The first time I noticed him, I hated myself for it.
Victor had always been around—calm, quiet, composed in the way older men often are. To me, he was simply my sister's husband. Nothing more. Nothing I should ever think about.
But that evening changed something.
My sister had left for a late meeting, and the house felt unusually silent. I sat alone in the living room, scrolling mindlessly through my phone when Victor walked in, loosening his tie.
"You're still awake?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.
I nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
He poured himself a glass of water, leaning slightly against the kitchen counter. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he looked at me—really looked at me—in a way that made my chest tighten
"You've grown," he said softly. "You're not the little girl who used to visit anymore."
I forced a small laugh. "That was a long time ago."
But something in the way his eyes lingered made the room feel smaller, warmer… dangerous
He was fifty.
I was twenty-five.
And he belonged to my sister.
I should have looked away. I should have reembered who he was.
Instead, I held his gaze for just a second too long.