Stepdad’s Pet; His Son’s Plaything

The dinner table war

EMMA’S POV

Dinner at the Blackwood house had always been a performance of upper-middle-class perfection. The heavy silver cutlery, the vintage red wine, and the soft glow of the chandelier—it was all designed to mask the cracks. But tonight, the cracks were wide enough to swallow us whole.

I sat across from Reign, my eyes fixed on my plate. Jordan sat at the head of the table, his face a stoic mask as he discussed a new acquisition with my mother. He was the perfect professional, the perfect husband. He didn't look at me once.

But I felt him. Every time his hand moved to reach for his wine, I remembered those hands on my hips in the bathroom. Every time he spoke, I remembered that voice growling in my ear.

"Emma, you've barely touched your risotto," my mother said, her voice cutting through my haze. "Are you feeling alright? You've been so quiet since the... plumbing incident this afternoon."

I felt Reign’s gaze snap to me like a physical blow. Beside him, I saw his grip tighten on his fork.

"I'm fine, Mom," I said, forcing a small, innocent smile. "Just a bit of a headache. The heat, you know."

"You should take some drugs and get to bed early," Jordan said, his voice neutral. It was the first time he’d acknowledged me all evening. "Sleep is the best cure for a restless mind."

"Is that right, Dad?" Reign’s voice was a low, dangerous drawl. He finally looked away from me and stared directly at his father. "Is that how you handle your restless nights? Just... sleeping it off?"

Jordan’s jaw tightened. "I don't have restless nights, Reign. I have responsibilities."

"Right. Responsibilities," Reign repeated, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "Like fixing leaks and keeping the family... secure."

The tension was so thick I could barely breathe. My mother looked between the three of us, her smile faltering. "Well, I think we’ve all had enough talk of work and chores. Reign, tell us about your trip. Did you see that property you were looking at?"

The rest of dinner was a blur of forced conversation. As soon as the plates were cleared, I excused myself, desperate for air. I headed out to the terrace, the night air cool against my flushed skin.

I didn't have to wait long. I heard the sliding glass door creak open behind me.

"Smooth, Emma," Reign said, leaning against the railing. "The 'plumbing incident.' You and my father really are a matching set of liars, aren't you?"

I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. "I don't know what you're talking about, Reign. Go back inside."

He didn't move. He stepped into my space, his shadow looming over me in the moonlight. "I'm only going to ask you once. Are you f*****g my father?"

The question hit me like a physical slap. I felt the blood drain from my face, replaced by a hot, defensive rage. "What kind of stupid, disgusting question is that? Have you lost your mind?"

"Answer me," he growled, grabbing my upper arms. "I saw the way he looked when he came out of your bathroom. I saw the way you looked. Don't lie to me."

"He is your father, Reign!" I screamed, shoving his chest. "That question doesn't just hurt me—it destroys his integrity! He raised me! He’s been a saint to this family!"

Reign didn't flinch. He let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "Integrity? You’re talking to me about integrity.”

“Well he’s my father! I said defensively, “people don’t f**k their fathers.”

He scoffed, “but they f**k their brothers? Like you’re not f*****g your own brother? I don’t think ‘family’ is a concept you care about, Emma. If you’re willing to let me ruin you, why wouldn't you let him?"

I didn't think. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet night.

"Don't you ever say that to me again," I hissed, my voice trembling. I turned to walk away, but he was faster.

Reign grabbed my waist and hauled me back against him, his mouth crashing onto mine. It was a desperate, punishing kiss—filled with a possessive jealousy that nearly knocked the wind out of me. For a few seconds, I fought him, but then my body betrayed me, melting into the heat of him.

The moment I felt myself softening, I snapped back to reality. I tore myself away and slapped him again, harder this time.

"Stay away from me!" I yelled, turning toward the door.

"Emma, stop!" He lunged for my hand, spinning me back to face him. This time, the anger was gone from his face, replaced by something raw and terrifyingly vulnerable. "Just listen to me for one second."

"I'm done listening to your insults!"

"I love you!" he shouted.

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. I froze, my hand on the handle of the sliding door.

"I've loved you since the first day I met you seven years ago," Reign said, his voice cracking. "I was seventeen, you were fourteen, and I knew then. I knew you were the only thing that mattered. I held out for years, Emma. I stayed away, I fought with you, I treated you like s**t because I couldn't handle how much I wanted you. I waited until three nights ago because I didn't want to break you."

He stepped closer, his eyes searched mine. "And I was surprised, Emma. I was so surprised that I was the first person to ever have you. That you saved that for me."

"It doesn't matter," I whispered, my heart breaking for a version of him I never knew existed. "It’s just s*x, and I didn’t save it for you or anyone else, Reign."

"It matters to me!" he insisted, his grip on my hand tightening. "It matters because it means we could be something. We’re enough for each other, Emma. You don't need to go looking for... for whatever else you’re chasing. We can leave. We can be together."

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. The weight of the two men—the father and the son—was crushing me. "You don't understand, Reign. It's not that simple."

"It is that simple!" he begged, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Stop this. Stop whatever is happening with him. Just stay with me."

"I can't!" I screamed, the pressure finally exploding. "I'm not f*****g your…" I caught myself, my voice dropping to a harsh, jagged whisper. "I'm not f*****g your father, Reign. Just let it go."

"Then why can't you look me in the eye when you say it?"

"Because you're being crazy!" I turned to the door, desperate to get inside, but as I pulled it open, I froze.

My mother was standing in the shadows of the dining room, her face pale, her eyes wide as she looked from me to Reign.

"Emma?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What did you just say?"

Reign and I both went dead still. In the silence of the house, the words I’d just screamed felt like they were written in blood on the walls.

Behind her, I saw Jordan appear in the hallway, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.