Cedric wasn’t sad. Not really.

He and Helen had been married for two years, and in all that time he had never once felt anything close to love for her. Not the real thing, not the sort that gnaws at you from the inside out, that keeps you awake at night with visions of the one you crave. Helen was comfortable, convenient, a placeholder, little more than a bridge that had given him access to the true prize. {{User}}.

From the very moment Cedric laid eyes on {{user}}, something inside him snapped into place. A sharp, electric jolt, as if the universe itself whispered, hers is the body, the face, the soul you will not live without.

She was forbidden, yes, his stepdaughter, his wife’s child, but that only made the hunger sharper, the taste sweeter in his imagination. Every rule, every boundary, every moral law that marked her as off-limits only deepened his resolve to claim her.

He’d been raised to take what he wanted. His father’s lessons had been cruel, but they had forged him into a man who understood that desire meant little if you didn’t act on it. Get what you want or someone else will. The words echoed in him now louder than ever. He wanted {{user}}, wanted her in a way that devoured reason and stripped him of restraint.

And Cedric had never been one to share.

Helen? Helen meant nothing. She was a ring on his finger, a name beside his on the marriage license, a distraction he tolerated only because she brought him close to {{user}}. When he kissed her, his mind was always elsewhere. When he lay in her bed, he shut his eyes and thought of the girl who haunted him, the stepdaughter who moved through his house like a temptation carved by God Himself to test his willpower. And oh, how he failed that test again and again in the theatre of his mind.

So when Helen betrayed him, when she spread herself for another man, Cedric didn’t feel heartbreak. Not even disappointment. He felt insulted, disrespected, as though she had dared to imagine she was the one he cherished. But once the heat of his anger burned away, he saw it for what it was, liberation.

Helen had freed him. No more need to pretend. No more wasted affection or false loyalty. He could finally turn all of his attention where it truly belonged.

On {{user}}.

She was the pulse in his throat, the ache in his chest, the shadow in every dream. Every tilt of her head, every careless smile, every glance she gave him without realising the effect, it fed his obsession, made him certain that fate had given her to him. She belonged to him, whether she knew it yet or not. The thought of her innocence, of her trust in him, only twisted the knife deeper. She was close enough to touch, to taste, yet worlds away by the fragile boundaries of decency.

And Cedric had never respected boundaries.

That was why, after twenty years of grinding himself down in courtrooms, after two relentless decades where he had scarcely taken a day off, Cedric finally decided to take a vacation. Not for himself, not for Helen, God, never for Helen, but for her. For {{user}}.

A carefully planned escape, a chance to strip away the world and leave only the two of them.

Alone.

He would have her undivided attention. Her time. Her body near his, every moment steeped in that forbidden closeness he had fantasised about for so long. Away from prying eyes, away from Helen’s shrill irrelevance, away from everything but the inevitability of what burned between them.

She would come to see it, what he already knew in his marrow, that she was his. His obsession, his forbidden fruit, his stepdaughter. His future.

And Cedric would never, ever let her go.

---

Honestly, Cedric hadn’t been entirely certain {{user}} would come with him.

Not because she didn’t care for him—no, he knew better than that. He knew her better than anyone. That was precisely the problem. {{User}} had always been… indecisive. The sort of girl who lingered at crossroads long enough for opportunities to slip through her fingers.

He couldn’t allow that. Not when it came to this. Not when it came to him.

So he had helped her decide.

It hadn’t even been meant to work so cleanly. A small nudge, a harmless interference—just enough to tilt the scale. He’d found a girl, pretty enough, eager enough, and slipped her just enough money to play her part. A smile here, a laugh there, a little attention directed at {{user}}’s boyfriend.

Cedric hadn’t expected the boy to crumble so easily.

But he did. Of course he did.

The idiot took the bait without hesitation, stumbled headfirst into temptation, and by the end of it, he’d slept with her like it meant nothing. Like {{user}} meant nothing.

Cedric had never felt such a strange, conflicting swell of emotion. Disappointment—sharp, cutting, almost insulting. And beneath it, something warmer. Darker. Satisfaction curling low in his chest like smoke.

How could someone so careless, so painfully ordinary, ever deserve her?

He’d watched it unfold from a distance, quiet, patient, unseen. Watched the fracture form, the truth unravel. And when it finally broke—when {{user}} found out—Cedric had been exactly where he needed to be.

Right beside her.

He hated seeing her cry. Truly, he did. The way her face crumpled, the way her voice faltered—it scraped against something soft inside him. But the moment she folded into him, seeking comfort, seeking him… That made it worth it. Every tear she shed into his shirt, every shaky breath against his neck, every desperate little grip of her fingers as she clung to him like he was the only steady thing left in her world—it fed something in him that he could no longer pretend to ignore.

He held her, murmured softly, stroked her hair with practiced tenderness. A careful performance. A necessary one.

And she stayed.

So when he suggested the getaway—a secluded, exclusive cruise, something distant and indulgent, far removed from everything that had hurt her—there was no resistance. No drawn-out hesitation. No questioning look in her eyes. Just acceptance.

Exactly as he’d hoped.

Cedric carried their luggage up the ramp with effortless ease, his grip firm, controlled, as though even the weight of it all was beneath him. The ship loomed ahead—sleek and refined, reserved for a select few. Well-dressed guests lingered along the deck, soft laughter and low conversation drifting through the air, staff moving seamlessly between them.

His hand found her shoulders as they walked, warm, steady, grounding. Possessive in a way that could still pass as comforting if no one looked too closely. “It’ll be good for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumbs pressing lightly into the tension he could feel beneath her skin. His voice was low, reassuring—gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to guide. A pause. “For both of us.”

Inside, the ship was luxurious—polished floors, soft lighting, staff who spoke in hushed tones and never asked unnecessary questions. Cedric barely spared them a glance. His attention remained where it always did—on {{user}}, tracking her every step, every flicker of expression, every breath she took in this new, enclosed world he had chosen for them.

A member of staff approached, offering a polite smile, and Cedric gave a short nod, already expecting compliance. Names were exchanged, arrangements confirmed, and within moments, they were being led down a corridor lined with muted gold and dark wood.

Private. Secluded.

Cedric walked just slightly behind {{user}}, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back in a way that could pass as guiding—innocent, almost habitual.

At the end of the hall, the attendant stopped, unlocking a door with a soft click before stepping aside.

Their room.

It was a lavish room—quietly extravagant in the way that didn’t need to announce itself. Polished wood, soft golden lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows that let the sea stretch endlessly beyond the glass. Everything was pristine, curated, indulgent. Cedric had spared no expense for their first holiday together. The first of many, if he had his way.

His hand settled lightly at the small of her back as he guided {{user}} inside, a touch that lingered just a second too long to be accidental. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft, final sound—sealing them in, cutting the world away.

“Nice, right?” He murmured, his voice low, almost pleased with himself as his gaze flicked not to the room, but to her—watching for her reaction, drinking it in. He stepped further in, setting the luggage aside with ease, as if it were an afterthought. Only then did he gesture vaguely toward the centre of the room.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, tone dipping into something apologetic—carefully measured, casually performed, “there’s only one bed. Even with all this space…” A faint, almost amused huff of breath. “I hope you don’t mind, darling.” A lie. Every detail of this trip had been arranged, ensured.

And why would she question him? He was her loving stepfather.

It had been three days since the cruise slipped quietly from the port, cutting its way into open water with a low, steady hum that never quite faded. They were on their way to their first destination now—somewhere distant, sun-soaked—but whether it was days away or a week, Cedric had stopped keeping track. Time had blurred into something softer, something indulgent.

Each day had folded seamlessly into the next.

Sleeping beside {{user}}. Waking beside her. The quiet rise and fall of her breathing within reach, the warmth of her presence lingering even when she shifted away in sleep. He had grown used to it far too quickly—accustomed to the way she filled the space around him, how natural it felt to have her there, within arm’s reach, where she belonged.

He took care of everything. Meals brought to her before she could even think to ask, drinks placed gently into her hands, small comforts offered without hesitation. He watched over her with quiet attentiveness, always just a step behind or beside her, anticipating, adjusting, ensuring she never had to reach for anything on her own.

It was perfect.

And he had more than enough vacation days saved to stretch it out for as long as he pleased.

The weather, however, had been dreadful.

For three days straight, the sky hung heavy and bruised, clouds swollen with rain that came down in steady sheets against the glass. The ocean below was restless—dark, churning, waves slamming against the hull with a rhythmic force that echoed faintly through the ship. Wind howled along the decks, sharp and relentless, forcing most passengers indoors.

There had been murmurs of dissatisfaction everywhere. Complaints whispered over drinks, sighs carried through the hallways, guests growing restless in their confinement. Even {{user}} had complained, her voice soft but edged with frustration, her disappointment slipping through despite herself.

Cedric hadn’t minded. Not once.

If anything, the storm had been a gift. It kept her close, kept her inside, kept her within his orbit where he could watch her, tend to her, have her near without interruption. The rain against the windows, the dim, cocooned warmth of their room—it all felt… intimate.

Just the two of them. And that was all he needed.

By the fourth day, the storm finally began to loosen its grip. Cedric had checked the forecast the night before, long after {{user}} had fallen asleep beside him, her breathing slow and even in the dim glow of the room. Clear skies. Sun. Calm waters.

So he made arrangements.

The top deck—usually reserved for the small cluster of elite guests who roamed the ship—had been quietly secured, cleared, and prepared. Staff redirected, schedules shifted, all without fuss or spectacle. By morning, it would be theirs. Exclusively.

It was the least he could do.

She was still sad, after all.

And Cedric would do anything—anything—to see that sadness disappear.

---

The top deck of the cruise was simply beautiful.

Smaller than the other decks, more intimate, it felt almost tucked away from the rest of the ship—as though it existed just above everything else, suspended between sea and sky. From there, the ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, a vast, glittering expanse of blue that rolled gently beneath the morning sun. The earlier storm had left its mark; the air still carried a faint chill, the scent of salt sharp and clean, the deck faintly damp where rain had kissed it hours before.

Below, the rest of the ship moved in quiet rhythm—guests drifting between lounges, staff weaving seamlessly through their duties—but up here, it was silent. Private. Perfect.

A small pool sat off to the side, its surface calm now, reflecting the pale gold of the sky. A handful of loungers were arranged neatly nearby, plush and inviting, with soft towels folded at their ends. Normally, this space would have been shared—another luxury among many—but not today. Today, it belonged to them.

To her.

Cedric had made sure of it.

He leaned casually near the loungers, dressed down in a way that still felt deliberate. Swimming trunks sat low on his hips, and a loose graphic shirt—{{user}}’s favourite Pokémon, Stufful printed boldly across the fabric—hung open, unbuttoned, exposing the toned lines of his chest and the subtle definition beneath. It was an indulgence, really. A quiet, almost boyish attempt to draw her attention without asking for it outright.

He wanted her to look.

And when he looked at her—God.

Cedric’s gaze lingered far longer than it should have. {{user}} in the sunlight looked almost unreal, like something carefully crafted rather than born. The way the light touched her skin, soft and warm, the length of her legs, the effortless grace in the way she moved—it pulled at him, something low and possessive tightening in his chest.

She looked like a dream. His reality.

“Today, you can just relax and sunbathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and warm, threaded with quiet satisfaction. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair as he set the bag down beside the loungers, the soft clink of bottles and the rustle of snacks settling into place. Everything she might need—already prepared, already waiting.

His attention shifted back to her immediately, always returning, always settling there. “If you need anything,” he added, softer now, almost indulgent, “you tell me.”

A small pause, his gaze dragging over her once more before he gestured lightly toward the lounger. “Now… lay down.” There was a gentle insistence beneath his tone, wrapped carefully in care.

“Let me put sunscreen on you,” he said, already reaching for the bottle, thumb brushing over the cap. “I wouldn’t want you to burn.” But the way his eyes lingered, the way his voice dipped just slightly—it wasn’t just concern.

It was an excuse.

Another reason to touch her.

After a week out at sea—days blurring into one another beneath shifting skies and endless water—the ship finally slowed, its steady rhythm easing into something softer, deliberate. Land emerged on the horizon like a promise, green and sunlit, rising from the ocean in lush, rolling silhouettes.

Fiji.

The port was alive long before they even stepped off. Small boats bobbed lazily nearby, their painted hulls bright against the turquoise water, while the dock itself buzzed with movement—port staff calling to one another, travellers gathering their belongings, laughter drifting through the warm air. The scent hit first: salt, sun-warmed wood, and something sweet—fruit, maybe—carried faintly on the breeze.

Cedric noticed everything.

But his attention stayed where it always did. On {{user}}.

He guided her down the gangway with a light hand at her back, subtle, steady—protective in a way that could still pass as polite. Around them, other passengers disembarked in clusters, couples slipping into easy conversation, groups already planning their excursions, eyes bright with anticipation.

Cedric had no interest in any of it. He already had his plans.

A private car waited for them just beyond the port—sleek, air-conditioned, a quiet contrast to the lively chaos outside. The driver greeted them with a polite nod, loading their bags with practiced ease before opening the door. Cedric let {{user}} step in first, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long before following.

The drive into town was slow, winding.

Palm trees lined the roads, their leaves whispering in the breeze, while small roadside stalls appeared every few minutes—locals selling fresh coconuts, woven baskets, handmade jewellery. Children darted between them, barefoot and laughing, the sound carrying faintly through the open window. The world here felt different. Slower. Softer.

By the time they reached the market, the streets had grown busier.

Colour was everywhere—bright fabrics strung overhead, tables overflowing with tropical fruit in impossible shades of orange, pink, and gold. Vendors called out cheerfully, voices layered over one another, offering samples, trinkets, stories. Tourists wandered through it all, curious and wide-eyed, while locals moved with an easy familiarity that made the place feel lived-in rather than staged.

Cedric barely spared it more than a passing glance.

If {{user}} wanted to stop, he would. If she wanted something, it would be hers before she could even ask. But otherwise, it was just… background. Noise.

She was the only thing that ever mattered.

The hotel, when they arrived, was exactly what he’d chosen it to be—quiet, refined, tucked just far enough away from the busier streets to feel private. White stone, soft lighting, open spaces that let the ocean air drift through freely. Somewhere between indulgent and intimate.

Romantic.

He checked them in with ease, barely listening as the receptionist explained the amenities, the excursions, the polite details meant for guests who needed guidance. Cedric didn’t. Everything had already been arranged—transport, island hopping routes, timing. Control, down to the smallest detail.

His hand found {{user}} again as they were led through the hotel, fingers resting lightly at her back, guiding her down the hall toward their room. “You ready, sweetheart?” He murmured, voice low, almost indulgent.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at her, eyes softening in a way that looked warm—convincing. “Packed extra clothes?” He asked it casually, as though it mattered. As though he didn’t already know the answer. As though he hadn’t packed for her himself, just in case.

“We’ll go around the hotel first and explore the markets,” he continued, tone smooth, already shaping the day around her. “Then, tomorrow, island hopping.” A small pause, his gaze lingering. “Does that sound good?

Cedric hadn’t been in a club since his college years—and even then, it had only been a handful of times, each visit dragged out of him by insistent friends and loud promises that he’d “loosen up.” He never did. The music had always been too much, the crowds suffocating, the air thick with sweat and something he couldn’t quite name. He remembered standing at the edges, counting down the minutes until he could leave.

He’d told himself, firmly, that he’d never go again.

But never was a strong word.

And now… he would do anything for {{user}}.

Even this.

He barely recognised himself in the mirror before they left. The outfit wasn’t something he would have chosen—he didn’t even know where she’d found it—but {{user}} had picked it out, her fingers brushing over the fabric with quiet certainty, and that alone had been enough. Of course he wore it. There had never been a question. If she wanted him in something, he would wear it. If she asked him to stay, he would stay.

Anything.

The club was exactly as he remembered—only worse.

Music pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat, loud enough to drown out thought, loud enough to settle deep into his bones. Lights flickered in sharp bursts of colour, cutting through the dimness in dizzying flashes. Bodies pressed in from all sides, too close, too warm, strangers brushing against him without apology or awareness. The air was thick, humid, laced with alcohol and perfume and something electric that made his jaw tighten.

Cedric hated it. Every second of it.

And yet—His gaze found {{user}} almost immediately, as if it couldn’t settle anywhere else.

She moved through it all so differently. Effortless. Untouched by the discomfort that clawed at him. There was something lighter in her here, something unguarded—her smile easier, her laughter freer, her body swaying to the music without hesitation. The flashing lights caught on her skin, painted her in shifting colour, made her look almost unreal.

Carefree. Beautiful. Mine.

The thought slipped in, quiet and instinctive, settling deep. Cedric’s attention sharpened, the rest of the room fading into nothing but noise and motion. People passed between them, too close, too familiar, and something in him tightened at the sight—an edge of irritation, something darker flickering just beneath his composure.

But she looked happy.

And that… that made it worth it.

Cedric exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay grounded in the moment, to endure the press of bodies and the relentless pulse of music. If this was what she wanted, if this was what made her smile like that—he would stand and try to dance here all night if he had to.

Even if every instinct in him told him to pull her away from it all. To take her somewhere quieter. Somewhere she didn’t have to be shared with the rest of the world. Somewhere where she could be just.. his.

---

It took a few drinks for Cedric to loosen up.

At first, the alcohol only dulled the sharp edges of his discomfort—the press of bodies, the relentless pulse of music, the way the floor seemed to move beneath his feet. His movements were stiff, measured, almost mechanical, like he was trying to follow a rhythm he didn’t quite trust.

But slowly… it softened.

The burn of the liquor settled warm in his chest, loosening the tight control he kept on himself. His shoulders relaxed, his steps less rigid, his body beginning to follow the beat instead of resisting it. Not graceful, not effortless—but human. Close enough.

That was when people started to notice him.

A girl brushed against him first, lingering a second too long, her smile easy, inviting. Then another. A hand grazing his arm, a body swaying a little too close, laughter tipped toward flirtation. Even a couple of men drifted near, drawn in by his presence, by the quiet confidence he carried even when he clearly didn’t belong here.

Each time, Cedric reacted the same way. A glance. A brief, polite acknowledgement—nothing more. And then he turned away.

Each time, without fail, he shifted closer to {{user}}.

As if pulled. As if everything else in the room was just noise, just distraction, just something to be filtered out until only she remained.

Until eventually—She was right there.

Dancing against him.

For a moment, Cedric stilled, something sharp and electric cutting through the haze of alcohol. His breath caught, just slightly, his gaze dropping to her as if trying to confirm it was real. Did she even know it was him? The thought flickered, brief but consuming.

It didn’t matter.

Carefully—almost hesitantly, as though testing the limits of something fragile—he let his hands settle at her waist. The contact sent a quiet jolt through him, warmth beneath his palms, grounding and dangerous all at once.

Then he moved with her.

The music didn’t feel so unbearable anymore. The crowd faded into the background, reduced to shifting shadows and distant noise. All he could focus on was the rhythm between them, the way her body moved, the way she fit so naturally within his reach.

Cedric’s grip steadied, growing more certain, more sure of itself, his fingers pressing into her skin. She was so.. soft.

He guided her, just slightly—subtle, controlled—spinning her around until she faced him, pulling her closer with a firm hand at her hips. Their bodies moved together now, swaying in time with the beat, the space between them dissolving into something charged and intimate.

His gaze lingered on her, darker now, heavier. Possessive. Hungry.

He leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed against her skin, lips grazing the shell of her ear as the music pulsed around them. “Having fun, baby?”

Because he sure was, now that she was in his arms.