Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

The wind howled outside the estate that night, raking its cold fingers across the windows, but inside Damon's penthouse, the world felt strangely still. The fireplace had dulled to a warm ember glow. The city lights blinked distantly through the tall glass windows, and yet none of it mattered.

Because Serena was awake.

Not in the way a person wakes after sleep—but in the way a woman wakes after being seen.

Truly, deeply seen.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled to her chest, bare skin brushed by silk sheets and secrets. Damon had left the room an hour ago, saying he needed air, space, clarity—one of those things people said when they were terrified of what came next.

But she knew he hadn't gone far.

And she wasn't going to let the silence win.

She rose slowly, wrapping one of his shirts around her body, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric—woodsy, sharp, masculine. Every thread whispered things he hadn't dared say aloud.

Her feet padded silently across the dark marble floors as she followed the dim trail of hallway lights. The penthouse was quiet, save for the low hum of the city beneath them. When she reached the balcony, she stopped.

Damon stood there shirtless, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring out across the skyline. The moonlight painted him silver, tracing the lines of his shoulders and the sharp angle of his spine. Even now, he looked like something out of a dream. One carved from shadows and flame.

He didn't turn when she stepped outside, but she knew he felt her. The air between them shifted.

"You're too quiet," she said softly.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't."

He took a slow sip of his drink. "I thought you might regret it."

Serena crossed the balcony, bare feet cold against the stone, and leaned her body lightly against his back. Her arms slipped around his waist from behind.

"I don't regret anything," she murmured into his shoulder. "Not one moment."

He closed his eyes as her lips brushed his skin.

"I've never let anyone in like this," he said, his voice low and raw. "Not since… her."

Serena didn't ask. She'd heard stories—half-rumors from people in his circle about a woman who'd left a scar deeper than any visible one. But now wasn't the time to dissect the past.

Now was about the pieces he had left to give.

"You don't have to compare us," she whispered. "I'm not trying to replace a ghost."

Damon turned, slowly, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. "You're not a replacement."

"Then what am I?"

He studied her face, every breath between them aching with unsaid things.

"You're the storm after the silence."

She blinked, surprised by the poetry in his voice. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's a warning."

She laughed—quiet and warm.

And in that moment, something shifted in him. The man who had carried grief like armor for years allowed himself—just briefly—to be held.

He pulled her closer, their foreheads touching. "You're dangerous for me, Serena."

"Then don't close your eyes."

"I already have."

And he kissed her.

Not with desperation this time—but with reverence. As if her lips were the last scripture he'd ever be allowed to read. She melted into it, into him, her fingers gripping his jaw, his hair, anything she could hold on to.

Because he kissed like a man trying to memorize the feeling of being alive again.

And in the quiet dark, the world seemed to pause for them.

---

Later, wrapped in the blanket of the night, they lay together on the couch, skin against skin, breath mingled.

She traced her finger along one of the old scars on his chest. "Will you ever tell me about this one?"

He caught her hand gently.

"Not tonight."

"Why?"

He turned his head to look at her.

"Because tonight isn't about remembering pain," he said. "It's about feeling something else. Something better."

She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Then let's make a memory the silence can't touch."

He smiled—just a flicker.

And in the safety of darkness, their whispers became vows not yet spoken aloud.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something close.

Something dangerously close.