My Mother's Husband Is My Sugar daddy

Chapter 13

ADRIANA’S OBSESSION

The entire Monroe's mansion was lit with gold and lilac, Adriana’s favourite colours. There were balloon decorations, shining drapes, fairy lights, and flower walls framing every inch of the space. A private DJ booth was stationed at one end of the compound, and waiters in crisp white uniforms floated across the lawn with trays of hors d'oeuvres and mocktails. Francis had gone out of his way to organise an elaborate birthday party for Adriana.

Adriana stood on the balcony above the grand hall in a crystal-encrusted lilac dress that hugged her curves. Her hair was in waves, her makeup was perfect and flawless, and her smile was wide as she looked down at the crowd cheering for her. A camera was propped beside her, livestreaming the entire moment to her fans. "You guys, look at this, look at what my stepfather did for me", she squealed, twirling for the camera.

"You look like a movie star," Luci said, walking in behind her. Her voice was soft, but Adriana could hear the slight worry. She had grown used to it. Her mother didn’t say much lately, always silently watching.

Adriana leaned into her camera, whispering to her online viewers, "Best stepdad ever." She smiled as she greeted the friends present, showing off her beautiful gown. Everyone present envied her; the young girls wished they had a father who would spoil them, too. Adriana was so happy.

Later that evening, Francis handed her a gift. When she opened the box, she saw keys to a white convertible. Adriana gasped, shrieked, and jumped into his arms in front of the crowd. Cameras flashed and captured every moment, and the guests clapped loudly.

A week passed, and Adriana’s online followers couldn't get enough of her birthday vlog. She had reposted snippets of her gift haul and edited clips showing Francis handing her the car keys, captioned with: "Some men really do know how to treat a queen."

Something began to shift in her slowly, like a dream she didn't want to admit was becoming too real.

Francis, unknowingly, had crossed into her mind not just as the generous man married to her mother but as someone different. A man she wants for herself.

She began wearing shorts that clung higher, tank tops that dipped lower, revealing her busty boobs. Her silk robes were now worn a little looser, mostly without a bra. She would lean in a little more than necessary when speaking to him. Her fingers occasionally grazed his arm longer than they should when handing him the remote. "Oops," she would giggle, pretending not to notice.

Francis never seemed fazed. He remained calm, polite, and careful. And that only irritated her.

One evening after dinner, Luci went upstairs early, complaining of a headache, while Francis stayed behind in the living room watching sports. Adriana came downstairs in one of her new nightgowns, a soft lavender satin piece that hugged her hips and dipped low at the back.

"You’re up late, are you okay?" Francis asked without turning from the TV.

"I couldn’t find sleep," she replied, curling up beside him on the opposite end of the couch.

Silence stretched between them as the sound of cheering fans and dribbling basketballs filled the room. "Have you ever played sports?" she asked suddenly.

Francis chuckled, glancing at her. "Yeah, back in the days."

She smiled, watching his profile, the way his jaw moved, the shape of his nose, the faint scar on his temple. He was handsome, not in a flashy, i********:-boy way, but in a grown, secure, powerful way.

She stood up, pretending to stretch, and her gown moved up her thigh just a little. Francis turned back to the screen.

"Good night, daddy," she said with a light smile.

"Goodnight, Adriana."

Her name in his mouth sounded a bit calm and unaffected.

That night, she opened her diary, one she hadn’t written in for months. She scribbled furiously:

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I see the way he looks at me when he thinks no one is watching. I feel like he understands me better than anyone. He listens, he cares, and oh, he sees me. If this is not love, then I don't know what else to call it. Love doesn’t follow rules.

And I’m not wrong to want more of it.’

The next few days, Adriana created a plan. She started waking up earlier and bumping into him in the kitchen before Luci did. She would make excuses to miss school just so she could linger around Francis.

"I made coffee," she would say. "Do you want a cup?"

He takes the cup and thanks her politely, always keeping a distance.

But she paid attention to every detail concerning him and was always up for all his needs. The way he liked two spoons of sugar, the kind of ties he wore most, the scent of his cologne, warm sandalwood and something smoky, she had every little detail of him wrapped in her hands. She started watching YouTube videos on how to apply subtle perfume to wrists and necks, and how to pose effortlessly attractive in the most casual of clothes.

Her rebellion had melted into desire, an obsession masked in flirtation.

One afternoon, as Adriana returned from school, she saw Francis trying to fix a leaky sink in the guest room and offered to help. She crouched beside him, her arm brushing his, then she leaned forward to hand him the wrench. Her breath ghosted over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat and stepped back.

"You shouldn’t be down here, you’ll get your uniform dirty."

"It’s okay, I don’t mind," she said, her eyes locked on his.

His gaze met hers for a beat too long. Then he stood. "Thank you, but I’ve got it."

She swallowed, and her chest tightened. He wasn’t playing along, he couldn’t even read the signs.

But she would not stop, she wants him and he would get him at every cost.

Her diary pages were now filled with lines that blurred love and longing

‘He’s kind, gentle, and knows how to treat a woman. Luci doesn’t even see it the way I do.

Maybe she doesn’t deserve him, but I was meant to cross paths with him for a reason.

That night, she crept downstairs, restless. She found Francis asleep on the couch, the TV softly humming in the background.

She paused to watch him for a while, then tiptoed closer. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

She reached out slowly, carefully, barely brushing her fingers across his hand.

He stirred, his eyes opened, blurry with sleep. "Adriana?"

She pulled back instantly. "Sorry, I couldn’t sleep, I was just going to the kitchen."

He nodded slowly, his eyes were still fogged. "Okay, don’t stay up too late."

She nodded and rushed past him.

In the kitchen, her hands shook, and her heart raced. It wasn’t rejection, it wasn’t acceptance either; it felt like he was playing hard to get. And that made her want him even more.

Adriana was no longer the confused, angry teenager. She had found a new obsession, one wrapped in charm, kindness, and the safety she always longed for.

And Francis unknowingly had become the object of a desire he never signed up for.

But obsession is a wildfire. Once it sparks, it never dies quietly.