My Boyfriend's Father is my Lover

CHAPTER 3: I THOUGHT I COULD

When they arrived at the penthouse, Ella felt as if she was in another world. She had not seen a hall this beautiful, like a place where someone could actually live.

The elevator doors glided open with a soft chime, revealing the luxurious corridor that led to the suite. Mark moved ahead to unlock the door, and as he did, Ella reached out and wrapped her arms around him from behind. The gesture was spontaneous and natural, like they had known each other for a long time.

Mark felt the warmth of her touch and smiled quietly to himself. There was something about Ella that stirred him, there was something beyond the physical allure.

She was different.

Free-spirited, unguarded, and real.

And Mark found himself falling fast. Her laughter wasn’t calculated, her smile wasn’t measured. She didn’t know who he was, at least, not in the way others did, and it made all the difference.

In his world, Mark was used to women who came prepared with expectations. They already know him. A billionaire, a bachelor and eligible.

They either tread carefully, afraid to misstep, or they pursued him with the single-minded ambition of someone chasing an investment. Either way, it left him cold. But Ella? She treated him like a person. Not a brand.

As the door swung open, they stepped into the expansive suite. The penthouse radiated opulence. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of the city. A crystal chandelier hung like a crown from the ceiling. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath soft lighting, and designer furniture stood like art pieces scattered with purpose.

Ella’s eyes widened as she took it all in. Her steps were slower now, almost reverent, as she moved through the space and toward the bathroom.

She’d never been in a place like this before, never seen this kind of wealth up close, at least not privately. For a moment, she assumed this was company-sponsored. Perhaps Mark’s firm treated their staff to lavish accommodations? It was either that or Mark’s job paid far more than he let on.

Inside the marble-clad bathroom, Ella turned on the shower and stepped beneath the cascading water, letting the heat envelop her.

She needed this. Not just to wash off the remnants of a long, chaotic day, but to reclaim her own body, her thoughts, her agency. Her mind wandered back to the image of Prisca and Steve in Room 201, a memory she couldn’t erase.

Tonight, she wasn’t looking for comfort. She was looking for control.

Mark stood in the living room, still by the door, trying to process the unexpected intimacy of the evening. When he realised she had taken the lead, he hesitated only briefly before undressing and following her into the bathroom.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The silence was charged with tension, not awkwardness, but anticipation. Uncertainty. Their actions moved ahead of their words.

Ella stood with her back to the water, droplets glistening on her skin. As she turned, she locked eyes with Mark, and something shifted between them. A wordless understanding passed like electricity. He looked at her—not just at her body, but at her essence. Confidence. Intelligence. A fire beneath the surface. She was the embodiment of everything that had excited him during dinner—the spark in her conversation, the unfiltered way she spoke, the contradictions that made her complex.

Mark stepped under the water next. Their eyes stayed on each other. The distance between them never felt like separation—it was a draw. A pull. Each glance carried meaning. Each movement, a message.

Ella couldn’t help but admire him. His physique was stunning—broad shoulders, chiselled lines, a body clearly built with intention. Yet what struck her more was his presence. There was something composed about him. Controlled. He wasn’t trying to impress her. That made her want to know him more.

Mark wondered where this woman had been all his life. How had he never encountered someone like her, young, bold, and unafraid to challenge him intellectually? She was a mystery he didn’t want to solve. He wanted to stay in it, in her.

Ella left the bathroom first, wrapping herself in a robe provided by the hotel. When Mark emerged, he found her standing by the window, bathed in the ambient light from the city. Her silhouette against the glass was poetry.

Their eyes met again, and words still weren’t necessary. Ella motioned subtly toward the bed, the sheets turned down and inviting. For a moment, Mark hesitated. Not because he didn’t want her, but because something about the moment felt larger than lust. It felt like something delicate. And dangerous.

As Mark approached, Ella lay back, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This is what I need right now, she told herself. Some good loving to take my revenge. She hoped Mark would be better than Steve, emotionally, physically, and completely.

The bedroom became a stage for something raw and unfiltered. They weren’t actors, but they were both playing roles that night—roles created by longing, betrayal, and a desire to feel something real.

They lay side by side for a beat, the hum of the city far below them. Mark reached out, his hand resting gently on Ella’s thigh. It wasn’t possessive; it was a question, seeking permission.

Ella responded not with words, but with a kiss. Soft, exploratory. A mingling of uncertainty and need. Their bodies began to communicate where their mouths had not. Mark leaned in, kissing her neck, his hands mapping the contours of her frame. Ella pressed against him, craving something more than comfort. She wanted dominance. She wanted to rewrite her own pain.

She straddled him, taking control. It was the same position she had found Prisca in, Prisca, on top of Steve, shamelessly victorious. Ella wanted to erase that memory. Or perhaps, replace it.

But then, something shifted.

Mark’s rhythm slowed. His hands stopped roaming. It was as if the momentum they’d built dissolved in a sudden wave of realisation. The chemistry hadn’t faded, but it had paused. A hesitation of the heart. Their bodies rebelled against the impulse.

Mark gently pulled away, lying back, chest heaving. “Maybe it’s the alcohol,” he said, his voice low, thoughtful.

Ella stared at the ceiling, her own chest rising and falling. “Yeah,” she said after a long pause. “Maybe we should’ve thought this through more.”

There was no anger. No shame. Just honesty.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Mark said softly, turning his head toward her. “If you’re not comfortable, we can stop.”

“I thought I could do this,” Ella admitted. “I wanted to. But I can’t. My heart may have been willing, but my mind... It’s somewhere else.”

Mark reached for the pyjama pants folded at the foot of the bed. “Let’s not force anything,” he said. “Let’s just let it go.”

Ella watched him dress and walk over to the reading table, where he opened his laptop and poured himself a glass of wine. The energy in the room shifted again, this time toward calm.

She lay there in silence, her emotions tangled but softening. Somehow, the fact that he hadn’t insisted, hadn’t pushed, meant more than she’d expected. In a world of blurred lines, Mark had drawn one.

“What do you do?” Ella finally asked.

Mark looked up from the screen. “I build structures. Real estate development. I design, own, sell. That kind of thing.”

Ella narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “So are you here to buy or sell?”

Mark chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He leaned back, wine glass in hand. “I’m actually here to teach.”

“Teach?” she repeated, surprised. “Like... teach what?”

Mark smiled. “History. Visiting lecturer. I accepted a temporary role. I thought it’d be good for a change of pace.”

Ella, still thinking he meant some high school, laughed. “You? In front of a class? You’d be a hilarious teacher.”

“Why do you say that?” Mark asked, amused.

“You’re funny. You’re charming. It’d be hard to focus with someone like you teaching,” she teased.

“Are you saying you like me, Ella?”

“I’m saying I could like you. But a lecturer? I don’t think the you I see now can do that.”

Mark nodded. “I get it. But for the record, anyone would love a beautiful and intelligent woman like you. Including me.”

Ella blushed, letting herself fall back on the pillows. Naked and unguarded, she felt more at peace than she had all night. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Mark. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end just yet.

They said little more that night. No declarations, no regrets. Just the quiet acknowledgement of a connection that had refused to become something physical, yet had rooted itself deeper.

As Mark returned to his laptop and Ella nestled beneath the sheets, a strange comfort filled the penthouse.

And as sleep began to pull at Ella’s eyes, she thought one final thought:

Maybe I didn’t get what I came for… but maybe I found something I didn’t even know I needed.