{POV Lila}
I couldn't sleep.
I'd been tossing and turning for over an hour, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn't quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Stefan’s profile in the flickering light of the television, heard his laugh rumbling through the quiet room.
I needed water. Maybe that would help settle my nerves.
I slipped out of bed, padding barefoot down the hallway in my sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt. The house was dark and quiet, shadows pooling in corners and stretching across the hardwood floors.
As I approached the kitchen, I heard something that made me freeze mid-step.
Strange sounds. Quiet but heavy breathing. A soft, feminine moan.
I should turn around. Should go straight back to my room and pretend I'd heard nothing. Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to retreat, to maintain the careful ignorance that made living in this house possible.
But something kept me rooted in place—curiosity, perhaps, or some darker impulse I didn't want to examine too closely.
I edged closer, peering around the corner into the moonlit kitchen.
The sight that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs.
Eleanor was perched on the kitchen island, her silk robe pooled around her waist, legs spread wide. And Stefan—Stefan was between those legs, his head buried between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he worked.
Eleanor's head was thrown back, her fingers tangled in his hair, quiet moans escaping her parted lips.
My entire body went rigid with shock. I should look away. Should flee. But I was paralyzed, unable to tear my eyes from the scene before me, unable to process what I was witnessing.
Then Eleanor's gaze drifted lazily toward the doorway—and locked directly onto mine.
For one horrifying moment, our eyes met across the moonlit kitchen. I expected her to gasp, to push Stefan away, to scramble for modesty.
Any normal person would have been mortified at being caught in such an intimate moment. Instead, Eleanor's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
She didn't stop. Didn't even flinch. She arched her back more dramatically, putting on a show, demonstrating exactly how good she felt. Her eyes never left mine as she let out another moan.
And then, deliberately, Eleanor buried her fingers deeper into Stefan's hair and pressed his face closer, her gaze burning into mine with unmistakable triumph.
He's mine, that look said. Don't forget it.
The shock finally released its grip, and I bolted.
I practically ran back to my room, heart slamming against my ribs, face burning with humiliation so intense I thought I might combust.
I threw myself onto the bed, yanking the covers over my head as if I could hide from what I'd just witnessed.
But the images wouldn't stop. They replayed behind my closed eyelids with cruel clarity. And beneath the shock and awkwardness, something else twisted in my stomach.
I imagined myself in Eleanor's place. Imagined Stefan's mouth on me instead, his breath hot against my skin, his hands gripping my hips the way they'd gripped hers.
How would his touch feel? How skillfully could he give pleasure? Would he be gentle with me, or would there be an edge of desperation—the same intensity I'd glimpsed in that kitchen?
I pressed my thighs together, trying to ignore the tightening knot in my lower abdomen, the heat spreading through my body like wildfire. This was wrong.
But I couldn't stop wanting. Couldn't stop my traitorous mind from wondering, imagining, craving things I had no right to crave.
***
The next morning, I was determined to act as if nothing had happened. Focused on the fertility center appointment we’re supposed to attend with Stefan today.
I dressed carefully in a pretty sundress and headed downstairs with practiced composure. Eleanor had already left for her business trip; the house felt emptier without her oppressive presence, lighter somehow.
I rushed through the house, searching for Stefan with growing urgency. He wasn't in the kitchen, not in his office, not in the living room. Finally, I pushed open the door to the garage.
The sight that greeted me made me forget why I'd come.
Stefan was bent over the open hood of his car, shirtless, his skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat from physical exertion.
His back muscles rolled and flexed beneath tanned skin as he worked on something in the engine, every movement highlighting the strength I'd always sensed beneath his tailored suits.
When he straightened to reach for a tool, I could see the definition of his chest, the trail of dark hair leading down to his waistband, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.
He looked nothing like the polished businessman I'd known for three years. He looked raw. Physical. Devastatingly attractive.
For several long seconds, I simply stared, my mouth going dry.
Stefan finally noticed my presence and straightened, a smile breaking across his face. "Lila. Good morning."
He reached for a rag, wiping the grease from his palms, but I caught something in his expression—a flicker of awkwardness, a searching quality in his gaze. He was studying me, trying to gauge my mood.
Did he suspect I'd seen something? Was my face betraying every inappropriate thought running through my head?
To avoid further awkwardness, I got straight to the point. "We have an appointment at the fertility center today. We're supposed to be there in forty minutes."
Stefan's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.
"Today?" He glanced at the clock on the garage wall, then ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture that always made something flutter in my chest. "I completely forgot. I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind entirely."
"It's okay. I could go by myself, it's no big deal…"
"Absolutely not." His tone brooked no argument. "I told you I would accompany you every step of this process, and I meant it. Give me ten minutes to shower and change. We'll make it in time."
He moved toward the door, then stopped, his eyes traveling over me in a way that made my skin prickle.
"Your dress. You've buttoned it wrong in the back."
I twisted, trying to see over my shoulder. The dress had a row of small buttons running down the spine—I'd done them myself in the mirror, clearly with less success than I'd thought.
"Damn it…" I said with quiet awkwardness. I'm sure my attempts to reach my back with my hands looked even more ridiculous.
"Let me." Stefan moved behind me before I could protest. "I'll need to unbutton it completely and redo them properly. Hold still."
My insides screamed with a mixture of desire and panic as I felt his presence behind me—close, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
His fingers found the first button at the nape of my neck, and I felt the brush of his knuckles against my skin as he worked it free.
One button. Two. Three.
Each one felt like an eternity. The fabric loosened incrementally, cool air hitting my exposed back. Stefan worked methodically, unhurried, his breath warm against my hair.
At the fourth button, his fingertips grazed my spine. At the sixth, his thumb brushed the curve of my shoulder blade, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
"That's a beautiful dress," Stefan said quietly, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. "It suits you."
I swallowed hard. "I thought I should wear my pretty things as often as possible. While I can still fit into them."
He laughed softly—that warm, charming sound that made my heart stutter. "That's the right approach. It would be a sin to hide such beauty."
He began rebuttoning the dress, his fingers working upward now. When the final button was secured, his hands lingered at my shoulders for just a moment.
"There," he said, stepping back. "Perfect."
I turned, hoping my face didn't betray the fire burning beneath my skin. "Thank you. I'll wait in the living room."
I escaped before he could respond, my legs unsteady. As I sank onto the couch, pressing a hand to my racing heart, I knew the truth I could no longer deny.
My feelings for Stefan weren't just a girlish crush anymore—they were something deeper, more consuming, more dangerous.
And I felt less and less ashamed of wanting him.