Chasing after my sister’s husband

Family dinner

The familiar gravel crunched under the tires of the taxi as it pulled up the long, winding

driveway. Even from a distance, the Anderson estate was a beacon of activity, a grand old house

that usually stood in quiet, imposing dignity, now practically vibrating with life. My stomach

clenched, a mix of dread and resignation swirling within me. I paid the driver, slinging my small duffel bag over my shoulder, and stepped out into the crisp evening air.

The front door was flung wide open, spilling light and a cacophony of voices onto the manicured lawn. People milled about on the porch, laughing, drinks in hand, their chatter a dull roar that

seemed to swallow me whole the moment I set foot on the pathway. It looked like a full-blown party, not just a family gathering. A knot tightened in my chest. This was always how it was. My

arrival, usually met with a polite nod from a distant relative, would be swallowed by the larger

event, by the endless stream of people who seemed to populate my father’s life.

I pushed through the swarm, a ghost in my own home. Faces, some vaguely familiar, others

complete strangers, blurred past me. No one paused, no one offered a greeting beyond a

perfunctory glance. It was as if I was invisible, a piece of furniture that had simply materialized.

The usual sting of this neglect was dulled by years of repetition, but it never quite disappeared.

“Cheryll! You’re finally here!”

A voice cut through the noise, a welcome sound in the sea of indifference. I turned to see Jayden,

my cousin, pushing his way towards me, a wide grin on his face. Behind him, Jayla, his twin

sister, waved enthusiastically. They were the only ones, always the only ones.

“Hey, guys,” I managed, a genuine smile finally breaking through my carefully constructed

aloofness.

Jayden reached me first, pulling me into a quick, firm hug. “Thought you wouldn’t make it. The

house is absolutely packed. What’s going on?”

Jayla joined us, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Seriously, it’s a madhouse! Dad just said it was ‘a

family affair with a few close associates.’ This is more like a corporate takeover party.”

I shrugged, the weight of my bag feeling heavier than usual. “Your guess is as good as mine. I

just got the usual ‘be here by seven’ text from Dad. No details, as always.”

“Well, at least you’re here now,” Jayden said, sensing my weariness.

“Come on, let’s get you settled. You look like you’ve been through a war zone.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, grateful for their presence. They were my anchor in this chaotic

family, the only ones who saw me, truly saw me, beyond the shadow of my father’s expectations.

I left Jayden and Jayla to mingle, promising to meet them downstairs later. My room, on the

second floor, felt like a sanctuary, a quiet haven away from the relentless hum of voices and

laughter that still seeped through the walls. I dropped my bag with a thud, the soft carpet

muffling the sound. The room was exactly as I had left it: neat, understated, a reflection of the

person I wished I could be more often.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, the exhaustion of the day, and the emotional toll of the house,

finally catching up to me. My mind, however, refused to settle. Instead, it drifted, unbidden, to a

different kind of chaos, a different kind of heat. It drifted to him. Zander Wallace, the one whose

touch had ignited something primal within me.

The memories flooded back, vivid and raw. The thumping bass of the music, the smoky air, the

intoxicating scent of his cologne as he watched me dance. His eyes, dark and intense, had

followed every curve, every sway. And then, after the set, the unexpected proposition, the

reckless abandon of saying yes.

I closed my eyes, replaying it all. The feel of his strong hands on my waist, pulling me against

him, the electric jolt that had run through my body. The way his lips had tasted, a heady mix of

whiskey and something uniquely him. We had stumbled out of the club, drunk on adrenaline and

desire, into the cool night air, finding our way to a secluded hotel room.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word returned with startling clarity. His fingers, firm

and insistent, tracing lines on my skin, exploring every inch of me. The raw hunger in his eyes as

he looked at me, a hunger that mirrored my own. He had been so… dominant, so utterly in

control, yet also incredibly tender. He had made me feel seen, desired, in a way no one ever had.

He had stripped away my inhibitions, leaving me breathless and yearning for more.

A shiver ran through me, not from cold, but from the ghost of his touch. My hand instinctively

went to my stomach, then lower, fingers brushing against the fabric of my jeans. I could almost

feel the phantom pressure of his body against mine, the rhythm of our intertwined limbs. The

memory was so potent, so real, that a soft moan escaped my lips. My body, still humming from

the recollection, ached for that sensation again. I pressed harder, closing my eyes, letting the

memory consume me, allowing myself the forbidden pleasure of reliving that one night, that one

man. A flush spread across my cheeks, a silent testament to the power he held over my thoughts,

over my very being.

“Stop it, Cheryll,” I whispered to myself, forcing my eyes open. This was insane. I barely knew

the man. This was not me. I pushed myself off the bed, needing to shake off the lingering haze of

desire. The only way to cool down, to regain some semblance of control, was a shower.

I stripped quickly, letting my clothes fall to the floor in a heap. The bathroom was cold, a stark

contrast to the heat radiating from my skin. I turned on the shower, letting the water run until it

was scalding hot, then stepped under the spray, hoping to wash away the lingering phantom

sensations. But it was no use. The water sluiced over my body, washing away the day’s grime,

but it couldn’t erase him. His hands were still there, imprinted on my skin, both inside and out.

The memory of his touch, his scent, his taste, was ingrained in every cell. I scrubbed at my skin,

almost aggressively, as if I could physically scour him from my memory, but the more I tried, the

more vivid he became.

Just as I was stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a thick towel, my father’s booming voice

echoed from downstairs, amplified by the high ceilings and open spaces of the house.

“Dinner! Everyone, to the dining room!”

I sighed, a heavy, weary sound. The reprieve was over. It was time to face the music, or rather,

the monotonous symphony of my father’s business dealings. I quickly dressed in a simple black

dress, opting for minimal makeup. There was no point in trying to impress anyone here.

The dining room was a grand, imposing space, usually reserved for formal occasions. Tonight

was no exception. The massive mahogany table was set with gleaming silver and crystal, a feast

laid out that could feed an army. And indeed, it seemed an army was gathered. My father sat at

the head, his stern gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. Aunt Regina, with her perpetually

disapproving frown, was already seated, next to Daniel, the family lawyer, a man whose

presence usually signaled impending doom or a new complex legal maneuver. And then there

was Mary. My older sister, the family’s prized possession, already radiant in a silk gown,

laughing easily with someone across the table.

I slipped into the only vacant seat, tucked away near the end, barely acknowledged by anyone.

The chatter was loud, a mix of polite greetings and hushed conversations. My father cleared his

throat, and the room fell silent.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began, his voice resonating with authority.

“As you know, family is paramount. And so is the legacy we build.”

Here we go, I thought, bracing myself.

“I’ve been working tirelessly on the acquisition of the Anderson Group,” he continued,

launching into a detailed, excruciatingly dull monologue about mergers, assets, and market

shares. He spoke for a good ten minutes, his eyes occasionally landing on me, a clear message in

their depths: This is your future, Cheryll. Pay attention.

I picked at the food on my plate, a delicious roast beef that I had no appetite for. It was always

the same. He would drone on about business, about the importance of our family name, about the

empire he was building, all of it designed to be forced down my throat. He expected me to be

interested, to absorb every detail, to follow in his footsteps. But my mind wandered, desperate

for an escape from the suffocating weight of his expectations.

Meanwhile, Mary, three years my senior, sat poised and elegant, occasionally offering a polite

smile or a nod, but never truly engaging with the business talk. She was free to pursue her

passions – her art, her social engagements while I was destined to inherit the gilded cage. It was

infuriating. She got to do whatever she wanted, while I was constantly being groomed for a role I

detested. And she was older! It made no sense.

My father finally paused, taking a sip of water. The room collectively let out a silent breath. “But

tonight isn’t just about business,” he said, a rare, almost paternal smile gracing his lips.

“Tonight, we also celebrate a joyous occasion.”

A ripple of excitement went through the room. Mary straightened, a blush spreading across her

cheeks. My heart sank. I knew what was coming. The whispers had been circulating for weeks.

“It is with immense pleasure,” my father announced, his voice booming with pride, “that I

announce the engagement of my eldest daughter, Mary Anderson, to a truly exceptional young man.”

A polite round of applause broke out. Mary beamed, looking genuinely happy. I forced a small

smile. I wasn’t surprised by the announcement itself. Mary had always been the golden child,

destined for a prestigious marriage that would further cement the family’s social standing. What

did surprise me, what sent a jolt of icy dread through my veins, was who she was getting married

to.

“He’s a man of integrity, intelligence, and ambition,” my father continued, building the suspense.

“A man who will undoubtedly be a valuable addition to our family, and a strong partner for

Mary.” He paused, letting the anticipation hang in the air.

“Please join me in welcoming Mary’s fiancé, Mr. Zander Wallace.”

The name hit me like a physical blow. Zander Wallace. My breath hitched in my throat. No. It

couldn’t be. My mind reeled, trying to process the information, to reconcile the name with the

face that was already forming in my memory.

Just as the name registered, the large double doors at the far end of the dining room swung open.

All heads turned. And through those doors, tall and effortlessly charismatic, walked a man who

seemed to command the very air around him.

My blood ran cold. My fork clattered against my plate, the sound almost imperceptible amidst

the murmurs of welcome, but deafening in my own ears.

It was him.

The dark hair, impeccably styled. The sharp, intelligent eyes that swept across the room, landing

for a fleeting moment on Mary, then on my father, before a polite smile touched his lips. The

confident stride. The tailored suit that hugged his broad shoulders.

Zander Wallace.

The man who had just walked through the door.

The man who was Mary’s fiancé.

The man who had f****d me senseless a few days ago.

My mind raced, a terrifying puzzle clicking into place. The club. The strip gig. The mask. I had

worn a mask. That was why he didn’t know it was me. He couldn’t have known. It was his

bachelor party. How could I have been so blind? So incredibly, disastrously, stupid?

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror and disbelief. He was walking

towards the head of the table, towards Mary, towards us. He was almost there. And he had no

idea. He had no idea that the woman he was about to marry sister was the masked dancer from

his bachelor party.

My gaze locked onto him as he approached, a forced smile on my face, a scream building in my

throat. He met my eyes for a split second, a polite, distant acknowledgment, before turning his

full attention to Mary. He didn't recognize me. He couldn't.

But I recognized him. And the secret, heavy and dangerous, was mine alone. For now.