"Morning."
David looked at Scarlett but with guilt—probably because of yesterday's kiss.
"Everyone stays home today," Damien announced. "Mom's coming. Family time."
***
At noon, Scarlett was restless in her room, watching the window. A sleek black Mercedes arrived. Her heart raced. She ran downstairs; Mia, Damien, Devil, David were already outside.
Mom stepped out—45 years old but appearing 35. Stunning, elegant, perfect.
"Mia! Scarlett!" she smiled and hugged Mia. "Mom! It's been so long!"
"I know, beta. Been busy."
Then Mom hugged Scarlett. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
She looked at her face, concern showing. "You look tired. Everything okay?"
"Just exam stress."
She smiled. "My girl is hardworking."
From the car came Michael—black shirt, dark jeans, sunglasses—devastatingly handsome.
Everyone looked at him, but Scarlett forgot to breathe. He was here. At her home. With her mother.
Mom put out her hand; Michael placed his on her waist, casually, comfortably, as if used to it. Scarlett's stomach twisted.
"Meet Michael, my very old friend," Mom introduced him.
"Friend?" Mia doubted.
Mom laughed. "Fine, it's a bit complicated, but we're very close."
Michael removed his sunglasses; his golden-brown eyes scanned everyone, then lingered on Scarlett for a second—recognition, desire, warning.
Don't react.
He shook hands with all, and when it was Scarlett's turn, held her hand firmly, warm.
"Scarlett, right?" He asked casually like they met for the first time.
"Yes."
"Your mom talks a lot about you."
Scarlett nodded, speechless.
Devil saw them; his eyes narrowed.
Shit. He suspected.
***
Inside the living room, everyone sat. Mom and Michael too close on the sofa.
Mia served coffee.
"So, Michael," Damien began the conversation, "what do you do?"
"Business. Import-export. Some real estate."
"Interesting. California?"
"Worldwide. I travel a lot."
"How did you meet Mom?"
"Long ago. When I was in college. We were very close. Life separated us, but we reconnected recently."
"How recently?" Mia asked.
Mom glanced at Michael; silent communication.
"A few months."
Scarlett's heart plummeted.
A few months—the same time she met Michael.
She stood abruptly. "I need to go upstairs. Sorry."
"Scarlett? You okay?" Mom asked.
"Yes, just a headache."
She hurried up but stopped halfway as she heard Mom's voice downstairs.
"Michael, let me show you around."
"Sure."
Scarlett saw them heading to the kitchen, holding hands, and something inside her broke.
***
At 7 pm, Scarlett sat in her room, unable to do anything. A knock.
"Come in."
Devil entered, anger on his face.
"That's Michael, right? Your boyfriend?"
She was silent.
"Answer me, Scarlett!"
"Yes."
"And he's with your mom?"
"Apparently."
"What the fuck!" he yelled. "You two together? How is this even possible?"
"I don't know! You think I understand all this?"
"What will you do? Just sit there?"
"I… I need time to think."
"Time?" He laughed bitterly. "Scarlett, that man is downstairs with your mom, comfortably. Casually, like he belongs."
Tears welled in her eyes.
Devil softened, came close, wiped her tears.
"Scarlett… I'm sorry. I just… I can't bear to see you hurt."
He cupped her face in his hands.
"That man doesn't deserve you."
"Devil—"
"I do. I love you."
Her breath caught.
"What?"
"Yes. I know it's wrong. But I can't help it. I want you. Every way."
He came very close.
"Give me a chance—"
The door opened. They separated.
Michael stood at the door, his eyes slowly turning golden.
"Scarlett," his voice growled. "Your mom is calling. Dinner's ready."
Devil looked at him, challenged.
"We're coming."
"I was talking to Scarlett, not you."
Tension filled the air.
"Devil, you go ahead," she said.
"But—"
"Please."
Reluctantly, he nodded but gave Michael a warning look.
As soon as he left, Michael locked the door.
"What are you doing?" he approached her.
"I… nothing—"
"Lies. I saw. How close he was to you."
"You have no right—"
"I have every right!" he shouted. "You're mine!"
"No! I belong to no one! Especially not the man with my mom!"
Silence.
Michael's face turned pale.
"So… you found out."
"Yes. Obviously. No matter how much you hide, I see."
"Scarlett, listen—"
"What to listen?" Tears streamed down. "That you're with my mom and me? That it's all a game?"
"It's not a game—"
"Then what?"
He grabbed her shoulder.
"My connection with your mom… it's complicated. Yes, we're physically involved. But what I have with you… that's different."
"Different? How?"
He looked into her eyes. For a second, they turned golden.
"Yes. Mate. You don't understand now. But when the time comes, you will."
"I want to know now!"
"No. Not yet."
He kissed her hard, desperate.
She tried pushing him away, but her body reacted.
His hands on her waist, pulling her to the bed.
"Michael… wait… they're all waiting downstairs."
"Fuck them," he pulled her dress strap down. "I want you. Now."
His lips sucked and bit her neck.
"Ahh… Michael…"
Her hands tangled in his shirt.
He pushed her onto the bed, pinned her.
His weight, warmth, all familiar.
"You're only mine," he whispered. "No one else can touch you."
"But… you—"
"What I do… it's complicated. But my feelings for you… they're clear."
He undid her dress, leaving her in just underwear.
His eyes roamed her body. "Perfect. As always."
He removed his shirt and jeans.
Almost naked.
"I want to feel you. Completely."
His hands unclasped her bra.
Then—
A knock.
"Scarlett! Dinner's ready!" Mia called.
They froze.
"Coming!" she answered quickly.
Michael rested his head on her shoulder frustrated.
"Later," he whispered. "Come to my room tonight."
"Your room? In the house?"
"Yes. Mom gave me the guest room. Third floor. Last room."
"I… I can't—"
"You will. Because you want to know. The truth. The whole truth."
***
Dinner was awkward.
Everyone sat together.
Mom and Michael side by side.
Scarlett watched them.
Mom casually touched Michael's hand.
Each time, something died inside her.
Devil observed, jaw tight.
David ate quietly, eyes roaming.
"So, Michael," Damien asked, "how long will you stay?"
"A few days. Maybe a week."
"Here? In this house?"
"Yes. If there's no problem."
"No problem. You're welcome," Mia said quickly.
Mom smiled and held Michael's hand.
Scarlett couldn't watch anymore.
She stood.
"I need fresh air."
"Scarlett—" Mom called.
But she was already outside.
In the garden, the cold night breeze touched her face.
Tears came, unable to hold back.
"Scarlett?"
She turned.
Devil stood there.
"You're not okay."
"I… I'm just confused."
He came close, wiped her tears.
"I'm here. For you."
"Devil—"
"Don't say anything. Just… let me hold you."
He held her, and she didn't let go.
His warmth was comforting.
They stayed like that a while.
Then she looked up.
A shadow in the third-floor window.
Golden eyes shining.
Michael.
Watching them.
With pure rage on his face.
It was past eleven at night. The house was silent; everyone was asleep. Scarlett lay awake in her bed, eyes wide open, mind racing.
"Third floor. Last room."
Michael's words echoed again and again.
"Tonight. Come to my room."
Should she go?
She sat up. Decision made.
"Yes. I want to know the truth. The whole truth."
Dressed in a black silk nightgown—slightly revealing—with a robe over it, she quietly opened the door. The corridor was empty. She moved slowly and cautiously towards the stairs.
Passing the second floor—Devil and David's rooms—both dark.
Up to the third floor.
The last room.
Her heart pounded as she neared the door.
Should she knock?
Then voices came from inside.
Michael's deep voice:
"I missed you so much."
Mom's voice.
Her blood froze.
"I missed you too," Michael replied softly.
Silence fell.
Peeking through the keyhole, she saw Mom sitting on Michael's bed, her silk nightgown slightly slipped up. Michael stood shirtless before her. He cupped Mom's face, kissing her softly and slowly.
Tears welled in Scarlett's eyes, but she kept watching.
Mom's hands moved down Michael's chest slowly.
"I'm so happy we met again," Mom whispered.
"Me too."
"But... I'm scared. If anyone finds out... especially my daughters..."
"No one will. I promise."
Mom kissed him again, this time more passionately. Michael laid her down on the bed and got on top.