Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

The mirror had been covered for nearly twenty-four hours.

And yet, the reflection haunted Serena's every blink.

She had stopped looking into any reflective surface—mirrors, windows, even the sheen of the polished floors. It wasn't just fear. It was the knowing—a bone-deep certainty—that something inside those reflections wasn't just watching.

It was waiting.

Waiting for her to look long enough. Deep enough.

To invite it in.

Damon hadn't left her side. And even now, in the still silence of the villa's private study, she felt his presence like a tether to reality.

But something between them had shifted again.

It wasn't distance.

It was silence.

Weighted. Careful. The kind lovers shared when neither wanted to admit how deeply they feared the other might disappear.

Serena stood near the covered mirror, barefoot on the marble, her fingers grazing the velvet drape as if it might burn her. A shiver worked up her spine.

Damon watched her from across the room, leaning against the wall near the fireplace. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a tumbler of scotch he hadn't touched.

"You're thinking about uncovering it," he said.

She didn't deny it. "I don't think it's just a mirror."

"It's not," he said quietly.

She turned to face him. "You knew that."

"I suspected."

Her heart thudded. "Then why did you keep it?"

His jaw clenched, eyes shadowed. "Because I thought it was done."

Serena walked toward him slowly, her voice low. "Done doing what?"

Damon stared at the fire for a long moment before answering.

"When I was twenty-two, I inherited this place. And that mirror was already here. Covered. I didn't touch it for years. Until her."

Serena froze.

Her.

Lina.

He hadn't spoken her name. But Serena felt it in the marrow of the word.

"I was drunk one night," Damon continued, voice softer now. "Young. Angry. I uncovered it. I didn't believe in curses or spirits then. Thought it was just superstition. But Lina…"

He paused.

"She stood in front of that mirror for hours some nights. Just… watching herself. Or something behind her. I never saw it. But I remember the look in her eyes. Distant. Like she wasn't alone inside her own skin."

Serena's throat tightened. "Did she… say anything?"

"She said the mirror spoke in silence. That it knew what she wanted before she did. And that it showed her what she could become if she just… let go."

Serena's stomach twisted.

"She changed after that," Damon murmured. "Not all at once. Slowly. Like a candle burning low, but bright at the edges. And one day, I woke up and she was gone."

He looked up at Serena now.

"She left behind a photograph. Tucked behind the mirror."

Serena's voice trembled. "Is it still there?"

Damon nodded. "I haven't touched it since."

---

They stood together in front of the shrouded glass.

Damon reached forward, lifting the velvet cover with slow, reverent hands. The surface of the mirror reflected the room dimly—but Serena didn't look.

Instead, Damon reached behind the frame.

A small slit in the wood. Hidden, carved clean. He pulled out a thin, aged photo.

He handed it to Serena.

Her fingers shook as she took it.

And when she looked down—

Her breath left her body.

Because the woman in the photograph…

Looked exactly like her.

Same eyes.

Same lips.

Same long dark hair, parted to the side.

But the expression was wrong. The smile didn't reach her eyes. And her gaze wasn't at the camera. It was beyond it.

Like she saw something no one else did.

Serena's chest rose and fell too fast. Her vision blurred.

"This isn't possible," she whispered. "Damon, this is me."

He took the photo back gently. "It's not."

"I—"

"She died two years before you were born."

Serena stumbled back. "What are you saying? That I'm—?"

"I don't know," he said, stepping toward her. "But I know this: you aren't her. You're you. And I won't lose you to that thing behind the glass."

She looked up at him, voice breaking. "Then help me understand why I feel like I've been here before. Why I know this place. Why I look like the woman who haunted your past."

Damon's hand came to her cheek. "Because maybe you were meant to be here. Maybe this house doesn't just trap reflections. Maybe it draws them back."

Serena's skin chilled. "You think I've lived before?"

"I think the mirror remembers," he whispered. "And I think it never really let Lina go."

Serena leaned into his touch, eyes closing as the warmth of his palm anchored her again.

"I'm scared," she confessed.

"I am too," he said. "But you're not alone."

Their foreheads touched, breath mingling.

"I won't let it take you," Damon vowed.

Her lips brushed his, featherlight. "Then don't let go of me."

He kissed her—fierce, protective, aching. Not out of lust. But need. A desperate refusal to lose her to something they couldn't yet name.

And the mirror?

It watched.

And waited.

And somewhere, just beneath the surface of the glass…

A second reflection smiled.