The sunlight slanted through the kitchen window, warm and golden, but Jenny felt none of it. Her head spun as she stepped into the kitchen, the dizziness from last night still clinging.
Peter Smith, her father, sat at the breakfast table, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Well, well," he said, smirking, "look who finally stumbled in from her late-night adventure. Did you finally get your hands on Adrian, Jenny?"
Jenny froze, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Dad! Stop it... please." She lowered her gaze, ashamed. "You don't understand... he saw me... like that. Vulnerable. Weak. I can't believe it."
Peter's expression softened, and he put down his cup. "Darling, it's alright. Everyone has their moments. But you... you have to understand, there are plenty of men who would be lucky to have you. Better than Adrian, I promise. You shouldn't waste your youth chasing someone whose family and ours... well, you know how it is."
Her voice trembled. "I know, Dad. I... I just can't help how I feel. I've always... always cared about him."
He reached across the table, taking her hand gently. "Angel, listen to me. I'll do anything for your happiness. Anything. You're my only child... and after your mother passed when you were just five, you've been everything to me." His eyes glistened. "I just want to see you safe, and smiling... truly smiling, my girl."
Jenny's tears slipped down her cheeks, and she leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Father," she whispered. "I wish... I wish life could be simpler."
He hugged her tightly. "I know, baby. I know. But we'll face it together, alright? Its not like I hate Adrian, he is truly a remarkable person, I am just another insecure father...you know" he chuckled.
"You look exhausted. Go rest for a while, alright? I have to leave for the office." He stood, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, concern softening his usual stern expression. "Take care of yourself, my girl. I'll be back before you know it."
Jenny nodded quietly, grateful, and slowly made her way to her room, the weight of last night pressing down on her.
Once alone in her room, Jenny sank onto the edge of her bed, still feeling the lingering dizziness from last night. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her phone. I have to thank him... she thought, her heart pounding.
Taking a deep breath, she dialed Adrian's number.
"Hello?" His voice was sharp, clipped.
"Adrian... I... I just wanted to thank you," her voice soft and hesitant.
"Don't," he snapped, cutting her off. "Never call me again. Do you understand? I hate you, Jenny. I saved you because I'm nothing like your father. I'm... a good man. That's it."
Her heart sank, but she nodded silently to herself, though he couldn't see it. "I... okay," she whispered before ending the call.
Meanwhile, Adrian sat in his dark room, staring at the wall. The anger in his voice lingered, but suddenly, guilt crept in. Was I too harsh? he thought.
He couldn't sleep the whole night. The darkness of his room pressed in, but it wasn't the night that kept him awake-it was her. Jenny. Every detail of last night haunted him. Her trembling body pressed against his chest. The way her small hands had clung to him, her unsteady breaths, the soft warmth of her skin.
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. Disgust... I should hate her. He repeated it like a mantra, but it was failing. Every fiber of him rebelled, turning his disgust into something far more dangerous. Something that made his pulse race in ways anger never could.
He remembered the fleeting taste of her lips, the curve of her mouth, how impossibly soft she had been, her vulnerability so raw it nearly undid him. His chest ached with the desire to bend down and claim her, to press his lips against hers and see how it felt. Not for love, not for pity-but for the raw, burning need that had erupted in him, unexpected and fierce.
He wanted to do something dangerous, something forbidden. He imagined pulling her close, letting his hands trace the contours of her body as she shivered under his touch. The thought made his breath catch. I'm nothing like her father, he reminded himself, though the irony wasn't lost-he was the exact opposite of restraint in that moment.
He had fought it when he held her last night, forcing himself to step back, to preserve the disgust he swore he felt. But in the quiet of his room, with only shadows for company, the temptation clawed at him relentlessly. Her soft sighs, her trembling frame, the vulnerability she had shown-it all called to him like fire to tinder.
Just one kiss, he thought. Just once... and nothing would be the same. The thought thrilled and terrified him at the same time. He imagined her lips yielding, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the shiver that would run through her spine if he let himself go.
And yet, he couldn't. Not entirely. Not yet. Anger, revenge, and the bitter memory of his mother's death kept him anchored in reason, even as desire twisted in his chest. But the memory of her trembling, helpless, and so achingly soft... it would not let him rest.
For hours he lay awake, imagining her-her scent, her softness, the subtle quiver of her lips when she had whispered for help. His body ached to be near her again, to test the dangerous line between control and surrender.
He was supposed to hate her. He was supposed to protect himself from her. But every instinct screamed the opposite: She is mine... if I dare take her.