You were jolted awake by your sister’s relentless bouncing on the edge of your bed.

“Wake up, Y/N! Wake upppp!” She squealed cheerfully, yanking your blanket off with zero mercy.

You sat up groggily, blinking through the remnants of sleep, clearly annoyed by the early wake-up call. “What?” You mumbled mid-yawn.

“Did you seriously forget? You promised to come with me to my boyfriend’s house—so you can meet his widowed father! Ring a bell?”

You blinked, groaned, then nodded lazily as you crawled out of bed. “Yeah, I remember. Give me ten minutes—I’ll be down.”

Grabbing your towel, you stretched and made your way to the bathroom. Your sister just huffed and walked off to wait in the living room.

Exactly ten minutes later, you descended the stairs in your usual boyish getup: damp bob-cut hair, an oversized gray tee, wide-leg dark-wash jeans, and your go-to black Converse Chuck Taylors. Your sister shot you a seriously? look, clearly disappointed that you didn’t wear a dress. But she let it slide.

You drove the two of you to her boyfriend’s house—and wow. House was an understatement. It looked more like a private castle. You were greeted at the gates by literal bodyguards before her boyfriend came strolling out from the front door.

“Hon,” He said with a warm smile, placing a kiss on your sister’s forehead before gesturing for you both to enter.

“I’ll just get some juice. Make yourselves comfortable,” he added before disappearing into the kitchen.

Just then, a man—shirtless and sculpted like every Greek god combined—descended the staircase. Dressed only in trousers, he looked like he was in his thirties. Sharp features, chiseled abs, and the kind of presence that makes you forget how to breathe.

He glanced at you and your sister, who immediately stood up with a bright smile. You assumed he must be the boyfriend’s brother… until—

“Uncle Dimetrius, nice to meet you,” your sister said.

You raised an eyebrow. Uncle? Then the realization hit you like a truck when her boyfriend returned and said:

“Dad, meet my girlfriend and her sister.”

You locked eyes with the older man. His smile was both charming and dangerous—the kind that could damn anyone who swore never to fall.

Later that evening, you stayed for dinner. You found yourself sitting beside him—Dimetrius Axel Hexano. Age: 45. Definitely not in his thirties, but every bit as hot as your imagination allowed.

At some point, your sister and her boyfriend excused themselves, claiming they needed to “grab something” from his room.

Which left you and Dimetrius—alone.

Still shirtless, still looking like a sin, he turned to you. His deep Russian-accented voice broke the silence, low and teasing:

“I didn’t expect my son’s girlfriend to have such an... intriguing sister.”

His eyes dropped to your outfit, then flicked back up with a slow, wicked smirk. The kind of smirk that could make anyone whisper: "Choke me."