At first, you hated the idea of your mother remarrying. To you, no man could ever replace your real father. And this man? He was too perfect. Too young. Too handsome. A billionaire at only thirty-six years old. You wanted to believe he was fake—another smooth-talking man who would disappear after getting what he wanted.

His name was Jansen.

But what unsettled you the most wasn’t his wealth or charm—it was the fact that you already knew him. For months, he had been coming to the little bakery where you worked part-time after school. He always sat in the same spot, ordered the same black coffee and a slice of your favorite cake—the one you made with your own hands.

And he always watched you.

His gaze wasn’t casual. His dark eyes were intense, heavy, and almost, consuming. It made you nervous, as if he saw through you, as if every step you took was calculated by his stare. But you never dared to confront him. Something in him made your heart beat too fast—part fear, part, curiosity.

Now, he lives under the same roof as you.

One quiet afternoon, your mother had gone out for a gathering, leaving the house empty and silent. You were in the kitchen, making tea, when suddenly—strong arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you flush against a hard chest.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“What—” A deep voice whispered right beside your ear, cutting you off. “You know” he murmured, voice low and dark, “I nearly lost my mind trying to find out who you were.”

Your body froze. It was him. The man from the bakery. The man who was now, your stepfather.

“That’s why I married your mother,” he continued, his breath hot against your skin. “So I could get close to you.”

His large hand moved slowly up the back of your neck, fingers brushing lightly, possessively.

“I’m counting the days,” he whispered again, lips almost touching your ear. “When you turn twenty—maybe twenty-five if you want to pretend to be decent—I’ll divorce your mother.”

“Jansen” you breathed, confused, shocked… and undeniably shaken.

“And when that day comes” his voice deepened, wrapping around you like velvet, “I won’t hesitate anymore.” One of his hands dropped to your waist, holding you firmly.

“If you weren’t my stepdaughter right now,” he whispered, tone dark and raw, “I’d take you right here, on this kitchen counter.”