SEDUCING MY BESTFRIEND'S DADDY

Chapter 3

The morning after the library encounter, the sun rose over the Vargas estate with a deceptive, golden brilliance. For Emily, the air felt charged, as if a thunderstorm was perpetually brewing just behind the horizon. She dressed with calculated simplicity: a pair of denim cut-offs and a tiny, ribbed white tank top that clung to her skin, leaving her midriff bare. It was the "girl-next-door" look, weaponized.

She found Sofia in the glass-walled breakfast nook, scrolling through a tablet while picking at a bowl of dragon fruit.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Sofia chirped, not looking up. "You missed the early workout. Dad was in the gym at 5:00 AM like a madman. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink."

Emily poured herself a cup of black coffee, the steam warming her face. "Work stress?"

"Probably. He left for the office early, too," Sofia said, finally looking up. Her brow furrowed. "Actually, he was acting really weird. He barely looked at me, and he told the housekeeper to move your laundry to the private machines in the master wing because the main ones are 'acting up.' Since when does he care about the laundry?"

A slow, predatory smile touched Emily’s lips. He was trying to segregate her, to put distance between them by controlling the very environment they shared. But he had made a tactical error. By moving her things toward the master wing, he was inviting her into his private territory.

"That's strange," Emily said innocently. "I’ll go check on my things. I have a few... delicate items that shouldn't sit in the heat."

The master wing was a place Emily had rarely entered. It was masculine and austere, decorated in charcoal greys and deep woods. The laundry room here was a high-tech alcove hidden behind a sleek, hidden door near Alejandro’s master suite.

Emily stood in the small, sterile room, listening to the rhythmic hum of the dryer. She pulled out her basket of clean clothes. Among the cotton tees and gym shorts, she pulled out a pair of black lace thongs—small, wicked things that looked like spiderwebs.

She didn't put them in her basket. Instead, she walked into Alejandro’s bedroom.

The room smelled entirely of him: expensive sandalwood, cold air, and something spicy. It was a king-sized bed with navy linens, perfectly made. She felt a thrill of transgression as she crossed the threshold. She walked toward his walk-in closet—a room larger than most people’s bedrooms—filled with rows of charcoal and navy suits.

She took the lace thong and draped it over the corner of his mahogany dresser, right next to his watch box and his silver cufflinks. It was a flag planted in enemy territory. A reminder that she was everywhere, even in the spaces he thought were safe.

Just as she was about to exit, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Emily’s heart leaped into her throat. Alejandro shouldn't be home for hours. Panic flared, followed immediately by a rush of adrenaline. She couldn't get back to the laundry room in time. Acting on instinct, she ducked behind the heavy velvet drapes that framed the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens.

The door opened.

Alejandro entered, his breathing heavy. He wasn't in his suit; he was in a grey workout shirt that was drenched in sweat, sticking to the broad planes of his chest. He must have come back for a mid-day shower after a second gym session—a desperate attempt to burn off the tension she had gifted him last night.

She watched through the tiny gap in the velvet. He threw his car keys onto the dresser. He stopped.

His entire body went rigid.

He stared at the small, black lace garment sitting atop his dresser. For a long minute, he didn't move. Then, he reached out, his fingers hovering over the lace before he picked it up. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, his jaw working so hard Emily thought his teeth might crack.

He closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white. He didn't throw it away. He didn't call the maid. He brought it closer to his face, his nostrils flaring as he took in the faint scent of her perfume—vanilla and jasmine.

"Emily," he whispered, the name sounding like a curse and a prayer all at once.

He suddenly looked toward the drapes, his instincts as a predator sensing another presence in the room. Emily held her breath, her heart drumming so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

"I know you’re in here," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, gravelly register. "Show yourself."

Emily stepped out from behind the curtain, her hands behind her back, her expression one of faux-innocence. "I was just looking for the laundry room, Alejandro. I got lost."

He moved toward her, his presence filling the room, the scent of his sweat and heat overwhelming her. He held up the lace. "And this? Did this get lost, too?"

"It’s mine," she said softly, stepping closer until she was looking up at him. "I must have dropped it. Or maybe... maybe I wanted you to have something of mine to keep you company while you’re working so hard."

Alejandro grabbed her waist, his large hand spanning nearly the entire width of her middle. He pulled her flush against his sweat-dampened body. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat.

"You are playing a game you cannot win," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "You think this is a crush? You think I’m just some lonely old man? If I let go of this leash, Emily, I will ruin you. I will consume you until there is nothing left of the girl who walked into this house."

"Then ruin me," she breathed, her hand rising to rest over his heart. "I’m tired of being a girl, Alejandro. Make me yours."

Alejandro’s gaze dropped to her lips, his control fraying like a rope under too much weight. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, and for a second, the world fell away. There was only the sound of their shared, ragged breathing and the forbidden pull of a desire that had been brewing for years.

Then, the sound of Sofia’s voice drifted up from the foyer. "Dad? Em? Are you guys up there?"

The spell broke. Alejandro shoved her away, his eyes wild and dark with a mixture of lust and self-loathing. He turned his back to her, clutching the lace thong in his fist before shoving it deep into his pocket.

"Go," he croaked. "Out the back stairs. If she sees you in here..."

"She’ll find out eventually," Emily said, her voice steady.

"Not today," he snapped. "Get out!"

Emily slipped through the side door, her blood singing. She had felt his heart racing against her palm. She had seen the way he looked at her lace. He wasn't just falling; he was already over the edge. He just hadn't realized he was in freefall yet.