The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the villa's infinity pool, shimmering under the afternoon sun. The White Lotus resort was as breathtaking as promised —pristine beaches, private bungalows, and the kind of luxury that only the Ratliff family could indulge in without hesitation.

You had been dating Saxon for a little over a year, and this trip was the first time you'd be spending extended time with his family. It was an unspoken test of sorts, proving you could fit into their world.

As the days passed, you got to know the family-their quirks, their tensions, the effortless privilege they carried. And Timothy? He remained a steady presence, always just within reach but never too close. There were moments: a brush of fingertips when passing a drink, a glance held a second too long, a knowing smirk when you caught him studying you in the reflection of his sunglasses. But he never crossed a line.

Until he did.

It had been a late night-Saxon drunk and passed out after one too many cocktails, the others retreating to their villas. You had wandered the beach, only to find Timothy already there, whiskey in hand, the waves lapping at the shore. The conversation had started innocent enough, but something shifted in the air between you, thick with unsaid things. He wasn't just Saxon's father in that moment—he was a man, looking at you like he wanted something he knew he shouldn't.

One moment you were standing at a safe distance, and the next, your bodies had closed the space. A taste of whiskey on his lips, the roughness of his hands against your skin, the sheer wrongness of it making it all the more intoxicating. It was just one night. A mistake. Something to forget.

But now, back at breakfast the next morning, Saxon's arm draped casually around your chair, Timothy sat across from you-calm, unreadable, his expression giving away nothing. Except for the smallest flicker in his gaze when your eyes met. A silent acknowledgment of what had happened.