Chapter 3 The Robe

Chapter Three: The Robe

Bella – POV

The robe was softer than I thought it would be.

Mom always wore it like it was stitched from dignity- graceful, floating through the house like some elegant ghost. She had a way of making luxury feel natural, and untouchable.

I wasn't her.

But I slid it over my skin anyway, letting it drape off one shoulder like it belonged to me. The silk clung in places and fell in others, whispering secrets with every step as I padded down the hall.

The house was quiet. Still.

Empty in a way I loved.

She was gone-Phoenix, spa weekend, something about "me time" and a facial therapist with magic hands. I didn't care. I only knew the silence she left behind was an invitation. Or maybe a dare.

I found him in the kitchen, reading the paper like a man from a different century, coffee mug cradled in one hand, shirt slightly wrinkled like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. His hair was still damp.

My breath caught when I saw him. Like it always did. But I played it cool.

"Morning," I said, letting the robe shift just a little as I leaned against the doorway.

His eyes flicked up-and froze.

That one second was everything.

I saw it. The change. There was a flicker of something behind his expression. Want. Panic. Hunger he hadn't tasted in years.

But then he blinked, and it was gone.

"You're up early," he said. "And...dressed interesting."

I smiled, stepping farther into the room. "Just grabbed whatever was closest. It's soft."

His jaw flexed. "That's your mother's."

"She won't miss it for a day."

He looked back at the paper, pretending to read. I saw the way his fingers tensed around the page.

"Coffee?" I asked, already reaching for a mug. My arm stretched, the robe rising just enough to show the top of my thigh.

Let him look.

Let him try not to.

I poured myself a cup and leaned against the counter, facing him. "You always drink it black?"

He nodded. "Lost the taste for sweet things a long time ago."

I tilted my head. "That's sad."

He finally looked at me. Straight at me. His gaze was heavy, unreadable.

"You should change. That's not appropriate."

I blinked, innocent. "Why? We're just talking. You're acting like I walked in here naked."

He didn't smile.

"Don't play this game, Bella."

I set my mug down slowly. "Who says it's a game?"

Daniel stood, folding the newspaper like it had personally offended him. His movements were slow, controlled-but tense. Like a man trying to cage a wildfire with his bare hands.

"I'm your stepfather," he said, voice low. "Your mother's husband."

I stepped forward. "I know who you are."

"And I'm twice your age."

"Nineteen next six months."

"You think that matters?"

I stared at him. "Do you?"

Something in his eyes cracked open. Not wide. Just enough to see the storm underneath.

I took another step, close enough now to breathe in the clean scent of soap and aftershave. "You look at me like you want me. You think I don't notice? I've seen it. In the kitchen. On the patio. Last week when I bent down to tie my shoes-"

"Stop."

His voice was sharp. A blade.

But I didn't move. "Why? Because it's true?"

Daniel's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, burning holes through me. And for a second-I thought he might do something.

Something dangerous.

But instead, he stepped back like I'd slapped him.

"I'm going out," he said.

His voice was strangled. His hand grabbed his keys too hard. The door opened with a violent creak, and then-he was gone.

The silence returned, louder than before.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, still holding the coffee I no longer wanted, heart racing in a rhythm that wasn't normal. My cheeks burned. Not from shame-but from something that lived beside it. Desire. Power. Confusion.

I had pushed him.

And he had run.

But he had looked.

God, he had looked.

And I wasn't sure if that made me feel victorious-or lost.

I looked down at the robe, suddenly aware of the way it clung to my chest, the way the light from the window traced over my skin like fingertips. I tightened the belt, feeling small in a way I hadn't expected.

Maybe it had been a mistake.

Or maybe... It was the beginning.