Falling For My Stepsister’s Father

Chapter 10: Dancing in the dark.

Alderic’s POV

The walk back to my office felt longer than it should have, my steps heavy and uneven. Maybe it was because I did not remember deciding to come to this floor in the first place. One moment I was heading somewhere familiar, the next I was standing still and rooted, watching her.

Dancing. In the dark.

The room was barely lit, moonlight spilling through the tall windows, painting her skin in silver and darkness. Her dark hair flipped along her back as she moved, loose and wild, brushing against the curve of her waist. Her hips swayed slowly, like she was moving to a rhythm only she could hear. Her chest arched with each breath, heavy breaths leaving her lips, soft but strained, like she was fighting something inside herself.

And her tattoos—f**k—her tattoos moved with her. Ink stretching, shifting, alive under the moonlight, telling stories I did not know and had no right to want to know.

She was hypnotizing.

There was a hitch in my step when I finally forced myself to move again, my jaw tightening as I pressed the growing hardness of my c**k down, forcing my body back under control. This was madness. She was off-limits. Wrong. Dangerous.

“Boss.”

I did not slow as Killian fell into step beside me, his presence familiar, grounding.

“Hit me,” I growled, rolling my shoulders, shaking her image from my mind like water from a blade.

“We lost another group of men, boss.”

My stride sharpened. “How many?”

“Six.”

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“Any injured?” I asked once we were inside my office, loosening my tie, rolling my sleeves to my elbows. I poured us both a glass of Cutty Sark, the amber liquid steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.

Killian unfastened his suit jacket and sat across from me, accepting the glass. “None injured,” he said flatly. “They are all dead.”

The word hung heavy.

His fist clenched around the glass, his eyes twitching with restrained fury. “We need to send a message, boss. Soon. They think we are weak. They think they can take what is ours because we are quiet.”

I understood his anger. I felt it too. In two weeks, I had lost sixty million dollars. Men I trusted. Men with families. Men with futures.

“We do nothing,” I said.

Killian stared at me.

“That is exactly what they want,” I continued calmly. “They want us to react. But you know the truth, we do not have their numbers. If we move now, we lose more men. More money. More ground. We wait.”

He did not argue, but his silence spoke loudly.

“Yes, boss,” he said finally.

I took a slow sip of my drink. The burn dragged my thoughts back to the sharp cut on my hand.

The cut I had given myself.

For her. Pathetic.

I did not know what this was. She was far too young for me, and women, women had never been a problem. I had taken my share: beautiful, average, breathtaking. None of them had ever looked like they were standing on the edge of something the way she did. Like she was running from a past that still had its claws in her.

And it did not help that she was devastating to look at.

Not my usual type. I liked my women small, soft, and uncomplicated. Seraphina was none of those things. She was a storm wrapped in skin.

Her crystal-blue eyes were too big, too expressive. Her nose sharp and delicate. Her brows full, her lips pink and too full, freckles scattered across her cheeks like secrets. She looked unreal. Like a goddess.

A goddess I did not want anywhere near me.

“You did not mention you had a guest.”

Killian’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I looked at him sharply. “A guest?”

He hummed. “Isabel brought her friend over. Heard she will be staying for a while.”

My heart skipped before I could stop it. “And?”

“And?” he echoed, eyebrows lifting. “And you did not tell me.”

I set my glass down slowly and laced my fingers together. “And when have I ever told you everything?”

“Since forever,” he said dryly. “So imagine my surprise when I see a beautiful woman walking down your stairs and I have no idea who she is.”

Something dark twisted in my chest. The same ugly feeling I felt watching Luca stare at her during dinner.

I was not a violent man without reason. But lately, reason was slipping.

“Stay away from her,” I said, trying not to add meaning to my words.. “She is Isabel’s friend. You know how she is.”

Killian only smiled. “I know how Isabel is. But even Isabel knows I appreciate beautiful things.” He leaned closer. “Put in a word for me, boss. Promise I will be gentle.”

My fist tightened against the papers on my desk, knuckles whitening. Outwardly, I remained calm.

“Handle your business yourself, Killian,” I said. “Now let us talk about something that matters.”

He grumbled, but obeyed.

We talked logistics, shipments, money. But no matter how hard I tried, she kept slipping back into my mind. Her body moving. Her breath hitching. Her silence screaming.

When Killian finally stood to leave, I spoke again.

“I need you to do something for me.”

He turned. “Anything, boss.”

“Seraphina,” I said. He raised a brow. “My daughter’s friend. I want everything. Background. History. Secrets. Everything.”

The weight in my voice left no room for jokes.

“On it,” he nodded. “Get some rest, boss.”

When he left, I sat alone in the quiet.

And no matter how hard I tried, I could still see her dancing in the dark.

——-

“I want her out.”

I lifted my eyes slowly.

Magdalene strolled into my company office like she owned the place, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, her presence loud before she even spoke again. She was dressed in a bright orange two-piece that assaulted the eyes.

Who wore orange on a Monday morning in New York?

My gaze dragged over her, assessing without interest. Aside from the disastrous color choice, she looked like she always did—put together, polished and deliberate. Beautiful in a way that screamed effort. Classy. The kind of woman who spent hours perfecting her reflection, even now that she was pushing forty-five.

“Good morning to you too, Magdalene,” I said dryly, already dropping my eyes back to the files on my desk.

I had a full schedule and very little patience. I had told Rhoda explicitly not to let anyone in. But Magdalene had never respected boundaries. She bulldozed through people the same way she bulldozed through situations, relentless, and entitled.

She threw herself onto the couch, kicked her shoes off carelessly, and flipped her blonde hair back with a sharp motion. I saw it all from the corner of my eye.

“I am serious, Ric,” she said, her voice tight. “I do not like that she is in the house.”

“And I am equally serious,” I replied without looking up. “You will have to be more specific, darling.”

Her lips pressed together. My use of darling* always softened her, even when she tried not to let it. Her cheeks flushed faintly, but she quickly shook it off and crossed the room toward me, her bare feet silent against the floor.

“Seraphina.”

I stopped writing.

I stared at the paper in front of me, saying nothing.

She mistook my silence for permission and continued. “Are you truly comfortable with another man’s daughter living under your roof?” she asked sharply. “Especially when that man happens to be who your ex had a relationship with?”

Still, I said nothing.

“Yes, Ric,” she pressed. “I know exactly who she is. And frankly, if you have no complaints, then I do. I do not like it.”

I finally looked up at her then, my expression unreadable.

“The house is large enough to host hundreds of people, Magdalene,” I said evenly. “I see no reason to chase a girl away simply because of who her father is. She has no business paying for the mistakes of my failed relationship.”

I hated that I even had to explain myself. That I had to justify who stayed under my roof.

Magdalene huffed and stepped closer. She reached for the pen in my hand, plucked it away, and placed it deliberately on the desk. Then she took my hands and wrapped them around her waist, pressing herself into me as if proximity alone could sway my judgment.

“Well, I do not like it, Ric,” she said softly. “Did you see the way she was staring at Luca?” She scoffed. “I know her type. I can spot girls like her from miles away. Soon enough she will start clinging to my son, confusing him. I will not tolerate that.”

I clenched my jaw.

I wanted to tell her she had it backward. That it was her son who could not keep his eyes off Seraphina. That Luca’s interest was sharp, intrusive, and wrong. And that if he went near her again, I was not sure how much restraint I would have left.

Instead, I said calmly, “Is this clinging you speak of anything like what you did to me?”

The color drained from her face.

But I was not done.

“You approached me, Magdalene,” I continued coldly. “You pushed for marriage. Or have you forgotten? Those nights you waited outside my company, begging for scraps of my attention.” My eyes stayed locked on hers. “Does she remind you of yourself?”

She looked as though I had struck her.

Her eyes filled with tears, lashes fluttering rapidly as she struggled to hold them back. She stared at me like she was waiting for me to take it all back.

I did not.

“Do not look so wounded,” I said. “It worked, did it not?”

I stood, my hands still resting at her waist. She felt thinner than usual. Dieting again, no doubt.

I lifted one hand and brushed my thumb beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears that slipped free.

“Seraphina stays,” I said firmly. There was no room for argument. “She is my daughter’s friend. Her sister. Making Isabel happy is my priority. Whether you move in or not does not change that.”

I leaned closer. “Do you understand?”

She nodded stiffly.

Just then, the door opened.

Two pairs of eyes stared at us.

But somehow my eyes found the pair of blues first.