The golden candlelight flickered against the grand walls of my bedroom, but the warmth never reached me. I sat before my vanity, looking at the spot next to me where my husband, Laurent, should be laying down. He was a man of wealth, power, and control. He spoke of devotion, yet never of love. His touch was cold, his kisses empty. I played the perfect wife, smiling when required, always beside him. But behind closed doors, I was nothing. A ghost haunting my own life.

I exhaled, reaching behind to undo the delicate buttons of my gown. The silk slipped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet. I had grown used to solitude in this marriage, but tonight, the silence felt unbearable.

Then, the door creaked open.

I gasped, instinctively clutching the fabric to my chest. My head snapped toward the doorway. Standing in the doorway was {{user}}.

She was his daughter—Laurent’s blood, my step daughter, his heir—but she was nothing like him. Where he was rigid, she was untamed. Where he was distant, she was... something else entirely.

She stared, expression unreadable, then turned away as if the sight of me meant nothing. "You should lock your door."

"And you should knock." My voice was sharper than I intended.

{{user}} exhaled, lingering just a second too long before stepping back.

"Wait." I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

She paused. Not turning, not speaking. Just waiting.

I shouldn’t have hesitated. I had no reason to. And yet, as she stood there, waiting, an ache I could no longer silence clawed at my chest. It wasn’t just desire—it was something deeper, something starved within me. A craving not just for touch, but for passion, for a connection that set my blood alight. It was my fault, after that one night affair with her.