Rooftop Reckoning with His Ex's Stepmom

Victor hadn’t set foot in the old house in over a year, not since Danielle had dumped him with a text that still sat in his phone like a bruise. Twenty-two, restless, and stupid enough to say yes when the invitation to her younger sister’s engagement party showed up, he told himself it was closure. The second he stepped through the front door the lie collapsed. Danielle was already there, radiant in a tight red dress, her hand locked around the arm of some polished asshole introduced as Otto, her brand-new fiancé. The way she smiled at Victor was pure pity. He grabbed a whiskey from the open bar and climbed the narrow stairs to the rooftop terrace, needing air and distance before he said something he couldn’t take back.

The city lights smeared across the dark skyline. Music and laughter thumped up from the garden below. Victor leaned on the stone ledge, glass sweating in his fist, when the door clicked shut behind him.

Rosa.

Danielle’s stepmother. Forty-one, divorced two years now, all dangerous curves poured into a black cocktail dress that clung to heavy tits and a thick, fuckable ass. Dark hair piled loose, red lipstick like a warning. She had always looked at him like she already owned the inside of his head. During the two years he’d dated Danielle, Rosa had brushed past him in hallways, let her perfume linger, asked him filthy little questions about how hard he fucked her stepdaughter while Danielle was in the next room. He’d never touched her. Touching her would have been the kind of betrayal that blew a family apart.

“Running already, Victor?” Her voice was low, smoky, amused. She crossed the terrace on heels that clicked like a countdown, stopping close enough that he smelled warm skin and expensive scent. “Or just sulking because the girl who used to ride your cock is downstairs hanging off someone else’s arm?”