Chapter 5 Her Husband, My Sin (5)

The weeks that followed were the quietest kind of torture.

That evening, Dave didn’t mention anything. Not once. There was no blackmail, no icy glares across the dinner table, no subtle cruelty designed to make me squirm.

He remained exactly who he had always been: an attentive husband to my mother and a distant, polite stepfather to me.

That was what broke me. Not his anger, but his indifference.

He had witnessed my unraveling, felt my kisses on his neck, and heard me whisper things I had never shared with anyone, and yet, these intimate moments did not even disrupt his morning routine.

He casually ate his breakfast, inquired about my mother’s charity committee, and moved around the house with a calm and unsettling confidence.

For the first time, I understood the difference between being invisible because you chose to be, and being invisible because you didn’t matter.

I, on the other hand, was falling apart.

I started staying out later with Hunter. I told myself it was practical—the less I was home, the less I had to face the silence. Hunter was warm and easy to love. I kept waiting for that warmth to spark something real inside me, but it never did.

Whenever Hunter held my hand, I couldn’t help but feel the absence of Dave’s touch. Dave had never touched me, not even accidentally.

The memory of his non-existent touch seemed to overshadow everything Hunter was offering me.

During those weeks, I was not a good girlfriend. I was physically present, but emotionally distant.

Hunter noticed my behavior and kept asking if I was okay, his worried expression becoming more pronounced each time.

I reassured him with a lie, and it became easier to do so, a fact that should have worried me more than it did.

One evening, I saw my reflection in the hallway mirror and hardly recognized the girl staring back at me. My eyes looked tired, and my smile seemed forced.

I paused for a moment and realized that this is what it feels like to love someone you shouldn’t.

It wasn’t dramatic or cinematic, just a slow and quiet realization that I was becoming less of myself.

It ended on a Tuesday.

My mother was at a charity gala. The house was eerily silent, with every small sound amplified in the big empty space.

I was in the kitchen pouring a glass of water when I felt the air change. That specific shift in pressure that I had learned, against my will, to recognize.

Dave stood by the kitchen island. His gaze fixed on me like a predator who had successfully stalked its prey.

“I’m moving you into the campus dorms,” he announced. No “hello.” No emotion. “I’ve already spoken to your mother. I told her you need independence before finals.”

The glass nearly slipped from my hand. “You’re kicking me out.”

“I’m removing a distraction.”

He moved around the island, getting closer until he was just inches away.

“You think I’m blind, Snow?” he asked, his voice a low vibration. “I’ve spent months pretending I don’t see the way you look at me. Even before I married your mother. I felt your eyes on me, stripping me bare.”

I gasped, the air leaving my lungs.

“You think what happened that night was a secret you were keeping from me… from us?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. “You went as far as to peep on us.”

I moved back. “Dave—”

“Don’t,” he warned, cutting me off. “Don’t call my name, Snow.”

My breath hitched. “I’m sorry. I know I am wrong, but I can’t control it,” I confessed, my voice trembling.

I hit my chest softly, right over my heart. “I try hard. I really try hard to get you out of my mind, but I can’t. No matter what I did.”

“I’m your father,” he groaned out. “For Christ’s sake!”

“You aren’t,” I countered, moving toward him until we were inches apart. “There isn’t a single drop of shared blood between us.”

I took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage I had left. I looked straight into his eyes. “I want you. Please don’t send me away.”

“Snow, stop this,” he snapped, looking away as if the sight of me pained him. “Even if we aren’t related, I am supposed to protect you. I see you as a daughter.”

“My mother is a decade older than you, Dave.” I reached out and grabbed his hand. It was burning hot.

“I love older women. Sto—”

I didn’t let him finish. I stood on my tiptoes, crashed my lips against his, and silenced the lie.

He made a sound—a muffled protest that died in his throat as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

I moaned into the kiss, tasting the salt and the heat of him, desperate to anchor him to me.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathless.

“I want you,” I whispered, my forehead resting against his. “Just once. I promise I’ll never tell her. It can stay in this place.”

Dave didn’t speak for a long time. He just stared at me, his dark eyes searching mine, looking for a way out, or perhaps, a way in.

“Snow,” he finally breathed.

Then, his hand shot out. He didn’t push me away. He grabbed my waist and jerked me hard against his chest, his grip so tight it bruised.

His eyes were no longer those of a parent or a protector; they were dark with a hunger that terrified and thrilled me.

“You’ve been playing with fire for a long time, Snow,” he growled against my lips. “It’s time you finally got burned.”