Obsessed With My Father’s Boss

Damn It!!

Rhea’s POV

I don’t know how long I slept or if I even slept at all, but a knock on the door snapped my eyes open.

I stretched lazily, then caught myself and went straight to the mirror. I knew it would be him coming to check on me. I ran my fingers quickly through my hair, smoothed down my clothes, and headed for the door with my heart already doing too much.

I opened it.

The excitement in my chest died on the spot.

Standing before me was a young, bubbly girl around my age, grinning from ear to ear like she had been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Oh, you must be Mrs Langston!” She said, already stepping into the room before I could even think about inviting her in.

It felt weird being called that. But more than that, who the hell was she?

“And you are?” I asked, turning toward her.

“Forgive my rudeness. Hi, I’m Zoe, your nanny, personal stylist, I can be anything really, and Mr. Langston sent me to take you home.” She said all of this in one breath, the wide smile never leaving her face.

I gave her a brief one back before asking the only thing that actually mattered.

“Where is Mr Langston?”

“Oh, he had some business to take care of, but don’t worry, I will keep you company.” She said it as if it were wonderful news.

I didn’t know how to feel about any of it, so I just went to get ready. I looked at my wasted nightie and frowned, but I carefully folded it into my bag anyway. It would be useful one day. I grinned at myself for that one.

Zoe helped me downstairs and into the car, talking the entire time. She rambled about something I couldn’t quite follow, and I stopped trying. I let her voice fade into the background and dozed off somewhere between the gate and the highway.

A hand on my shoulder brought me back. “Ma’am, we are here,” Zoe said softly.

I rubbed my eyes, stepped out, and then stopped.

“Wow.”

The mansion in front of me was easily three times the size of my father’s. It rose with the kind of quiet confidence that only old money truly has, the architecture sharp and deliberate, every detail chosen to say something without raising its voice. You could read the owner’s entire character just from looking at it.

As we walked toward the entrance, heads bowed one after another, and I found myself responding to greetings I had never in my whole existence been on the receiving end of. It felt surreal, like wearing a costume that somehow fit.

Zoe was still talking.

“Let me take you to your quarters.” She said, leading me through a wide hallway before pushing open a door with both hands like she was revealing something grand.

Well, it was, but I almost went blind.

Pink. Everywhere. The walls, the cushions, the curtains, all of it aggressively, enthusiastically pink. I stood very still and let my eyes adjust.

“Mr Langston said feel free to change whatever you like, to your taste,” Zoe offered cheerfully.

I raised a brow. “He is fine sleeping in here like this?”

Zoe gave me a confused look. “Oh, Mr. Langston doesn’t sleep here. He has his own quarters.”

Something cracked open quietly in my chest. I had imagined us in the same bed, even with everything between us being a performance. I had imagined it anyway.

“Come on, let me show you his quarters,” Zoe said, already moving.

I followed. His side of the house was on the opposite end, separated from mine by a long walk around the building. And when we arrived, two armed men stood at attention in front of a closed door, their expressions telling me everything before Zoe even opened her mouth.

“Sadly, it is off limits.” She said. “Only the head housekeeper goes in there.”

“Hmm,” I said, and left it at that.

The rest of the day dissolved the way sugar does in warm water, quietly and completely. Zoe introduced me to the housekeepers, walked me through every wing of the mansion with the enthusiasm of someone giving a presidential tour, made sure I ate, made sure I rested, and made sure there was not a single second of silence she hadn’t already filled with something. By the time evening crept in through the curtains, I already knew the layout of the house.

Yes, I was sad. But I hadn’t lost hope. I was closer to him now, inside his world, breathing the same air and sleeping under the same roof. It was only a matter of time before he noticed.

I showered, changed into something that said effortless without screaming effort, and stepped out into the corridor. I positioned myself where he would have to see me coming in. Close enough to be visible, casual enough to seem accidental.

I waited.

And waited.

An hour passed. Then another. My legs were beginning to protest and my eyes kept threatening to close, but I held my position, telling myself five more minutes each time.

I finally gave in and retreated to my room, poured myself a glass of juice, and was just beginning to talk myself into letting it go for the night when I heard it.

Footsteps. And laughter.

I moved to the window before I even decided to.

It was Rowan. And there was a woman beside him, his arm wrapped around her waist like it belonged there. They moved slowly, unhurried, like two people with nowhere to be.

Then they stopped, right in the line of my window, right where I could see everything clearly, and Rowan pulled her in and kissed her.

Not the brief, ceremonial press of lips I had received at our wedding.

But this was different. This was his mouth moving like he was hungry and she was the only thing in front of him.

My chest stung in a way I had no right to feel.

I knew I should look away. I told myself to look away. But I stood there anyway, fingers pressed against the glass, watching until his hand reached for a door and they disappeared inside together.

I wasn’t his woman. I had no claim over him, no reason to feel this particular ache settling into my ribs. I knew all of that.

And yet.

I stripped off the outfit I had carefully chosen, shook my hair loose, and dropped onto the bed.

I was just starting to convince myself to let my mind go blank when the sound reached me through the wall.

“f**k. Don’t stop f*****g me, daddy.” The woman said it shamelessly, and loud moans followed.

I could also hear Rowan’s grunts. Something bitter filled up in my chest. I bit my lips tightly, my heart aching.

I grabbed the first pillow and pressed it over my ears. Then the second one on top of that. I lay there buried underneath both of them, the sounds still finding their way through, muffled but unmistakable, like the universe had decided humiliation alone was not enough for one night.

My jaw was tight. My eyes were burning. I was not going to cry over a man that wasn’t mine yet.

I was absolutely not going to cry.

“Damn it,” I said into the mattress, my voice swallowed by the sheets.

Attempt number two could not come fast enough.