Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

It started with a knock on the door.

Not the kind that announced a guest.

The kind that felt like a threat, wrapped in politeness.

Damon answered it himself.

Serena was upstairs, still asleep. Her body curled in the sheets they'd tangled together in after a long night of whispered truths and slow, lingering touches that felt more like promises than pleasure.

He hadn't wanted to wake her.

But when he opened the door and saw the man standing there, every instinct flared.

Marcus stood tall, casual in designer clothes that didn't quite hide the predator underneath. His smile was empty.

"Long time, Cross."

Damon didn't return the expression. "I don't remember inviting you here."

"You didn't." Marcus's gaze drifted upward, toward the stairs. "But I came to see someone."

Damon's voice turned steel. "She doesn't want to see you."

"How would you know?" Marcus leaned in slightly. "Did she tell you everything? About me? About what we had?"

"I know what you took from her."

That smile again. Smug. Infuriating.

"And yet, here she is. Living in the penthouse of the man who built his empire on secrets. Fitting, isn't it?"

Damon's jaw tightened. "Say what you came to say. Then leave."

Marcus stepped back half a pace but didn't drop the arrogance. "Tell her I'm back in town. Tell her I've kept every photo, every message, every memory. And if she doesn't want the world to remember who she used to be… she should come see me."

With that, he turned and walked away, unhurried.

Like a man who thought he already held the matchbook—and just had to choose which spark would hurt the most.

---

When Serena woke, Damon was seated in the corner of the room, shirtless, back hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees.

He didn't speak when she sat up.

But she felt it.

Something had shifted.

The air had teeth now.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, voice thick with sleep.

He didn't look at her.

"He came here."

Everything inside her went still.

Marcus.

Her past.

The one chapter she hadn't rewritten.

She stood slowly, pulling the sheet around her. Her feet found the cold marble as she walked to him, gently kneeling in front of his chair.

"Did he threaten you?"

"He didn't need to," Damon said, voice low. "He thinks you are the weakness."

Her hands reached up, cupping his face. "Then he's wrong."

His eyes met hers finally. And they were darker than she'd ever seen. Not from fear.

From rage.

"You don't owe him anything, Serena."

"I know."

"You don't need to see him."

"I know."

He hesitated. "But you're going to."

She nodded.

Not out of obligation.

Out of power.

"I want him to see who I've become," she whispered. "I want him to choke on the woman he tried to break."

---

That night, Serena stood before the mirror.

Damon watched her from the bed, silent.

She wore black silk, sculpted and dangerous. Hair swept up, red lips like a blade. There was something fierce in the way she moved—no longer the girl who ran. No longer afraid.

When she turned to face him, his breath caught.

"You don't have to go alone," he said.

"I do."

He stood, walking to her.

"Then take this with you," he murmured, sliding a small blade into the side seam of her dress, where no one would see. His hands lingered on her waist. "In case his words are sharper than you expect."

She leaned in, their foreheads brushing.

"I've been sharpened by worse," she whispered.

He kissed her, slow and grounding. Not to claim her—but to anchor her.

When she pulled away, her voice trembled.

"If I don't come back the same—"

"I'll still choose you," he said. "In every version."

---

Serena walked into the private lounge Marcus had chosen for their meeting.

It reeked of old wealth and new cruelty.

He rose when he saw her.

But she didn't smile. Didn't soften.

"You have five minutes," she said coldly.

Marcus chuckled. "Still a queen, I see."

"No. Queens have rules. I'm something else now."

He leaned forward, pouring a drink.

"Do you miss it? The thrill? The way we used to burn?"

"I miss nothing about you."

"Ouch."

He reached into his pocket and slid something across the table.

A photograph.

Her, curled on his lap. Eyes dazed, glassy. Seventeen. Too trusting.

"I still have them all."

"I'm sure you do," she replied coolly. "You've always been good at keeping things you never earned."

Marcus leaned in. "You know what I want."

"I know what you think you want."

Her voice didn't shake.

"You want to own me again. To control the version of me the world gets to see."

His eyes glittered.

"But you can't blackmail a woman who has already forgiven herself."

For a moment, Marcus went still.

Then his lips curled. "You think that'll stop me?"

She smiled slowly, like the storm he never saw coming.

"No. But he will."

Marcus turned—just in time for Damon Cross to step out of the shadows behind him.

Gun. Cold. Unwavering.

Pointed at his heart.

Marcus paled.

Serena rose, unbothered. "You really thought I'd come here alone?"

Damon's voice was ice. "You breathe her name again, and I'll erase every memory the world has of you."

Marcus didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Because he knew.

This wasn't a game anymore.

Serena had rewritten the narrative.

And this time—she held the pen.