Pucked by my Fathers BestFriend

The Chat

ELENA’S POV

The morning sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, bringing with it a pounding headache and a lingering sense of irritation. Helen’s cryptic, middle-of-the-night phone call had done nothing but keep my mind racing when it should have been resting.

I sat up, tossing the heavy duvet aside, my thoughts immediately drifting to Damien Laurent. He hadn't come home last night. The empty dinner table and his brief, clinical text message were cold reminders of the boundaries he kept trying to build between us.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he had written.

I bit my lip, a mix of expectation and nerves swirling in my stomach as I got ready for the day. I pulled my hair into my signature ponytail, grabbed my purse, and headed downstairs. Martha was already in the foyer, adjusting a vase of fresh lilies.

"Good morning, Miss Elena," she said smoothly, offering a polite nod. "The driver is waiting outside to take you to the campus."

"Thank you, Martha. Did... did Damien return this morning?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, though my racing pulse betrayed me.

"Mr. Laurent sent word that he was heading directly to a corporate meeting downtown," Martha replied evasively, her eyes dropping to the floor. "He won't be back to the estate until later this afternoon."

I swallowed the heavy wave of disappointment settling in my chest and headed out to the driveway. The sleek, black luxury sedan was idling, a security guard holding the door open for me. Stepping onto the bustling university grounds twenty minutes later felt entirely surreal. Students were laughing, rushing to morning lectures, and talking about ordinary things, completely oblivious to the dark underbelly of the city I was currently living in.

"Elena! Oh my god, Elena!"

I turned just in time to see Helen marching across the quad toward me, her eyes wide with frantic curiosity. She looked completely worked up, her sharp steps cutting through the crowd. She didn't even give me a chance to say hello before she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a secluded stone bench near the library.

"You are a terrible friend for making me wait this long," Helen scolded, though she was practically vibrating with excitement. "I have been dying since yesterday! Tell me everything. What is it like living under the same roof as Damien Laurent?"

I tried to keep my expression neutral, adjusting the strap of my bag to buy myself a few seconds to breathe. "He's... very intense, Helen. And mostly absent. He works constantly."

"Don't give me that PR answer!" Helen laughed, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The man is a billionaire, a ghost, and let's face it, absolutely lethal-looking. Did you guys eat dinner together? Did he talk to you? Did he do that thing where he stares into your soul?"

My mind flashed instantly to the memory of the previous night the smell of whiskey, the dark shadow of his study, and the suffocating heat of his hands gripping my waist roughly before he pushed me away. A sudden heat rushed to my cheeks, and I looked away, praying she wouldn't notice.

"We didn't eat dinner together," I said, my voice a little tighter than intended. "He had business."

Helen’s eyes narrowed, her sharp intuition picking up on the sudden shift in my energy. "Elena... you're blushing. Oh my god, something happened, didn't it? What did he say to you?"

"He didn't say anything, Helen," I lied, the words tasting like ash on my tongue as I desperately tried to cool my burning skin. "He just... he caught me wandering around late last night. That's all."

"Wandering around?" Helen’s gasp was loud enough to make a passing group of freshmen look over at us. She quickly lowered her volume, but her eyes were practically dinner plates. "In his private wing? Elena, are you insane? People say he has men disappeared for less than that! What did he do? Did he scream at you?"

"No, he didn't scream," I murmured, my fingers tightening into a fist against my knee.

He hadn't screamed. He had growled. He had held me so close I could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against my chest. He had pressed his lips to my neck and shattered every ounce of restraint I thought I had, leaving me completely unraveled before he brutally pushed me away.

"He just told me to go back to my room," I added softly, keeping the agonizing details to myself.

Helen didn't look convinced. She leaned back against the bench, crossing her arms as she studied my face with a look that was entirely too perceptive. "You're keeping something from me. I can always tell when you're hiding a secret, Elena. Is it... do you actually like him? Like, really like him?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. Like him? It was so much worse than that. I was hopelessly, desperately in love with my father's best friend, and the realization was a heavy, suffocating weight in my chest.

Before I could force out a denial, Helen’s eyes suddenly darted past my shoulder, her expression shifting from intense interrogation to sheer annoyance.

"Ugh, speak of the devil," Helen muttered, rolling her eyes. "Don't look now, but Vincent is heading this way."

I turned my head anyway, watching as Vincent strolled across the quad. He was the guy Helen had started hooking up with recently, a typical coquet who changed partners every six months. But the moment his eyes landed on me, I felt an instant wave of revulsion. His gaze didn't stay on my face; it deliberately swept down, lingering seductively on my chest. He bit his lip in a way he clearly thought was charming, but it just made my skin crawl.

"Hey, beautiful," Vincent said, directing the greeting entirely to me while reaching out a hand.

I cleared my throat, dropping any pretense of a smile, and pointedly ignored his outstretched hand. I gave him a cold, hard look that made him stiffen, realizing his silent appraisal hadn't gone unnoticed. He quickly averted his eyes, clearing his own throat uncomfortably.

"I should get going. Have fun, you two," I said flatly, standing up and grabbing my bag.

Helen shot a furious glare at Vincent, clearly picking up on his pathetic attempt at flirting with me, but she looked back at me and extended her pinky and thumb to her ear a sharp signal to call her later. I nodded quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape the suffocating campus drama.

Before I could even take three steps toward the lecture hall, my phone buzzed violently in my jacket pocket. My heart leaped into my throat. I pulled it out, expecting a text from my father checking in on my first week of classes.

Instead, my breath hitched.

The text was from an unknown number, but the clinical, commanding tone of the message left no doubt about who sent it.

A driver will be waiting at the campus gates at exactly 2:00 PM. Do not be late. We need to talk about last night.

My heart sank in a dizzying mix of intense anxiety and sudden anticipation. He wasn't letting it go. My hands shook slightly as I stared at the glowing screen, my sluggish thoughts struggling to find an escape.

"Elena? Who is it?" Helen asked, trying to peek over my shoulder as she left Vincent's side.

I quickly locked the screen, shoving the phone back into my purse before she could catch a glimpse of the message. "Nobody. Just a reminder about an upcoming lecture."

Standing up abruptly, I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, trying to shake off the ghost of his touch that still seemed to linger on my skin. "We should get to class, Helen. We're going to be late."

Helen sighed, letting out a dramatic groan as she walked beside me. "Fine, evade the question for now. But you can't run away from this topic forever. You're going to have to tell me the truth eventually."

As we walked toward the lecture hall, her playful banter faded into background noise. My mind was already miles away, counting down the hours until two o'clock. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, walking right back into the lion's den. I knew I would burn for him if need be but as I thought about his dark, untamed eyes, I realized I didn't want to be safe at all.