Eye of the storm

EMMA’S POV

The hallway felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in as my mother’s footsteps drew nearer. I could feel the heat radiating off Reign—a sharp, restless energy that told me he wasn't buying my "secret girl stuff" excuse for a second.

"I haven't seen him," I repeated, my voice sounding thin and reedy to my own ears. I forced myself to look my mother in the eye, praying the dim lighting of the hallway hid the frantic pulse jumping in my throat. "Maybe he went to the study? You know how he gets when he’s prepping for a call."

"I checked the study, Emma," mom said, her brow furrowing as she reached the threshold of my room. She looked past me, her gaze sweeping over my unmade bed—the bed where Reign had claimed me three nights ago—and settled on the closed bathroom door. "Jordan? Are you in there?"

Silence. A silence so heavy it felt like it had its own heartbeat.

Behind that door, I knew Jordan was standing frozen, his back against the cold tiles, his breath held until his lungs burned. If he answered, he’d have to explain why he was in his stepdaughter’s private bathroom instead of the master suite. If he didn't, my mother might just walk in.

"He's probably just... using the facilities, Mom," Reign said suddenly.

I snapped my head toward him. Reign was watching me, a slow, predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't helping me out of the goodness of his heart; he was playing a game. He knew someone was in there, and he was enjoying the way I was squirming under the pressure.

"In Emma’s room?" Ruth asked, her confusion deepening. "Why would he—"

"The sink in the master suite is leaking, remember?" I blurted out, the lie tumbling out of my mouth before I could think. "He mentioned it this morning. He probably just ducked in here because it was closer."

"Oh," Ruth said, the tension in her shoulders visibly relaxing. "Right. The plumbing. Honestly, this house is falling apart around us. Jordan! If you're in there, hurry up! Your 4:00 PM is about to start."

A muffled, strained voice came from behind the door. "I'll be out in a minute, babe! Just... finishing up!"

Jordan’s voice was perfectly modulated, the "CEO" mask firmly back in place, but I could hear the jagged edge of terror underneath it.

"Well, don't be long," mom called out, already turning to head back toward the stairs. "Reign, did you find those keys? I need you to move your bike so the gardener can get the mower through."

"I'm getting them now," Reign said, but he didn't move. He waited until our mother’s footsteps faded down the stairs before he turned back to me.

He leaned in close, his chest brushing against mine, his scent of leather and cold wind washing over me. He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear. "The plumbing, huh?"

"Go away, Reign," I hissed, trying to push him toward the desk.

"You're a very good liar, Emma," he whispered, his hand sliding down to grip my waist, his thumb digging into the soft flesh right where the bruise from three days ago was hidden. "But remember... I'm the one who knows what you look like when you're not lying. I'm the one who knows how loud you get."

He reached over me, grabbed the shed keys from the desk drawer, and finally walked toward the door. But before he left, he paused, looking at the bathroom door one last time.

"Tell Dad to fix that leak," he said with a wink that made my blood run cold. "Wouldn't want anyone to get... soaked."

He vanished into the hallway, his boots thudding rhythmically until the front door slammed shut downstairs.

I didn't move for a long time. I just stood there, my forehead resting against the cool wood of my bedroom door, waiting for my heart to stop trying to escape my chest.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Jordan stepped out. He looked like he’d aged ten years in ten minutes. His shirt was buttoned correctly now, his hair smoothed back, but his eyes were haunted. He looked at me, and for a second, I saw a flash of genuine regret in his gaze—a flicker of the "saintly" man he used to be.

"This has to stop, Emma," he whispered, though he made no move to leave the room.

"You didn't say that five minutes ago," I reminded him, walking toward him. I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You didn't say that when you were lifting me onto the counter."

"That was... a mistake. A moment of weakness." He caught my wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. "Your mother... She doesn't deserve this. And Reign…"

"Reign doesn't know anything," I lied, leaning into him. "He’s just being an annoying brother. Forget about him. Forget about everyone."

"I can't," Jordan said, but his hand moved from my wrist to the back of my neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin behind my ear. He was a man divided, torn between the life he’d built and the girl who was tearing it down.

"You're already in too deep, Jordan," I whispered, standing on my tiptoes so my lips were brushing his. "You can't go back to being just my 'stepdad' now. Not after the living room. Not after the taste."

I felt him shudder, his resolve crumbling under the weight of the secret we now shared. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine.

"I have a call," he muttered, but he didn't pull away.

"Then go," I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Go be the perfect husband. Go be the perfect businessman. But remember who’s waiting for you in the dark."

He let out a jagged breath, kissed my forehead with a desperate, lingering pressure, and slipped out of the room.

I walked over to my bed and sank onto the silk sheets, the lingering scents of Reign and Jordan swirling around me. I was playing a dangerous game, standing in the center of a storm I’d created. But as I listened to the house settle back into its quiet, suburban facade, I realized I’d never felt more alive.

The son had had me. The father was hooked. And my mother... She was the only one left in the dark.

For now.