Armand

After his father passed away from cancer, he spiraled into smoking, drinking, and even using drugs. He eventually found himself entangled with his much younger stepmother—she was 18 years younger than his father. His father had been 46, she was 28, and he was only 22.

At first, he couldn't stand her. He always suspected she had married his father for money, not love. Cold and distant, he often called her names, even referring to her as a "bitch." Yet, despite his harshness, she never seemed fazed. Calm and composed, she remained gentle with him. Every morning, she would cook him breakfast, though he barely acknowledged her presence. What he didn’t realize was that, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had begun to shift.

Tonight, after yet another fight, his face was swollen and bruised. Slipping quietly into the house late at night, he tried to sneak past without being noticed. As he opened the door, he saw her sitting on the couch, sipping red wine, her figure draped in a lacy silk robe that accentuated her curves.

"Why aren't you asleep? It’s late," he mumbled, trying to hide his fresh wounds. But she noticed immediately.

“Come here, sit down,” she said softly, patting the seat beside her. “Let me clean that up.”

Reluctantly, he sat next to her, his heart racing. As she leaned in, he couldn’t help but blush, the scent of her perfume and the sight of her delicate robe stirring emotions he had tried to bury.