the sin between us

hidden love

Evelyn stared up at the ceiling, but every time she blinked she saw Mark's eyes instead. The way he'd looked at her in the dim kitchen light... like he already knew the answer to the questions neither of them dared to ask. She pressed a hand over his chest to quit her racing heart, but the ache only spread. Downstairs she heard muffled voices, Mark and Ava talking in low, easy tones — normal, harmless, friendly. It shouldn't have hurt. It shouldn't have mattered. But somehow it did. And that was the part that scared her the most. Because the longer she lay there, the more she realized it wasn't guilt keeping her awake, it was craving.

Holding her hand on her heart, feeling the pain that she couldn't have what she mostly craved, hurt she was trapped. She could either have what she wanted most; love, but lose her best friend, someone who she'd known since they were babies. They are practically sisters. But how could she tell her best friend that every time her dad walks into the room she gets butterflies in her stomach or that when he gets closer to her, her whole body tingles in a way that makes her smile in ways that she can't explain?

Evelyn woke up the next morning, coming downstairs and her eyes must be deceiving her, as what she was seeing must have been a

dream. This beautiful man, his body created by the gods, was standing there making breakfast shirtless. He was so sexy. The desire to run to him and kiss every inch of those abs. It was almost impossible to keep herself composed when he was standing there looking like that. It wasn't fair that he was right there, so close, yet so far. However, she couldn't have him no matter how much she wanted him or how much he wanted her.

Evelyn froze at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the railing as if she needed it to stay upright. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, a small amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as though he knew exactly what effect he was having on her. "Morning Evelyn," he said, voice rough from sleep, somehow worse, somehow better. She swallowed hard, trying to force words out of a throat that suddenly wasn't cooperating. "Morning," she said, somehow managing to spit it out. Her voice barely above a whisper. She moved past him to the counter, pretending to be interested in the toast, the fruit, anything that wasn't that gorgeous body of his, but every molecule in the air seemed to hum with his presence. It wasn't fair. It wasn't sane. And the cruelest part was that he acted like nothing f*******n was happening at all, while her whole world felt like it was slipping away from her grip.

Just as he handed her a plate, the soft thump of footsteps shattered the charged silence. "Morning!" ava yawned, rubbing her eyes as she padded into the kitchen. Evelyn nearly jumped out of her skin, stepping back so quickly she almost bumped into the counter. Mark cleared his throat, the spell was broken, and turned his attention toward his daughter with practiced ease. "Breakfast is ready," he said, voice suddenly neutral, almost too casual. Ava didn't notice anything unusual: she just slid into a chair and began buttering toast like it was any other morning. But Evelyn could still feel her heart slamming against her ribs, the heat of what almost happened lingering in the air like smoke from ashes after a fire.

Sitting down at the table, her toast dripping with butter, Ava and Mark joined her. They felt awkward, and Ava, having no clue what was going on between them, was sitting there eating her breakfast before she asked, "So what's the plans for today?" The room stayed silent. Mark and Evelyn staring at their plates, not saying a word. Ava staring at them both. The silence was getting too much: "Why are you two being so weird"? " "Not weird, just trying to enjoy a quiet breakfast, sorry sweetie, what were you saying?" Mark says. Knowing what their plans were for the day, Evelyn says, "You have skiing booked at the slopes. There was only a reservation for two, so you two decided to do it as a dad and daughter thing."

Ava practically bounced out of her chair at the reminder, grabbing Mark's hand before he could protest. "Come on Dad, we need to get ready before the slopes get swarmed by hundreds of people!" She laughed excitedly, tugging him toward the stairs. Mark shot one last glance over his shoulder, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he disappeared up the steps behind her. The house fell quiet again, too quiet, too quickly. Evelyn gathered the plates and cups without thinking, rinsing them under the tap, wiping down counters that were already clean—anything to keep her hands busy and her mind even busier. The clatter of dishes echoed in the silence, and with every sweep of the cloth she tried to scrub away the feeling that she was intruding on something she had no right to want. But the harder she worked, the more it followed her, clinging to her ribs like smoke she couldn't cough out.

When the kitchen was spotless and there was nothing left for her hands to claim, Evelyn finally admitted defeat. She brewed herself a cup of tea, the steam filled the house carrying hints of mint and honey that settled her nerves just enough to move. Mug in hand, she climbed the stairs at a slower pace, each step softer than the last, as if she didn't want to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the villa. In her room, she curled onto the duvet with her book, though the words on the pages blurred more than they registered. She sipped her tea, letting the warmth fill her chest, and told herself she was simply waiting for them to return from the slopes — nothing more. Just a friend enjoying a calm morning. But the way she kept glancing at the clock betrayed her, counting down the minutes until their return.