"Did you enjoy last night? You wanted me to fuck you, didn't you?" he asked, chuckling as he lifted her chin, his eyebrows arching. "Tell me, do you want me to fuck you, little stepmom?"
Kyla's eyes widened as his smirk grew more pronounced.
"You badly want your pussy to be fucked properly," Scott said, his voice low, dark, and taunting.
"Those men you've been having your little nightstands with—they're nothing but old rags. Useless. You've never had a proper fuck in your life. And my father…" he let out a soft, mocking chuckle, "his dick has already fallen, hasn't it? That's the real reason you've never truly enjoyed it. Not even once."
He tightened his grip on her chin, pulling her closer until their breaths mingled.
"Last night, you moaned my name again and again," he continued, his tone dripping with dangerous satisfaction. "Begging me not to stop… you even shed tears from the pleasure. No one has ever sucked your boobs or touched you the way I did, have they Stepmom?"
Kyla swallowed hard, her throat dry as beads of sweat formed along her forehead, her body betraying her with every uneven breath.
Scott, the bluntest of the siblings, never hesitated to speak his mind.
He voiced whatever crossed his thoughts, caring little for the consequences. Yet she could hardly reconcile him with the boy she had once comforted after a terrible dream—the same one who had cried uncontrollably, like a helpless child.
Now, he was the one she feared most in the house, even more than his father.
Adrian, the heir to the Wellington family, rarely behaved like the eldest.
In contrast, Scott, the youngest, carried himself with a maturity and presence far beyond his years, as if he were the rightful heir himself. It would not surprise her if he eventually claimed Adrian's birthright.
In this house, nothing seemed impossible.
"If anyone walked in and saw us like this, it would ruin me. Scott, please… I don't have time for this. I have so much work to do—don't make things harder," Kyla murmured, struggling to rise.
But he gripped her shoulders, holding her firmly in place, his hold impossibly steady, leaving her powerless beneath him.
"You're the one making this difficult for yourself. And what do you think will happen if anyone sees us like this? They'll only interpret it as a special moment between stepmother and stepson. So, tell me—what else are you thinking, little stepmom?" Scott asked.
His smirk melting into a sly smile as his gaze lingered on her heart-shaped, irresistible lips.
"Have you forgotten how I'm perceived in this house? Nothing I've done so far is ever appreciated; they twist everything against me. If anyone were to see us like this, they'd assume I'm having an affair with you—and that's the last thing I want to be labeled as," Kyla said.
Scott let out a low, amused chuckle, running a hand through his hair.
"And what if they say you're having an affair? Where would the lie be in that? Aren't you, in fact, having one with me? Or have you forgotten how you moaned my name last night—or shall I remind you?" Scott leaned closer, his gaze fixed on her lips.
Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet, her eyes never leaving his.
"Oh, fuck, Scott… please don't pull your lips away from my nipples." Scott echoed her moans from last night, his presence making her grip the bedsheet tighter, sweat sliding down her neck as a shiver ran through her.
"Want to hear more?"
"Fine, consider what happened yesterday a mistake. It's never going to happen again. And stay the hell away from me. I don't need your protection in this house—devils don't protect, they ruin. Fuck off. I'm never doing that with you again," Kyla muttered, her voice trembling with determination.
Without a word, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, drawing it gently into his mouth and sucking briefly.
Her eyes remained open, and her fingers dug into the bedsheets so hard that her knuckles turned white.
He pressed his hands on either side of her, holding her immobile as he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with insistent intensity.
Her eyes remained wide open, resolute in refusing to return it. When he finally pulled back, a single tear traced down her cheek.
"You called what we did last night a mistake? That 'mistake' will happen again… and again. If you think you'll have the courage to speak another word—or dare not return my kiss—I'll have no choice but to spill all your secrets to your tormentors," Scott murmured, a devilish smirk curling his lips.
He gripped her by the neck, pulling her close, and pressed his mouth against hers with a hunger that left no room for hesitation.
Her eyes fluttered shut, fingers digging into the bedsheet as she yielded, kissing him back.
His smirk darkened, possessive and unrelenting, even through the kiss.
A knock sounded at the door, and Kyla immediately broke the kiss. Seizing the opportunity, she pushed him away, rising to her feet and stepping back, hastily brushing the moisture from her lips.
Scott noticed the gesture and let out a faint smirk, his gaze shifting toward the door.
"Darling, open the door—it's me, your mum," Mrs. Kath called gently, her knuckles tapping softly against the door.
Kyla's eyes widened as she turned toward Scott, only to find his gaze already fixed intently on her.
The memory of how she had hastily wiped her lips moments ago flickered through her mind, sending a ripple of unease through her. Even if someone were to notice, would they truly suspect anything?
And yet, why had she felt such an urgent need to wipe it away in the first place?
Kyla shook her head repeatedly, a silent, desperate plea for him not to open the door. Yet instead of complying, he began to advance toward her—slowly, deliberately, each step measured.
A flicker of unease stirred within her as her breath caught.
What was he planning? Surely, he wasn't intending to continue from where he had left off… was he?
"Have you had your breakfast? There's something quite important I'd like us to discuss. It's not about business or your father—it's something entirely different. Please, just open the door; I'll only need five minutes of your time," Mrs. Kath said gently, her knuckles rapping softly once more against the door.
Kyla swallowed hard as Scott abruptly seized her hand and drew her toward him, pressing her firmly against his chest.
Her eyes widened uncontrollably, a flicker of panic crossing her face.
She cast a quick, anxious glance toward the door before looking back at him, her breath uneven and shallow.
"Y–your mother is here… what exactly are you doing, Scott?" Kyla whispered, her voice unsteady.
Rather than replying, he traced his finger slowly across her lips, deliberate and unhurried. She swallowed hard, her breath faltering.
"Do you find me… dirty, little stepmother?" Scott asked softly, his gaze locking onto hers with a disquieting intensity.
She stared at him, stunned into silence. The words echoed in her mind, incomprehensible. What on earth was he implying?
"I don't know what you're talking about, Scott," she said, her gaze drifting toward the door.
The knocking had stopped—perhaps his mother had already left. Slowly, she returned her eyes to him, confusion and unease warring across her face.
"Then why did you wipe your lips when the kiss ended?" he asked, his voice low, deliberate.
Her eyes widened in shock. He couldn't be serious could he? She had only wiped them to prevent anyone from noticing, to cover herself. What else could it possibly mean?
"Are you serious right now, Scott? Is this really what you're worried about? If anyone saw my lips like that, wouldn't they—"
Her words were cut off as he crushed his lips against hers, drawing her close by the back of her neck and pressing her firmly against the doorframe.
He trapped her there, kissing her with a fierce, consuming hunger, his tongue probing, capturing hers, and drawing it into his mouth with relentless intensity.
Kyla's eyes fluttered shut, her heart pounding violently against her chest.
She pressed her palm against his bare chest, struggling to match the force of his desire.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the kiss, but immediately pressed his lips against her neck, sliding his hand beneath her skirt to caress her thigh.
Her eyes remained closed, her breath came in heavy gasps, and her lips were stained with blood.
"We shouldn't be doing this… Scott," Kyla muttered, her breath shallow, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.
He didn't respond, lost entirely in lavishing her neck with kisses and caressing her thigh, leaving her panties soaked.
Whatever he was doing to her right now, reckless as it was, she didn't want him to stop.
She had truly missed this feeling.
For years, she had never experienced a proper neck kiss—at the club, she had never allowed anyone to get even an inch close.
Her palm slid across his back, caressing him with warm, teasing strokes that sent butterflies through his stomach.
He let out a smile against her neck before continuing the kiss.
*
*
"Very much, Robbie… very—ouch!" Mrs. Valencia shrieked as Mr. Robert thrust harder, driving deeper into her with unrelenting force.
Tears welled in her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he kept fucking her with increasing intensity.
Each movement more forceful than the last, her hair falling loosely across his face.
Across his back coiled a dark cobra tattoo, his body covered in harsh, ruthless ink that stretched even up to his neck.
He gripped her firmly by the hips, pulling her back against him as he drove into her from behind, his movements forceful and unyielding.
"Harder—harder, please, Robbie!" she cried out, her voice trembling with pleasure.
He continued to drive deeper into her, hitting her depths with each thrust. Their breaths grew heavy and uneven, sweat glistening and trailing down their bodies.
He flipped her onto her back, her body sinking into the mattress as he pinned her beneath him.
Without hesitation, he captured her lips in a rough, consuming kiss—there was nothing gentle Without hesitation, he never deal in gentleness, only rough kisses and sex.
"Fucking Christ!" she gasped against his lips, the words breaking between breaths. In response, he drove deeper into her.
Breaking the kiss, he interlocked their fingers and pinned her down, gently widening her legs for better access.
"Wrap them around my waist," he said in a deep, commanding voice. Without hesitation, her legs rose and settled around his waist, as she complied.
He lingered between her thighs, his touch intense and deliberate before he pushed himself back inside her, gripping her body tightly. His hands roamed over her chest, squeezing firmly, his sharp nails pressing into her skin.
"Yes… yes… you're hitting the right spot, Robbie!" she cried out, her breath ragged as sweat glistened across her face.
The door opened, and Mrs. Kath stepped inside, gently closing it behind her before turning her attention back to them.
"Scott didn't answer the door. Maybe he's left the house—I've searched everywhere for him but couldn't find him," she said.
Robert quickly pulled away from Valencia and turned his gaze toward Mrs. Kath.
"Did you bother looking for that bitch Kyla?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, his breath still heavy.
Mrs. Kath shook her head, not really understanding what he meant. Valencia lay there, trying to catch her breath, while Mr. Robert brushed his hair back and got out of bed, his cums trailing down his legs.
"She's probably in the kitchen. I don't have any business with her. My mind was on finding my son, not some worthless girl," Mrs. Kath said.
Mr. Robert let out a dark, ruthless chuckle that made her swallow hard. He walked over, picked up his cigarette and lighter, and flicked the lighter on before taking a slow drag, the glow briefly lighting his face.
He turned his gaze back to her, and fear immediately gripped her.
"Did you ask the guards whether Scott truly left the house? Did you genuinely make any effort to find him, or was his room the only place you checked?" he asked, walking toward the wardrobe.
He opened it and retrieved a whip.
At the sight of it, Mrs. Kath's eyes widened as she began to tremble. On the bed, Mrs. Valencia's lips curled into a faint smirk as she pulled the duvet closer to herself.
"I… I really did check everywhere in this house, but I couldn't find him, I swear. I know my mistake was not asking the guards if he had left the house, but I truly searched the entire building, every single corner, and I still didn't find him. His room was locked, and there were no sounds coming from inside, meaning no one was there," Mrs. Kath said in a trembling voice.
Robert let out a low chuckle as he flexed the whip in the air, turning toward him and exhaling a puff of smoke.
"Then where could your son be?" Robert asked. Tears streamed down Kath's face as she dropped to her knees, her body trembling.
Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Valencia stared at her pitifully, though deep down she seemed to be enjoying the sight.
"I really don't know… I…"
"Take off your clothes and turn your ass," Robert cut her off.
Hot tears rolled down Kath's cheeks. With trembling hands, she began to comply, slowly undressing as she was ordered.
When she was done, she stood there, eyes red and glistening with tears, looking at him silently.
"That's the pain you'll endure for having a one-night stand with a dickhead years ago," he muttered ruthlessly and coldly, sending chills down her spine.
He squatted, grabbed her chin, and dug his nails into her jaw, pressing down mercilessly. Blood trailed from the wound as she winced in pain.
This was the punishment she had endured every week for years because of a mistake she made long ago.
"I'm sorry… please, Bert, I truly sorry please, it hurts," Mrs. Kath pleaded in a pained voice. Yet he only pressed harder, causing her to cry out in agony. The room was soundproof—no matter how loudly she screamed, no one would hear her.
"Continue serving your punishment. No one betrays me and walks away unscathed," he said coldly.
"Face the wall as you always do. I will not repeat myself again. And if you ever dare to tell your son about this, it will be the death of both you and him."
Robert spoke menacingly as he took a long drag from his cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke directly into her face before roughly shoving her aside.
She turned around slowly, bending forward with her palms pressed against the cold floor.
Trembling, she picked up her clothes and held them tightly, her eyes shut as she endured the moment in silence.
Robert raised the whip high and brought it down mercilessly. She recoiled in pain as the punishment continued without restraint.
"I hate disappointment," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the room. "When I assign you a task, I expect results"
Mrs. Valencia rose from the bed and walked behind him, slipping her arms around his waist. She pressed a deep kiss to his cobra tattoo, gently caressing his chest.
"You know how Scott can be. It isn't her fault. She must have searched the compound and simply couldn't find him. Just calm down and don't get yourself worked up. Go take a shower, and Kyla and I will make you some coffee," Mrs. Valencia said softly, kissing his tattoo once more.
He suddenly turned toward her, circling the whip around her neck, and drew her closer.
"You always know my weak point," he muttered, before capturing her lips in a rough kiss.
Mrs. Kath lay on the floor, crying in pain, her buttocks reddened. She buried her face against the floor, sobbing quietly.
Outside this door, Valencia treats her like an ordinary person.
They joke around and even torture Kyla together, but once they are inside the room with their husband, she transforms completely—into a true devil.
*
*
_____
«THE—UNDERCRYPT»
Cries had rented the entire facility of cages—more than a hundred in total, each one occupied.
Inside, over a hundred women cried and pounded against the bars of their cells, their appearances disheveled, their hair scattered across their faces.
Many men dressed in black, with black scarves covering their mouths and noses, stood at all four corners of the room. Their guns were slung over their shoulders, and their eyes were fixed on distant points.
The room was dimly lit. At the center stood a swivel chair, and on the table lay a sword.
In another room, more than a hundred female body parts hung from hooks, blood dripping steadily from the points where they were suspended.
"Let me out, please!" they cried, shaking the cell doors continuously.
Then, the sound of high heels echoed through the hallway.
A woman appeared, dressed in a long black suit whose jacket threatened to sweep the floor. Her curled hair fell over her shoulders, and her makeup was heavy and sharp.
Her hands were tucked into her pockets as she approached the cell room. Her neck was adorned with heavy chains, and her wrists were covered in bracelets that jingled softly with every step.
The sound of her jewelry blended with the sharp echo of her heels as she moved closer.
As she reached the door, it opened by itself, and she stepped inside.
Seeing her, the men immediately bowed in respect.
Her eyes drifted toward the beautiful, crying ladies, and she let out a soft dark chuckle.
She then lowered herself into the swivel chair and pushed herself forward toward the cells, the chair rolling smoothly as she approached.
The swivel chair rolled slowly across the floor, its wheels cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
The crying inside the cells did not stop.
The woman tilted her head slightly, watching them as if studying something fragile and easily broken, then, finally, she spoke—her voice calm, almost amused.
"Where did you capture them?" she asked, her voice cold and menacing, cutting through the silence like a blade.
One of the men stepped forward and gave a short, respectful bow before speaking.
"At the underground club, ma'am," he replied evenly. "They were gathered there for a private event. No one suspected a raid. We moved in quickly and brought them here without resistance."
She leaned slightly forward in the swivel chair, her gaze still fixed ahead.
"And the others?" she asked calmly. "The ones who organized it."
The man hesitated for half a second before responding.
"We're still tracing them. The network is larger than expected. They move through intermediaries… fake identities, disposable phones."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Of course they do," she murmured.
She rose slowly from the chair, the soft sound of her heels returning to the stone floor. As she walked, the men straightened immediately, their attention snapping to her every movement.
She stopped near the edge of the cell line, studying the frightened faces behind the bars.
"Then what do you all think about the pretty ladies? Do you believe any of them possess what I'm looking for?" she asked, her voice cold and dangerous.
"We checked, but couldn't find it on them. We brought them here for you to confirm yourself—and to give us permission to eliminate them if necessary," one of the men replied.
Her expression hardened instantly.
In a sudden burst of anger, she slammed her palm against the cell bars. The sharp sound echoed through the chamber, making the women inside flinch and recoil, stepping back as they clung to one another in fear and trembling silence.
Her hand lingered on the cold metal for a moment, her breathing steady despite the sudden burst of anger.
"But I think I know a lady who might truly possess what you're looking for, ma'am," one of the men said carefully.
For a brief moment, silence swallowed the chamber.
Then she slowly withdrew her hand from the bar, the echo of the impact still lingering in the air. The atmosphere grew heavier—thick with unspoken tension.
She turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing at the man who had spoken.
"Go on," she said quietly.
"She is a well-known performer at the stage, often seen dancing at the Hellish Virgin Empire Club every night," he replied carefully. "A slender woman, always performing with a black veil covering her face. She never reveals her identity."
He paused briefly before adding, "She goes by the name Holy Mary, ma'am."
The others around him nodded in agreement, confirming his words in silence.
She remained silent for a moment after hearing the name.
"Holy Mary," she repeated slowly, as if testing the weight of it on her tongue.
The chamber grew still again. Even the crying from the cells seemed to fade into the background as attention shifted entirely to her reaction.
She turned slightly, her gaze distant, calculating.
"And no one has seen her face?" she asked.
"No, ma'am," the man replied quickly. "She performs only under the veil. No interviews, no records, no verified identity beyond the stage name."
A faint breath left her lips—almost a laugh, but not quite.
"How convenient," she murmured. "You are certain she might have what I am looking for?"
She raised a brow, her gaze slowly sweeping across them, sharp and assessing. The men immediately bowed their heads in unison, awaiting her judgment.
A dark, ruthless smirk curled at the corner of her lips as she studied their response.
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.
Her smirk deepened, growing colder and more dangerous with their confirmation.
"Then we'll inform Viper about the mission. Tonight, we're heading straight to the club. We're taking the girl—alive," she said firmly. "And who owns the club?" she asked.
One of the men lifted his head slightly.
"Jericho Hudson, known as The Bulldog," he replied.
Her smirk darkened at the answer.
She leaned back into her swivel chair with slow composure, stretching out her hand. A cigarette was placed into her palm, which she guided to her lips with ease.
One of the men stepped forward immediately, lighting it for her before retreating back into position.
She took a long, unhurried drag, holding the smoke for a brief moment before exhaling it slowly into the cold air.
The room remained silent as she studied them through the haze, her expression calm—but unmistakably dangerous.
"Any information while I was on the trip?" she asked, crossing her legs as she continued to smoke, the ember glowing dangerously in the dim light.
"Scott Wellington returned yesterday and purchased the same lady—Holy Mary—for one hundred million dollars," one of the men reported. "It all happened last night. We also received intelligence that he is searching for the woman who kidnapped him twenty-three years ago."
At that, she let out a dark chuckle, tilting her head back as the sound of her laughter echoed through the room.
"Oh, my little gentleman is now a grown man. He's looking for me… I can't wait to see how he's grown and manly he is. I'm certain he's as handsome as ever," she murmured, exhaling the smoke slowly as a faint smile curled on her lips.
"Holy Mary…" she added softly, her tone darkening with quiet anticipation. "I truly cannot wait to see what you look like… and whether you possess what I am searching for."
She paused, then rose slowly from her seat. Her expression hardened, her voice turning cold and even.
"Because if you do… then I'm never letting you go, pretty damsel."
"The pretty ladies sell their bodies to interested buyers who are more than willing to pay. Get ready to move tonight," she muttered, reaching into the glass display case and retrieving her personal weapon.
She swirled it through the air, loaded the bullet, and cocked it before forcing ten women into their cells.
Their cries faded almost instantly, and smoke curled from the gun's barrel.
She swung the weapon behind her, and one of the men caught it neatly, returning it to the display case.
She started walking out of the room, her heels kissing the floor, followed by the faint jingle of her bracelets and necklaces.
Her lips curled into her usual predatory smirk as she finally exited.
"Bitches.."
The men moved in to open the cells, forcing the women down as they struggled, while cries filled the entire room.
*
*
*
«CHICAGO MILLAND, CHIEF ROBERT WELLINGTON— ESTATE»
Inside the kitchen, Kyla stood on a stool, stretching to reach a can of salt placed on the highest shelf.
She rose onto her toes, straining slightly as she tried to grasp it.
Behind her, Adrian leaned casually against the counter, his hands in his pockets, watching with a quiet chuckle.
Hot sweat trickled down her forehead as she struggled to retrieve the salt, but her arms were too short to reach the highest shelf.
Her breath grew heavier with each failed attempt. She knew he was the one who had placed it there—one of his usual taunts.
Behind her, Adrian let out a quiet chuckle, still leaning lazily against the counter, his hands buried in his pockets.
"Still struggling?" he teased lightly. "I swear, stepmom, that shelf isn't even that high."
"Just yesterday, I truly thought you had changed, but you proved me wrong today. There's no such thing as change in this house—you will all forever remain my worst nightmare," she muttered, without sparing him a glance as she continued reaching for the salt.
Adrian's smirk faltered as he pushed himself off the counter and walked over to her. Glancing up at the shelf, he reached out with ease and took the salt down.
Kyla shifted her gaze to him, and he offered a faint smile as she carefully stepped down from the stool.
She stretched out her hand, palm open, silently asking him to place the salt in it.
Adrian let out a low chuckle and, instead, slipped the can behind his back.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, irritation flashing across her face.
"Adrian," she warned, her voice low and strained, "this isn't funny."
His grin only deepened as he took a slow step back, keeping the salt just out of sight. "Oh, I think it is," he replied lightly. "You should see your face right now."
She exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, then took a step toward him. "Give it to me."
"Say please," he shot back without missing a beat, one brow lifting in challenge.
Her jaw tightened. For a moment, she said nothing—just stared at him, weighing her options. Then she moved suddenly, reaching behind him in an attempt to snatch it.
Adrian laughed and shifted away with ease, holding it higher this time. "Careful," he teased. "You might actually have to jump for it."
Her glare hardened, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—frustration laced with reluctant amusement.
"Are you serious right now? I'm tired of this, Adrian. Just put the salt in my hand and let me finish cooking. You know how your parents can be if the food is served late," Kyla muttered.
"Tired?" he echoed, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping to a softer, teasing tone.
"We're only in the first half of the match, and you're already tired?"
Kyla let out a slow, frustrated breath, her fingers curling into a fist before she forced them to relax.
"This isn't a game, Adrian," she said, her voice steadier now, though her eyes still burned with irritation. "Some of us actually have responsibilities."
He tilted his head, studying her for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just a fraction.
"And some of us," he replied quietly, "know how to take a break without turning everything into a battle."
She scoffed, folding her arms. "If you're done with your nonsense, give me the salt."
For a brief second, he didn't move. Then, with a small sigh that almost sounded like surrender, Adrian brought his hand forward and finally placed the salt in her palm.
Their fingers brushed—just for a moment—but it was enough to make her pause.
"Careful," he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You might start thinking I've changed."
Kyla pulled her hand back quickly, turning away from him as she headed toward the counter.
"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered, though her voice had lost some of its earlier bite.
Kyla turned sharply as she reached the counter, her brows knitting together when something felt off. The can in her hand was far too light.
She paused, then slowly turned back to him, her eyes narrowing.
"Adrian…"There was a brief, dangerous silence, then his laughter broke through the room, he was already backing away, the real can of salt held up in his hand.
Realization dawned instantly.
"You did not just do that!" she snapped, her voice rising.
"Oh, I absolutely did," he replied, grinning, already moving toward the other side of the counter. "You really should pay more attention."
"Adrian!" she lunged at him, he slipped away effortlessly, circling the counter as she followed close behind.
"Give it to me!" she demanded, quickening her pace.
"Come and get it," he shot back, holding the salt just out of reach.
She rounded the counter, nearly catching him, but he pivoted smoothly and moved in the opposite direction.
Her heels clicked rapidly against the floor as she chased him, her earlier composure completely gone. "Stop running!"
"Then stop chasing!" he laughed, glancing over his shoulder.
She tried to cut him off at the corner, but he anticipated it, sidestepping her at the last second. She nearly crashed into him before regaining her balance.
"This is not funny!" she insisted, breath coming faster now.
"It really is," he replied, clearly enjoying himself, determined, she made a sudden dash, grabbing onto the edge of his shirt as he passed.
"Got you!"
He halted abruptly, the sudden stillness replacing the chaos, for a moment, neither of them moved, but then, slowly, he lifted the salt higher again—just beyond her reach.
Her eyes flicked to the salt in his raised hand, determination hardening her expression, without warning, she pushed herself up on her toes and reached for it, stretching as far as she could.
"Almost…" she muttered under her breath.
Adrian barely had time to react.
Her foot slipped, a sharp gasp left her lips as her balance gave way, her body tilting forward.
In that split second, the teasing vanished from his face, the salt slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor as he reacted instinctively—his hand shooting out to grab hers.
"Careful!"
He pulled her toward him just as she stumbled, her body colliding lightly against his chest instead of the hard floor.
For a moment, everything stilled, her breath hitched, her hand still caught in his, the other resting against him for support.
The distance between them vanished.
Adrian's grip tightened slightly, steadying her, his expression no longer playful but focused—almost concerned.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice softer than before.
Kyla blinked, clearly caught off guard, her earlier anger momentarily forgotten.
A sudden noise echoed from the doorway, drawing their attention. They turned to see Scott standing there, his grip tight around a bottle of water, his knuckles white, the other hand buried deep in his pocket.
Kyla's eyes widened.
She immediately pulled away from Adrian, creating distance between them as if burned. Without a word, she bent down, her hand trembling slightly as she picked up the fallen can of salt.
Then, almost hastily, she hurried back to the stove, focusing on her cooking without sparing Scott a single glance.
"Stacy has been looking for you. She's going to smack your head if she finds you here," Scott chuckled, tossing the can into the dustbin. He shifted his gaze briefly to Kyla before turning and leaving.
Adrian groaned under his breath, clearly exhausted. He was so tired of that little bedbug of a sister.
"See you later, stepmom," Adrian said with a smile, tucking his hands into his pockets as he left the kitchen.
Kyla exhaled deeply in relief, wiping the hot sweat that had gathered on her forehead.
*
*
TBC
DO NOT GHOST 🚫
YOUR ACTIVENESS DETERMINES.