Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

The reflection smiled first.

Not Serena.

Not the woman standing in front of the mirror, clutching a candle with white-knuckled fingers and a heart strung tight with dread.

The reflection smiled before she did.

Softly.

Sweetly.

Wrongly.

Serena staggered back a step, the wax of the candle dripping hot onto her wrist, but she barely felt it.

That smile—it wasn't hers.

It couldn't be.

Her lips hadn't moved. Her cheeks hadn't lifted. But the girl in the mirror—her eyes gleamed like secrets made of silk, and her mouth curved upward as if she knew something Serena didn't.

The room around her dimmed.

Or maybe it was just the weight of her own breath catching fire in her throat.

She looked again.

The woman in the mirror looked like her.

Exactly like her.

Same face. Same body. Same black silk nightgown clinging to her collarbones.

But the energy was wrong. Too still. Too calm.

And her smile—God, her smile—felt like something stolen.

"Who are you?" Serena whispered.

The reflection tilted her head, mirroring the movement—but slower, more deliberate.

The candle flickered.

Then… the mirror fogged. Slowly. From the inside.

Serena stepped closer.

Closer.

She could see her own breath now, misting in the warm air like winter had snuck into the room through a crack in time.

Then came the voice.

Not aloud.

Not spoken.

But inside her.

A voice made of silk and static.

> "You're not the first to wear this face, Serena."

Her knees nearly gave out.

She gripped the frame of the mirror with both hands, eyes wide. Her heart slammed like a caged animal.

> "He said the same words to me, too. Once."

Serena's breath shattered.

"No…" she said, but it came out like a plea.

The woman in the mirror didn't answer. She only smiled again.

And this time, there was pain behind it.

Deep, haunted pain.

"Who are you?" Serena asked again, louder now.

The reflection blinked—slow and sad.

> "The one who came before. The one who left pieces behind."

And then, just like that, the reflection… stopped mirroring her.

The woman turned away.

Her Serena's own body remained still—but the figure in the mirror walked backward into darkness, fading into a fog of memories that didn't belong to her.

Until there was nothing but her own face staring back.

And even that felt like a lie.

---

Twenty minutes later, Serena stood in Damon's study, wrapped in a throw blanket, skin cold and voice shaking.

"She moved without me," she said, arms crossed over her chest. "She spoke to me."

Damon stood in the center of the room, shirtless again, a scar on his side catching the low light like a story trying to rise to the surface.

"She said you used those same words with her," Serena whispered. "The way you spoke to me. The way you—"

"Stop," Damon said softly.

Serena looked up, tears threatening now. "Is she real?"

Damon ran a hand down his face, jaw tight. "She was. Once."

Serena stepped forward. "Then tell me the truth."

A pause.

Then… he did.

---

"Her name was Lina March," Damon said, voice quiet. "She was the first person who ever made me believe I could be more than my father's legacy. She had fire in her. Like you. Softness too. But behind her smile was always a wall I couldn't get through."

He walked to the bar but didn't pour a drink.

Just gripped the edge of the marble.

"She was obsessed with mirrors," he continued. "Said they showed us our truest self. Even the pieces we hide."

Serena listened, still trembling.

"We lived in that apartment together for two years. She brought in the mirror near the end. Said it helped her… talk to her mother. I didn't ask questions. I was in love."

His voice cracked slightly on the word.

"But then… she changed. Grew distant. Obsessed. She said the reflection wasn't hers anymore. Said someone was 'stealing her face.'"

Serena's breath hitched.

"She killed herself," Damon said, finally looking at her. "In front of that mirror."

The room fell silent.

Serena stared, frozen.

"I had it destroyed. Or I thought I did," Damon said. "I paid a man to burn it. He swore to me it was gone."

"But it wasn't," Serena whispered.

"No," he said. "It found you."

---

She sat down slowly on the edge of his leather sofa, curling into herself.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?" she asked.

He walked over and knelt in front of her, his hands on her knees.

"Because I wanted to forget," he said. "And because when I saw you—when I looked at you—I didn't see her."

She stared down at him.

"But now?"

He swallowed.

"I don't know."

That answer cut her in ways she couldn't describe.

She stood.

"I need air," she said.

Damon grabbed her wrist gently. "Serena—"

"Let go."

He did.

Because he always did.

---

She stepped out onto the balcony and let the night consume her. Her breath turned white in the cold. The city glittered below like stars that had lost their way home.

And somewhere behind her, that mirror waited.

Watching.

Whispering.

She didn't know who she was anymore.

Not entirely.

But she knew this—

She wasn't just falling in love with Damon Cross.

She was falling into the space he'd carved from someone else's memory.

And she wasn't sure there'd be room left for her when it was over.