In Love with my Stepfather

Chapter 8 — I Like You Better When You’re Drunk

May’s POV

I woke with a sharp hunger clawing at my stomach.The kind of hunger that gnawed at your gut and refused to let you sleep. For some seconds, I didn’t move. I just lay there in the dark, hand pressed over my stomach, trying to will it away. But the ache only got worse. I hadn’t eaten much at dinner—couldn’t. The sight of Carlos seated at the head of the table had drained me of my appetite.

My fingers fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. 2:07 a.m.

I sighed.

Unable to bear the hunger, I swung my legs off the bed, yawning as I stood. The hallway was quiet, the house dark except for the soft glow of the wall lights. Everything was still. As it should be.

I padded toward the kitchen, my socks barely making a sound on the floor. The chill in the air raised goosebumps on my skin, but I was too hungry to care.

In the kitchen, everything looked too polished—like it belonged in a catalogue. The marble island gleamed under the recessed lights, and the fridge doors opened with a quiet whoosh when I pulled one. It was fully stocked, of course. Everything was arranged by category, by brand, like someone had paid a chef to organize it for the aesthetic. Probably had.

I scanned the shelves and grabbed what I needed—two packs of spicy noodles from the pantry, and then from the fridge: a carton of free-range eggs, a pack of thinly sliced beef, some spring onions, and a jar of homemade chili paste. I pulled everything out onto the island and set a copper pot on the stove.

I filled it with filtered water from the built-in tap and turned on the gas burner. While I waited, I chopped up some spring onions—clumsily, but it’d do. I tossed in the noodles once the water boiled, added the seasoning packets, and stirred gently with one of the long-handled wooden spoons that looked way too expensive for instant anything.

I cracked in a fresh egg and added a few slices of beef. They cooked fast. I finished it off with a spoonful of chili paste and a sprinkle of the chopped spring onions.

I ladled the steaming noodles into a deep ceramic bowl and sat at the island. It smelled amazing. Hot and spicy. I took a seat at the island and started to eat, each bite easing the ache in my stomach.

Finally.

Halfway through, I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned—then froze.

Carlos walked in like sin had a silhouette. Tall. Barefoot. Dressed in a black silk robe that looked more like a weapon than sleepwear. It clung to him, the belt tied just enough to keep things decent, but not enough to hide the hard lines of his chest. His dark hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t slept at all. His expression was relaxed.

Honestly, I could see why my mother fell hard.

I hated that he looked like that.

My stomach clenched again, but it had nothing to do with hunger.

I straightened, set my fork down, and cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”

He scratched the back of his neck lazily. “This is my house,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll go wherever I want.”

That did it.

“This is my father’s house,” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut.

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he stepped forward, resting both hands on the counter like he had every right to be there. “No, it’s not,” he said calmly. “It was never in Mark’s name. It was your mother’s. And now”—his lips curled into a smirk—“it’s in mine.”

My blood boiled.

I stood up sharply, the chair scraping against the floor behind me. “I don’t give a f**k what you’re doing with my mother,” I hissed, rounding the counter until I was standing in front of him. “But leave my father’s name out of your filthy mouth.”

He chuckled. He actually chuckled—like it was funny.

“You really do have fire,” he murmured.

And then he added, low and slow, “I liked you better when you were drunk.”

I blinked. “What?”

What nonsense was this bastard saying?

But before I could process that, he moved toward me. Deliberate. Slow. My instincts kicked in and I stepped back once. Twice. Until my back hit the wall.

Carlos caged me in without touching me, his hands resting on either side of my head. His robe shifted again, and I hated that my eyes dropped for a split second. I wanted to slap the smugness off his face.

“What would your father think,” he whispered, voice almost teasing, “if he knew his devoted little daughter kissed her stepfather?”

My stomach twisted.

I opened my mouth to respond, to shove that lie down his throat—but I moved my head too fast. My lips brushed his.

I gasped.

Carlos didn’t move. Just stared at me with eyes too dark, too calm.

I shoved his chest. “Get off me.”

He didn’t budge. “You kissed me again,” he said, amused.

My chest heaved. I could barely breathe.

“Get. The f**k. Away from me!”

This time, he stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender.

I didn’t wait another second. I turned and stormed out of the kitchen, my steps hard, hot rage trailing behind me. I didn’t look back.

Carlos’ POV

Lauren told me May would be joining us for dinner. I didn’t expect it. But I can’t say I wasn’t a little curious. Part of me was already bracing for how the night would unfold.

By the time I made it down to the dining room, they were both already there. May in that black dress—damn, she looked good. Gorgeous. Her eyes locked on me the second I walked in, sharp and cold—disgust plain on her face. She didn’t bother hiding it. And honestly? I didn’t care.

Dinner was a performance. Lauren played the devoted wife, pressing food onto my plate with an insistent smile that did nothing but irritate me, but I could only tolerate it. I tried to keep my attention elsewhere, but May kept throwing jabs—sharp little digs that begged for attention. I found it amusing. Like a kid throwing a tantrum, trying too hard to get noticed. It was almost cute.

Every time Lauren touched me, I fought the urge to snap. Then she dropped the bombshell—May was going to inherit the company, and I was supposed to help her run it. I wanted to laugh out loud. Me? Helping May? That woman has no idea who she’s dealing with.

Later—

The house was finally quiet.

Lauren had gone down without a fight—thanks to that wine I laced. I’d been patient, gentle, even let her keep touching me all evening without flinching, but she’d been relentless. The woman was practically begging me to sleep with her tonight.

Instead, she was knocked out in bed, right where I wanted her. Out of my way.

I stood in the hallway, the silence around me almost sacred. It was the first time all day I could breathe. I didn’t plan to do much—just grab some water, maybe a snack if I felt up to it. I wasn’t hungry, not for food anyway, but I needed the walk.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck, distracted with my own thoughts.

Then I saw her.

May.

Sitting there at the island like a scene from some late-night fever dream—red nightgown clinging loosely to her body, legs crossed, the soft light bouncing off her skin, that wild halo of hair loose and unruly. She didn’t notice my presence immediately. She was focused on the bowl in front of her.

My first thought?

Damn.

She looked edible. Dangerous. Like something I wasn’t supposed to want but already did.

When she finally noticed me, her eyes widened—just slightly—then hardened fast. A wall slammed into place behind her expression. I could almost feel the temperature in the room shift.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp and cold.

I scratched the back of my neck casually. “This is my house,” I replied, voice low, amused. “I’ll go wherever I want.”

That hit a nerve.

Her whole body tensed, and she fired back instantly, “This is my father’s house.”

I didn’t flinch. I stepped forward, slowly, letting my palms rest flat on the counter between us.

“No, it’s not,” I said, keeping my tone even. “It was never in Mark’s name. It was your mother’s. And now”—I let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth—“it’s in mine.”

There it was. Rage. Beautiful, burning rage lighting her up from the inside.

She stood up so fast her chair scraped the tiles, marched around the counter, and planted herself right in front of me.

“I don’t give a f**k what you’re doing with my mother,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “But leave my father’s name out of your filthy mouth.”

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. She was so damn dramatic. I really liked to rile her up.

“You really do have fire,” I said softly, meaning it more than she probably knew.

Then I leaned in just slightly and murmured, “I liked you better when you were drunk.”

Her brows pulled in. “What?”

I watched the confusion flicker across her face—sweet, raw, unsettled. But I didn’t explain. I moved toward her instead, slow and deliberate, and just like I expected, she backed away. One step. Then another.

Until her back hit the wall.

I took my time, caging her in with both arms, palms pressed flat beside her head. I trapped her there between my body and the wall.

She was glaring at me, but I saw it—that flicker of hesitation. The way she gulped hard. The way her eyes dropped for a split second, betraying her.

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “What would your father think… if he knew his devoted little daughter kissed her stepfather?”

That one hit the bone.

Her whole body went rigid. She looked like she was about to say something, but her head turned too fast.

Her lips grazed mine.

I froze.

In that second, every detail burned into me—the softness of her mouth, the heat of her breath, the way her chest rose and fell like she couldn’t decide if she was furious or flustered. I nearly lost control. The memory of that kiss from the club haunted me, and now this?— It stirred something inside me I wasn’t ready to admit.

She shoved at me. “Get off me.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

“You kissed me again,” I said, teasing her on purpose.

She looked like she wanted to strangle me.

“Get. The f**k. Away from me!”

This time, I let her go, and she stormed out of the kitchen. For some reason, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

Eventually, I glanced at the bowl she’d left behind—still half full.

I walked over, sat in her seat, and took a bite with the same fork she had used.

It was surprisingly delicious. I ended up finishing the whole thing.