I wake up to sunlight and panic.
For a second I don't remember where I am. Then I feel Kane's arm across my waist, smell his soap on the pillows, and reality crashes back.
I'm in his bed.
With Mara somewhere in this house.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I grab my phone. 7:23 AM.
How long has she been awake? Did she check his room? Does she know I'm here?
Kane stirs beside me. "Morning, baby."
His voice is rough with sleep. Sexy. Under literally any other circumstance I'd climb on top of him.
"I have to leave," I whisper urgently. "Like right now.
What if she..."
"Relax. I checked on her twenty minutes ago. Still passed out." He pulls me back against his chest.
"We have time."
"Twenty minutes ago? You've been awake?"
"Couldn't sleep. Too busy watching you."
That should be creepy. Instead it makes my stomach flutter.
"That's kind of stalkerish," I say.
"Probably. Don't care. You're beautiful when you sleep."
"I drool."
"I know. Still beautiful."
God. How is he so perfect and so wrong for me at the same time?
His hand slides under the t-shirt I borrowed—his t-shirt, oversized and smelling like him. Finds my breast. Thumbs my nipple.
"Kane—"
"Shh. Let me have this. Just for a minute."
It's not sexual. Not entirely. Just... intimate. Like he's memorizing the feel of me.
"We can't keep doing this," I say quietly.
"I know."
"Someone's going to catch us eventually."
"I know."
"And when they do it's going to destroy everything."
"I know, baby. I know." He kisses my shoulder. "But I'm not ready to stop yet. Are you?"
I should say yes. Should be the strong one. End this before it gets worse.
"No," I admit. "I'm not ready either."
"Then we're careful. More careful. No more risks like last night."
Last night. When he fucked me in his office with Mara down the hall.
Yeah. That was stupid.
Incredibly hot. But stupid.
"Agreed," I say. "No more..."
A door slams. Footsteps.
We both freeze.
"Dad?" Mara's voice. Groggy. "You awake?"
Kane is out of bed in seconds. Pulling on sweatpants. Tossing me my dress from last night.
"Get dressed," he mouths. "Bathroom. Now."
I scramble into my clothes. Grab my shoes. My purse.
He cracks the bedroom door. "Morning. You're up early."
"I feel like death. Do we have aspirin?"
"Bathroom cabinet. I'll make coffee."
"You're the best. Is Elena still here? Her car's outside."
My heart stops.
Kane doesn't miss a beat. "She crashed in the guest room. You two finished that second bottle of wine after I went to bed."
He's lying. So smoothly. Like he's done this a thousand times.
Maybe he has.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
"Oh. Right. I barely remember that." Mara laughs.
"Tell her I'm sorry for being a terrible host."
"I will. Now go take that aspirin before you throw up on my floor."
I wait until her footsteps retreat. Until I hear the bathroom door close.
Then I slip out of Kane's room. Down the hall. Into the actual guest room I was supposedly sleeping in.
Close the door. Lean against it.
That was too fucking close.
My hands are shaking.
This is unsustainable. We're going to slip up. We're going to get caught.
And when we do...
My phone buzzes.
Kane: That was close. I'm sorry.
We can't keep doing this.
I know.
Kane. I'm serious. We need rules. Boundaries. Something.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Come to the kitchen. We'll talk.
I wait five minutes. Fix my hair. Try to look like someone who slept in a guest room and not in someone's dad's bed.
When I emerge Mara's on the couch. Aspirin in hand. Looking miserable.
"I'm dying," she announces. "Never letting me drink that much again."
"You said that last time," I point out.
"This time I mean it." She squints at me. "Why do you look so... not hungover?"
"I stopped drinking around nine. Unlike some people."
"Show off." She flops back on the couch. "Your new boyfriend texted you like six times this morning. Your phone kept buzzing."
Ice floods my veins. "What?"
"Your phone. It was going off earlier. I didn't look—I'm not that invasive—but someone's very eager to talk to you."
I check my phone. Six texts from a number I don't recognize.
Unknown: Morning beautiful
Unknown: Thinking about you
Unknown: Last night was incredible
Unknown: Can't wait to see you again
Unknown: Hello? Did I scare you off?
Unknown: Okay I'm being clingy. Sorry. Text me when you can.
What the fuck?
I scroll up. Check when these came in.
Last night. Around 11 PM. After I was already at Kane's.
After I'd turned off my notifications.
These aren't from Kane.
"Must be spam," I say weakly.
"Spam that calls you beautiful? Kinky spam." Mara grins despite her hangover. "Or it's that mystery guy you won't tell me about."
Kane appears from the kitchen. Two coffee mugs in hand.
"Coffee for the dying," he announces. Hands one to Mara. One to me.
Our fingers brush. Deliberate.
I yank my hand back too quickly. Coffee sloshes.
Mara doesn't notice. Too busy gulping caffeine like it's medicine.
But Kane notices. His jaw tightens.
"I should go," I say. "Let you guys have family time."
"Stay for breakfast," Kane says. Not a request. "I'm making pancakes."
"Dad. I love you. But I can't eat right now."
"Elena can eat. She didn't drink herself stupid."
He's looking at me. Eyes dark. Wanting me to stay.
This is a bad idea. The worst idea.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Pancakes sound good."
Breakfast is torture. Part two.
Kane makes pancakes from scratch. Blueberry. With real maple syrup that probably costs more than my rent.
Mara nibbles toast. Complains about her hangover. Scrolls TikTok.
And Kane keeps finding excuses to touch me.
Reaching past me for the butter. His hand on my lower back when he refills my coffee. Brushing my hair behind my ear when Mara's not looking.
Small things. Invisible things.
That make me want to scream.
"So Dad," Mara says around a mouthful of toast. "What do you think of Elena?"
I choke on my pancake.
Kane pats my back. Amused. "I think she needs to chew her food."
"I'm serious. You guys got along last night, right?
She's cool?"
"She's very cool," Kane agrees. Meets my eyes. "Smart. Funny. Good taste in wine."
"See? I told you you'd like her. Elena's the best."
Mara leans her head on my shoulder. Affectionate. Trusting. "Couldn't ask for a better best friend."
The guilt is a physical weight. Crushing my chest.
"You're drunk," I manage.
"I'm hungover. There's a difference."
"Both are your own fault."
She laughs. Squeezes my hand.
And I want to die.
Want to confess everything right now. Rip off the Band-Aid. Face the consequences.
But I don't.
I just sit there. Smiling. Lying.
Being the worst friend in the history of friendship.
I escape around noon.
Mara passes out again—"Just a quick nap"—and I gather my things.
Kane walks me to my car.
We don't touch. Too risky. Neighbors could see.
But he's close. Close enough I can feel his body heat.
"About those texts," he says quietly.
"What texts?"
"The unknown number. Those weren't from me."
"I know. I figured that out."
"Who were they from?"
"I don't know. Wrong number maybe."
His jaw works. "Or maybe someone else trying to get your attention."
Oh. He's jealous.
"There's no one else," I say.
"Good."
"Are you... do you want to be exclusive?"
The question sounds stupid the second it's out. We haven't even defined what this is.
"Yes," he says simply. "I don't share, Elena. You're mine. Only mine."
The possessiveness should bother me. Should feel like a red flag.
Instead it makes my stomach flip.
"Okay."
"Okay you agree? Or okay you're humoring me?"
"Okay I agree. I'm yours. Only yours."
His hand twitches. Like he wants to reach for me but can't.
"Go home," he says roughly. "Before I do something stupid."
"Like what?"
"Like kiss you in broad daylight where anyone could see."
"That would be stupid."
"Very stupid."
Neither of us moves.
"Kane—"
"Go, Elena. Now."
I go.
Drive away before I can do something reckless.
In my rearview I see him standing there. Watching. Hands in his pockets.
Looking like a man who just lost something.
Or maybe found something he can't keep.
The texts keep coming all day.
Unknown: Hey. This is probably weird but I got your number from a mutual friend. Said you might be interested in getting coffee?
Unknown: I'm Marcus btw. We met briefly at a networking event last month? You probably don't remember me.
Oh God. I do remember him. Vaguely. Some guy from a marketing mixer Mara dragged me to.
Cute. Persistent. Not at all my type.
Hi Marcus. Thanks but I'm seeing someone. Good luck though!
His response is immediate: Ah damn. Worth a shot. He's a lucky guy.
I delete the thread. Block the number.
Then feel guilty for approximately three seconds before Kane texts.
Dinner tomorrow night? My place. Just us. I'll cook.
Can you cook anything besides jollof and pancakes?
You're about to find out. 7pm. Don't be late.
Bossy.
You like it when I'm bossy.
God. I do. I really do.
Fine. 7pm. But I'm bringing wine.
You're bringing yourself. That's enough.
My chest does that annoying fluttery thing again.
I need to get control of myself. This is just sex. Just an affair. Just...
Who am I kidding?
This stopped being "just" anything days ago.
That night I can't sleep.
I keep replaying the morning. How close we came to getting caught. Mara asking about the texts.
Kane's jealousy over a stranger.
The way he said you're mine.
Like he means it. Like this is real.
Is it real?
Can it be real when it's built on lies?
My phone buzzes. 2 AM.
Kane: You awake?
Yeah. Can't sleep.
Me neither. Thinking about you.
What about me?
How you looked in my bed this morning. How you taste. How you sound when you come. All of it.
Heat floods through me. I slide my hand between my legs.
I'm thinking about you too.
Yeah? What are you thinking?
How you feel inside me. Your hands. Your voice. The way you call me baby girl.
Fuck. Are you touching yourself?
Maybe.
That's not an answer.
Yes. I'm touching myself.
Good girl. Wish I could see you. Wish I could taste you right now.
My fingers move faster. I'm already close.
Wish you were here. Need you.
I know baby. I know. Cum for me. Pretend it's my fingers making you feel good.
Daddy—
That's it. Cum for Daddy. Let me hear it.
I muffle my moan in my pillow as I cum. Hard.
Gasping his name into the darkness.
Did you cum? he asks after a minute.
Yes.
Good. Now go to sleep. Dream about tomorrow night.
What's happening tomorrow night?
You'll see. Sleep, baby girl.
I want to argue. Want to demand details.
But I'm exhausted. Wrung out. Satisfied.
Goodnight Daddy.
Goodnight Elena. Sweet dreams.
I fall asleep with my phone in my hand and his name on my lips.
Sunday passes in a blur of anxiety and anticipation.
I try to distract myself. Clean my apartment. Meal prep. Return emails.
Nothing works.
I'm just counting down the hours until I see him again.
At 6:30 I'm in my car. Too early but I don't care.
At 6:45 I'm parked outside his house. Debating whether to go in or wait.
At 6:47 my phone buzzes.
Stop sitting in your car. Come inside.
I look at his house. He's standing in the window. Watching. Smiling.
Stalker, I text back.
Your stalker. Now get in here.
I grab the wine I bought. Head to his door.
It opens before I can knock.
And he's there. Dark jeans. Black t-shirt. Barefoot. Hair damp.
Looking at me like I'm water and he's been dying of thirst.
"Hi," I say stupidly.
"Hi." He pulls me inside. Kicks the door shut. Pins me against it. "Missed you."
"It's been twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-seven hours. But who's counting." His mouth finds my neck. "Way too fucking long."
"Kane—dinner—you said you were cooking—"
"I am cooking. But first—" His hand slides under my dress. Finds me already wet. "First I need to taste you."
"We just—I just got here—"
"I know. Don't care."
He drops to his knees right there in the entryway.
Yanks my panties down. Throws my leg over his shoulder.
And then his mouth is on me and I forget every objection I was about to make.
"Oh God—"
"Not God," he murmurs against me. "Daddy."
He eats me out like he's starving. Like twenty-seven hours was an eternity and he needs to make up for lost time.
I'm fisting his hair. Grinding against his face. Making sounds that would embarrass me if I had any brain cells left.
But I don't. I'm just sensation. Just pleasure. Just his.
"Come on my tongue," he demands. "Let Daddy taste you."
I do. Shaking. Crying out. Completely undone.
He works me through it. Gentle now. Soft kisses to my thighs.
When I can finally stand upright he rises. Kisses me. I taste myself on his mouth.
"Now we can have dinner," he says. Completely casual. Like he didn't just make me come in his entryway.
"You're insane."
"Probably. Come on. Food's almost ready."
He actually did cook.
Pasta carbonara. Garlic bread. Salad with homemade dressing.
"This is really good," I say around a mouthful.
"Surprised?"
"A little. You're full of surprises."
"Good surprises?"
"So far."
We eat. Talk about nothing important. Favorite movies. Childhood memories. The kind of conversation you have on a third or fourth date.
Except this isn't a date. Not really.
It's stolen time. Borrowed moments. A relationship that exists in shadows.
"What are you thinking?" Kane asks.
"That this is nice. Normal. And I wish it could be like this all the time."
His expression darkens slightly. "Me too."
"But it can't."
"No. It can't."
Silence. Heavy. Sad.
"I hate lying to her," I admit. "Every time I see Mara I feel sick."
"I know. Me too."
"So why are we still doing this?"
He sets down his fork. Reaches across the table. Takes my hand.
"Because I'm in love with you."
My heart stops.
"What?"
"You heard me. I'm in love with you, Elena. I know it's fast. I know it's insane. But it's true."
I can't breathe. Can't think.
"You don't—we barely know each other—"
"I know enough. Know you're kind and funny and brave even when you're terrified. Know you make me feel things I haven't felt in years. Know I want you in my life. In my bed. In my future. All of it."
"Kane—"
"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know. Needed to be honest about what this is. For me at least."
Tears prick my eyes.
Because I feel it too. That terrifying, beautiful thing.
"I love you too," I whisper.
His eyes widen. "You do?"
"Yeah. I'm completely fucking in love with you. And it scares the shit out of me."
He's around the table in seconds. Pulling me into his arms. Kissing me like I'm air and he's drowning.
"Say it again," he demands.
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Daddy."
He groans. Lifts me onto the table. Stands between my legs.
"We're doing this," he says. "Really doing this. You and me."
"Even though it's impossible?"
"Especially because it's impossible."
He kisses me again. Deeper. Possessive.
And I let myself believe.
Let myself hope.
That maybe—just maybe—we can make this work.
That maybe love is enough.
Even when everything else says it isn't.
Later we're in his bed. Naked. Satisfied. Wrapped around each other.
"We need a plan," Kane says quietly.
"For what?"
"For telling Mara. Eventually. When the time is right."
My stomach clenches. "You want to tell her?"
"Not now. But eventually. If we're serious about this—and I am—she needs to know."
"She'll hate us."
"Maybe. Probably. But she also deserves the truth."
He's right. I know he's right.
But the thought of telling her makes me want to throw up.
"When?" I ask.
"I don't know. After you're settled in your new job. After things calm down. A few months maybe."
A few months. That's not long. Not long enough.
But maybe there is no "long enough." Maybe there's never a good time to destroy your best friend's trust.
"Okay," I agree. "A few months. We'll figure it out."
"Together," he adds.
"Together."
He kisses my forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too."
And in that moment—wrapped in his arms, safe and wanted—I almost believe we can survive this.
Almost.
I leave around midnight. Have to work in the morning.
He walks me to my car. Kisses me goodbye like he's sending me off to war.
"Text me when you get home," he says.
"I will."
"And Elena?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For taking a chance on me. On us."
"Thank you for being worth the risk."
I drive home with a smile on my face and love in my chest and absolutely no idea that everything's about to fall apart.