IN MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S BED: HIS TWISTED GAME

FAMILY DINNER

CHAPTER THREE

SUMMER'S POV

Grrr.

Grrr.

The vibration against the nightstand sounded like a rhythmic growl, a predatory noise that snatched me out of a dream I didn’t want to leave.

My hand fumbled across the silk sheets, my heart hammering against my ribs with a hopeful, frantic pace.

Please be him.

Please let it be him.

I swiped the screen, my eyes squinting against the harsh glare of the LED light and the hope died instantly, replaced by a cold, leaden weight in my stomach.

It wasn't a text from the man whose scent was still etched into my memory. It wasn't a secret check-in from the man who had ruined me a week ago.

It was a notification from a family group chat—a mindless meme sent by a cousin I hadn’t spoken to in three years.

I let the phone slip from my fingers, watching it bounce onto the rug. I stared up at the ceiling, the intricate crown molding of my bedroom feeling like the bars of a very expensive cage.

It had been seven days. Seven days since I woke up in Sebastian’s bed, his scent and the musky, dark aftermath of our sin all over the place.

I had spent those seven days trapped in a cycle of self-loathing. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom pressure of his hands on my hips, and the shame would wash over me, hot and suffocating.

How could I have done it? He was my father-in-law. The Alpha’s father.

But then, the shame would settle, and a different kind of fire would take its place.

A craving.

I’d find myself staring at his contact name, my thumb hovering over the dial button until my hand shook. He hadn't reached out.

Not a text, not a call.

To him, I was probably just a mess he had to clean up—literally and figuratively.

"Summer! Are you coming down or what? We’re going to be late!"

My husband’s voice boomed from the hallway, sharp and impatient. I flinched.

I scrambled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I bathed, creamed, styled and finally put on a dress that felt too tight and a smile that felt even tighter and made my way downstairs.

When I got downstairs, he was already at the head of the breakfast table. He didn't even look up as I approached.

He was hunched over his phone, his thumb flying across the screen, a small, private smirk playing on his lips. I didn't need to be told to know who he could be happily chatting with. Beatrice.

I sat down across from him, watching his hands. Those hands used to hold me. Now, they were typing lies to another woman.

Ironically, I couldn't even judge him anymore, we were both monsters now. Both of us had broken the sanctity of our bed, though he didn't know I had matched his betrayal with something far more dangerous.

He looked up and finally noticed me. He offered a soft smile as he cleared his throat.

"We'll be attending the familiar dinner tonight," he said, finally pocketing his phone. " But before that, I have some business to take care of this afternoon, so I’ll pick you up at five. Don't be late. You know how much I hate it when people are late."

I'd almost forgotten about the dinner. My father had called two days ago to inform us he had been holding a family dinner. It was one he did every year to check up on everyone.

"Fine," I whispered.

We resumed eating and that was the last conversation we had for the morning before he left for whatever business he had. It had been like that for the past few days, we both rarely spoke. I was just left drowning in my own worries.

The drive to my father’s house later that evening was a study in suffocating silence.

As soon as the car braked, I threw the door open, desperate for air. My father was waiting on the porch, his arms open wide. I ran into them, clinging to him like a drowning person.

"You're looking thin, Summer," he murmured, pulling back to cup my face. "Is everything alright? Is he treating you well?"

"Of course, Darius wouldn't dare treat me wrong. I'm just tired, Dad," I lied, the words tasting like poison. "Just a lot on my mind."

He stared at me suspiciously, I knew he could see through my lie.

“I don't see your little sweetheart around, where's she?" I drawled, teasing him and most importantly changing the topic.

"Your stepmother is out shopping again and stop taunting me, little spoiled cub," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Go on inside. Beatrice is in the kitchen, she'd been longing to see you too. I fear she'd go gaga if you don't anytime soon."

My chest constricted but still I gave a curt nod not wanting to wipe that smile off his face.

I walked into the house, my heels clicking on the marble. I pushed all thought, hatred and jealousy off and made for the kitchen.

I stopped right at the entrance and there she was. My stepsister.

She was humming a tune, tossing a salad with a bright, innocent smile. The same girl who had been tangled in my husband’s sheets.

Just then her gaze shifted to mine and it brightened up instantly.

"Summer! You're here!" she squealed, rushing over to wrap her arms around me.

I stood rigid, my heart fracturing into a million pieces.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and ask her how she could do it. But I just stood there, a hollow shell, letting her embrace me while my heart broke into a thousand more pieces.

We were known as the best of sisters, ever since dad remarried. The same way my stepmother— Lisa had helped my dad heal, Beatrice had helped me too and I couldn't bring myself to destroy that bond.

“It's nice having you around. Come help me serve this at the dining room” She smiled.

Instinctively, I returned the smile as I grabbed some of the plates, trying to act chill.

Dad and Darius were at the table and I joined them, while Beatrice excused herself to get ready for the dinner.

Darius kept checking his watch every now and then and after probably the tenth time, he finally spoke up. "Where is my father? He’s usually the first one here."

"Something unforeseen came up," my father replied, opening a bottle of wine. "He messaged saying he’d be a few minutes late or may miss the dinner this once."

Unforeseen.

My chest tightened.

Was he avoiding me?

Was the great Sebastian so disgusted by what we’d done that he couldn't even look at me?

I could feel guilt clawing at my chest.

I had ruined the only stable thing in my life. I had crossed a line, and now the silence from his end felt like a judgment. It's crazy how I miss his constant naggy down my throat.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, pushing back from the table. "I need to make a call." Dad and Darius nodded and I made my way out.

I needed to call him. If he wouldn't call…then I would.

If he felt so awkward around me, then maybe I should clear up the misunderstanding.

I walked toward the foyer, hiding behind a massive marble pillar and dialed his number before I could talk myself out of it. My heart was thumping so hard I could see my pulse in my wrists.

He picked up on the second ring and there was no "hello." Just the heavy, rhythmic sound of his breathing on the other end.

"Sebastian," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I... I’m so sorry…about that night. I was drunk, and I shouldn't have…"

"Don't," he cut me off. His voice was cold, sharp as a winter frost.

"Don't you dare apologize, Summer. We both knew it was coming for years and don't you dare make it something small just because you're scared."

My breath hitched. My brain trying to process what he meant.

Was he grateful or was it just pure regret?

I trembled, clutching the phone to my ear. "But…"

"Summer! Come on, they're starting!" Darius shouted from the dining room.

I nearly dropped the phone, ending the call with a frantic tap. I could hear his footsteps getting closer and closer from upstairs. I smoothed my hair, trying to compose my features.

Just then, the heavy oak front doors swung open.

The air in the room changed instantly. It always did when he entered.

Sebastian walked in, looking like an ancient king in a white tailored suit that made his tan skin look like burnished bronze. Gold rings caught the light as he adjusted his cuffs. He looked powerful, calm, and utterly untouchable.

And beside him, draped over his arm like a trophy, was his wife. My mother-in-law.

She was smiling, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked toward the group.

A sudden, violent jealousy roared to life in my chest, hot and blinding.

Seeing her hand on his bicep—the same bicep I had bit in the throes of passion—made my stomach turn and all I wanted to do was…tear them apart.