My Mother's Husband Is My Sugar daddy

Chapter 15

Dark Thoughts

Luci has been busy with her work lately, so busy with increasing demands that she barely has time for anything else. She feels comfortable knowing that Francis is there, he loves Adriana as his daughter and cares for her. With him, Adriana lacks nothing at all. What she didn’t know was the struggles between Francis and Adriana and how her daughter had turned into an obsessive young woman.

Francis was concerned about them. He genuinely loves his new family and wants the best for them, and he takes seriously their daughter’s needs for attention. However, he knows that Luci is the best person to give the kind of attention Adriana needs, so he encourages his wife to quit her job and start up a business or maybe work remotely part-time in his company so that she can have more time with their daughter. But she refused the offer, often saying that she had grown to love her job, ignoring the obvious signs that her absence was destroying her home.

It was quiet in the house that evening. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, this one hung in the air with weight, like a curtain of fog that refused to lift. Adriana walked barefoot across the marble floor. Her steps were soft but deliberate. She had waited until the house was still, until Luci had retreated to bed with a tired sigh, and Francis had gone up to his study with his usual glass of aged wine.

She hesitated by the staircase, listening for any sound of footsteps, creaking, or laughter from the TV downstairs. But there was none, only the steady ticking of the grandfather clock by the wall. Her heart raced as she tiptoed toward the study door.

Francis' study had always intrigued her, bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, an antique globe in the corner, and that warm, woodsy scent that clung to everything inside it, Francis. He always smelled like cedarwood and subtle musk, like wealth, mystery, and something forbidden.

The doorknob felt warm in her hand. She turned to unlock it and then slipped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

She wasn’t supposed to be in his study.

That was the unspoken rule of the house. The study was Francis' sanctuary, and Luci had always reminded her gently, almost like a schoolteacher disciplining a willful child, to respect his privacy.

But Adriana didn’t care tonight.

His suit jacket was draped over the leather armchair. She walked over to it, fingers tracing the lapel. The material was smooth and expensive. She lifted it to her nose, inhaling. That scent again.

Adriana pressed it to her cheek and closed her eyes. “He’s mine,” she whispered to herself. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

She sat behind his desk, running her hands over the wood. Her fingers found a gold-plated pen and she began doodling his name in the corner of a scrap paper, her heart beating louder with each stroke.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard soft footsteps in the hallway.

She froze, and the doorknob turned, but it was Luci who entered. Her robe was loosely tied, her face pale and drawn. She looked around the room, frowning.

"Francis?" she called softly. "Are you still in here?"

The light above the study cast a golden glow, diffused through the slightly ajar door that Adriana had left like that on purpose. She stood at the far end of the hallway, her back against the wall, her heart pounding in rhythm with the soft ticking of the clock. It was silent, and yet her body felt like it was echoing with the rustling of her breath, the thudding of her heartbeat, and the rush of blood in her ears.

She shouldn't be watching him. She knew that, but knowing had never stopped her.

Adriana held her breath under the desk, Luci walked in, looking around. She picked up the jacket from the chair and stared at it, her brows slightly furrowed. She stood still for a moment longer, then slowly turned and left, the door closing gently behind her.

Adriana waited several long seconds, her heart was hammering in her chest.

When she was sure her mother had gone, she crawled out from under the desk, eyes wide. She stood, brushed herself off, and reached for the pen again.

She turned to the back of her leather-bound diary, hidden in her hoodie pocket.

She flipped to the last page and wrote: He’s mine.

Just then, Francis walked out of the restroom in the study. Startled, Adriana stood up and the pen and daira in her hands fell to the floor. She quickly reached for it before Francis would.

“What are you doing here?” He asked concerned. “Do you need something? It’s midnight, you should be asleep”

“I...was looking for something”, She stammered.

Francis furrowed his brows, watching her intently; he knew that was a lie; what could she be looking for in his study? Before he could say anything else, her voice rang out.

“If you love my mum like you say, then why aren’t you sleeping with her now? Instead, you stay here in your study, reading books, or working. You’re avoiding her, right?” Her voice dripped with sweetness.

Francis was taken aback, “What? No, I love your mum, very much. It’s just the past few weeks, it has been one meeting after another with some foreign investors for a project we are working on. And you know, time zone differences.”

Adriana stepped closer to him and traced a finger on his chest, “Foreign investors, or foreign women?”

Francis stepped back and scolded. “Now that’s enough. Go to bed, I won’t entertain this anymore.” Then he turned to his work table and sat at his desk, his head bent over some paperwork. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. She bit her lip as her eyes trailed the veins that ran down them, imagining what it would feel like to touch him, to feel those hands on her skin, or to lie against his chest while he worked. The thought made her knees weak.

He was her mother’s husband. But that title had become blurry to her.

To everyone else, he was just Francis. To Adriana, he was everything she dreamed about at night, the one she watched with calculated care, the one who had become the centre of her universe without even knowing it.

The fantasy took over. In her imagination, she was barefoot, wearing one of his shirts, loose, oversized, and drenched in his scent. She had walked in with tousled hair, yawned, and climbed onto his lap like she belonged there. He would say her name in that low voice, filled with want and confusion, and his arms would wrap around her waist.

God, he doesn’t even know, she thought. He doesn't know what he does to me. The paper rustled again as he flipped a page. She sucked in a quiet breath and inched closer, she wanted more. Watching wasn't enough anymore. She needed to feel him, touch him. To make him see her not as Luci's daughter, but as a woman. His woman.

She was tired of pretending, of sleeping alone while her fantasies twisted and turned into darker shapes. Her mind had begun to conjure scenarios she could no longer control. Some nights she dreamt of Luci simply not being there. Just completely out of the picture.

Those thoughts scared her, but not enough to stop them.

“Adriana, go to sleep”, Francic warned again before he got into a meeting with some people on the other line.

She turned sharply to leave; then suddenly, the hallway light flicked on.

"Adriana?" Luci's voice echoed. "What are you doing there?"

Adriana's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes darted to the study door.

Francis hadn’t noticed, or maybe he had but chose not to respond. He was engrossed in his meeting.

"I—" She smiled, quickly brushing her hair back and stepping into the light, her tone airy. "I was just looking for the cat. She ran this way."

Luci yawned and rubbed her eyes. "It's almost midnight, you should be in bed."

"I will. Just making sure she doesn't get locked in anywhere."

Luci gave a tired nod, stretched to see if Francis was done with his meeting, and then walked back to her room.

Adriana waited a few more seconds, then tiptoed back to the study door.

Francis leaned back in his chair now, stretching, his shirt pulling across his chest. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, then reached for a tumbler of whiskey beside him.

That should be me, she thought. I should be the one he reaches for.

Her fingers tingled. Her mind was now filled with images of her crawling onto that desk, knocking the papers away, his hands on her thighs, his breath hot against her neck.

She swallowed hard and pulled away from the door. Back in her room, she sat on her bed, heart still racing, and opened her diary.

He looked tired tonight, I wanted to hold him, sit on his lap and take the stress off his face with my lips. Every part of me aches for him. I wore the red robe today, the one that falls open when I lean. He noticed he looked... even if it was just for a second. He wants me, I know he does.

She paused, her pen hovering.

I would be so good to him. Better than her, she’s always busy, always cold. He needs warmth, and I am warmth. I am fire, I am his.

The next line was written slower, with pressure that almost tore the paper: She doesn't deserve him.

Adriana closed the diary, placed it under her pillow, and lay down, her arms wrapped tightly around her own body as if she were imagining it was him.

The clock ticked.

One of these nights, she thought, it would be more than a fantasy.