dress.
"Let's go," I whispered, stepping forward, toward the noise, the crowd, the performance.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of marigold and rose. Soft music floated around, trying to sound romantic, but it only irritated me further.
A waitress approached as soon as I entered.
"Mam, would you like a drink?"
I gave her a polite, practiced smile. "No, thank you."
I wasn't in the mood for wine. I was in the mood for him.
But he wasn't here. He hadn't been for years.
I made my way to the chairs near the aisle and sat down, crossing my legs tightly, almost as if to suppress the throbbing ache growing more demanding by the second.
"I need to control myself," I muttered in my mind. "It'll pass. I'm quick. I can manage. Just... pretend nothing's wrong."
The altar at the front stood empty. No groom. No bride. Just an arch draped with silk.
I sighed again and pulled out my phone, scrolling aimlessly.
All my friends were out for the weekend. Beach selfies, club boomerangs, food reels. Everyone living their lives while I was here, in a place I didn't want to be, wearing a dress I didn't choose, with makeup I didn't even like.
I scrolled through my stories.
Then I saw him.
Well—not him. But a man.
At the altar.
Tall. Broad. The curve of his shoulder under his suit. The way the fabric hugged his back. The controlled grace in his stance.
From the back... he looked exactly like Mr. Stranger.
My breath hitched.
My thighs clenched again.
Stop. Just stop.
But I couldn't.
That back. That height. Those muscles.
It was all too familiar. My body responded before logic did.
I forced my eyes back to the screen, hoping the images of bikini-clad friends and overpriced cocktails would distract me. They didn't.
My phone buzzed.
Ava calling.
I accepted the call instantly.
"Hey, darling!" her chirpy voice rang through.
"Hey," I replied, trying to sound normal.
She didn't buy it.
"What's with the dull voice? You sound like you're about to cry from boredom."
"That's exactly how I feel," I admitted. "It's not even been ten minutes since I arrived, and I'm already regretting every second."
"You should've come with us to the beach house. We're having so much fun!" she said.
"Yeah right. And miss this disaster? No way."
"Oh please. There's still time to run away."
"I would, but if I leave, I lose the house."
"The house?"
"Yeah. Once Mom's married, technically, it's mine. She's moving in with him."
"Girl, you're officially the queen of your castle!" Ava squealed. "That means—parties every weekend?"
"Exactly," I smirked. "The kind of parties Mom never allowed."
"We could do more than parties," she added suggestively.
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Threesome. Or maybe invite that hot neighbor of yours," she teased.
"Shut up, Ava!" I blushed.
"Joking, girl. But seriously—live a little. You're too boring."
I looked away from the altar, heart still pounding from the man who wasn't him, but so easily could've been.
"I already found someone. And lost him too," I whispered in my mind, but didn't say it aloud.
Nobody knew about Mr. Stranger. Not even Ava.
Not the website.
Not the messages.
Not the nights.
It was our secret.
Mine and his.
Ava's voice pulled me back.
"John was asking about you."
I groaned. "Can we not talk about John? I'm bored, not desperate."
"Okay, okay," Ava chuckled. "But seriously, get some cake at least. A wedding is nothing without a decent cake."
"Yeah, I'll enjoy the cake. That's the only thing worth looking forward to," I said.
Just then, the announcement echoed across the venue:
"Everyone, please be seated. The bride will be entering in a few moments."
"Oh, the circus is about to begin," I muttered.
"I'll call you later, Ava," I said quickly.
"Fine, go enjoy the 'ceremony,'" she teased before ending the call.
I put my phone away and sat straighter, trying to appear composed while my body was screaming for something else entirely. I could still feel the heat between my legs, the slickness soaking my underwear.
It wasn't going away.
And then—
He turned.
The groom.
I saw his face.
It wasn't him.
Of course, it wasn't.
But my heart dropped anyway.
He had his features—a similar jawline, the same intensity—but it wasn't my stranger.
Still, it stirred something so strong I had to grip the armrest to ground myself.
God, I missed him.
The way he used to talk. The way he touched. The way he owned every inch of me. No man ever made me feel like that.
Not before. Not since.
I glanced around. No one noticed me losing it on a chair in a wedding hall. Everyone was busy smiling, snapping selfies, and waiting for the bride.
And me?
I was trying not to remember how it felt to have his hand between my legs, whispering filth while holding me still.
The music changed.
The bride was entering.
Everyone stood.
I stood too.
Trying to look normal.
Pretending like I wasn't aroused to the point of madness.
Pretending I wasn't thinking of a man whose name I never even knew.
He was just Mr. Stranger. From that website. From those nights.
And from the dream that still left my body aching for more.
As the bride walked down the aisle, glowing in white dress, smiling like her life was beginning anew—I felt hollow.
I wasn't envious. I wasn't sad.
I was just… numb.
Because when you've had a taste of something that intense, nothing else compares.
No man.
No ceremony.
No love.
Only him.
And he was gone.
I sighed.
Sat down.
And whispered to myself, "Let's just survive the evening. And maybe… tonight, I'll dream of him again."
******
I looked toward the altar again. My mom stood there, glowing in her wedding gown, a bouquet in hand, and a long veil cascading from her head like a waterfall of lace. Her smile was wide—genuine—and for a second, despite all the chaos in my own head, I smiled back. She looked happy. Really happy.
But I wasn't the one who helped her pick that dress. I didn't go with her for the shopping. That was all her soon-to-be husband—Elbert. A man I barely knew, who was about to become my stepfather.
She reached the altar, and my eyes stayed fixed on her.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice calm and practiced.
"I do," my mom said, her voice steady and proud.
And just like that, the priest announced them husband and wife.
"You may now kiss the bride."
They kissed. I didn't watch—I couldn't care less. I was back on my phone again, pretending to scroll, but really trying to refocus. I had bigger things to stress about. Like my upcoming fashion project.
Final semester. Limited time.
We had to create a full dress design inspired by one of the world's most renowned designers. Only two weeks were given, and I had already lost one week babysitting wedding plans. Whoever won would get a chance to work with an international brand—or even under the designer themselves. I needed this. I wanted both.
I clenched my jaw as I stared at reference boards. So much time wasted.
"Now, the bride and groom may proceed to cut the cake," the announcement came.
Finally. The one thing I was actually looking forward to.
I exhaled and put my phone away. My sweet tooth was practically vibrating in excitement. I was a sucker for wedding cakes.
The newlyweds made their way toward the tall, multi-tiered cake adorned in ivory frosting and silver leaves.
That's when I looked up.
And everything stopped.
My handbag slipped from my shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud.
My breath caught in my throat. My eyes widened.
"Mr. Stranger…" the words escaped from my lips before I even realized I said them.
He was there.
He turned.
As if he heard me—even though I had barely whispered.
Our eyes met.
And his reaction?
Shock.
But only for a second.
He composed himself almost immediately, turning his head away, schooling his face into unreadable calm.
But I knew.
I knew it was him.
The same man I had dreamt of.
The same man I had searched for.
The same man who ruined my sleep and ruined me.
This… this made sense.
This explained why the groom—Elbert—had looked so strangely familiar.
Because the man walking behind him…
Was Mr. Stranger.
I stared in disbelief.
"No…" I whispered to myself, blinking fast.
Yes.
It was him.
The same cut across his eyebrow.
The same sharp jawline.
The same subtle black ring on his ear.
The tattoo along the side of his hand, barely peeking out from his cuff.
The ink trailing up to his nape—still visible when he turned slightly.
God. It really was him.
The man I met two years ago. The one whose name I didn't know. Whose face I memorized. The one I never stopped craving.
And now…
Mr. Stranger turned out to be my stepdad's brother.
"Life's such a bitch," I muttered, frozen to my chair.
I had searched everywhere for him—every corner of the internet, every database I could think of. But with no full name, no number, no photos—he vanished. Just like he came into my life: out of nowhere.
And now he was here.
Standing a few feet away.
Looking like a sin dressed in a black suit.
Looking at me as if he'd never stopped.
The cake was cut. Cheers erupted. Applause followed.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't smile. Couldn't eat.
I sat frozen.
"Elora?"
My mom's voice jolted me out of my daze.
She shook my shoulder lightly.
"Elora, how long have I been calling you?"
I blinked and looked up at her. She was glowing with happiness, unaware of the storm that had just crashed inside my chest.
"Elbert, meet Elora. My daughter," she said proudly.
My head whipped toward her. Daughter? I thought she told everyone she had never been married before?
Elbert smiled and held his hand out to me. "Nice to meet you, Elora."
I didn't take his hand.
Not immediately.
My gaze was stuck—frozen behind him.
On him.
Mr. Stranger.
Only now…
Now I knew his name.
Because my mom, without even realizing the grenade she just dropped, turned slightly and said:
"Oh, and meet him too—Elora, this is Christian. Elbert's brother."
Christian.
Christian.
So that's your name, Mr. Stranger.
I swallowed.
My heart thudded in my chest, wild and unforgiving.
I looked at him as he stepped forward slightly, standing tall and composed.
His eyes held mine.
Cool.
Unreadable.
Dangerous.
He extended his hand toward me.
"Hlo, Elora," he said smoothly.
I stared at that hand for a second too long.
It wasn't just a handshake.
It was the beginning of something I didn't know how to handle.
I forced a smile on my lips, pushing down everything I was feeling.
I took his hand.
"It's wildflower… Mr. Stranger," I said silently in my head, as my palm pressed against his.
Electricity shot through my veins.
The contact. The warmth. The memory of what that hand had once done to me.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to melt.
"Hlo, Christian," I said softly, voice almost shaking.
His lips curved, just slightly.
"Nice to meet you, Elora."
Oh, God. Why you? Why now? Why like this?
Mr. Stranger.
Now, Christian.
Now… my step-uncle.
And he was looking at me like nothing had ever ended between us.
Like he was about to start it all over again.
He wasn't my stepdad—like I jokingly feared just yesterday—but he was still close. Too close.
He was my step-uncle now.
And I had no idea what life was about to do with that.