Page 4 of V-Day Daddy Stalker

Eric walks me to the front door, yawning again. “Drive safe,” he tells me, opening the door wide.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

He closes the door behind me, and I step out onto the front porch. The night is cool, and the moon casts long shadows across the driveway. I inhale, trying to calm the tumult inside me. I should just get in my car and leave. That would be the logical, respectable thing to do.

But I don’t move. My feet stay glued to the stone steps, a desperate need churning inside of me. Sienna probably in her bedroom by now, maybe brushing her hair or slipping into pajamas. The thought sends a fresh wave of want surging through me.

I descend the steps and walk around the side of the house. The landscaping is meticulous—bushes pruned, flowers neatly planted. I feel a pang of guilt as I slip into the shadows, like a trespasser in my best friend’s yard. My heart drums in my ears, adrenaline spiking.

Then I see it: a golden rectangle of light along the back of the house. Sienna’s bedroom. My pulse thrums with an unfamiliar blend of shame and raw excitement. This is wrong. So, so wrong. Yet I can’t tear myself away. The curtains are drawn, but I can make out her silhouette on the other side. A shadow crossing back and forth as she moves around.

I step closer, hiding behind a tall shrub, feeling like some depraved voyeur. But I can’t stop myself. My eyes strain, trying to catch every detail. Her figure passes by the window again, arms raised, likely pulling a shirt over her head. My pulse leaps, molten heat pooling low in my stomach. My hand grips the top of the shrub so hard, it pricks my palm.

Why am I doing this? I should be mortified. I should walk away, forget the addictive pull of her presence. But the thought of not seeing her—of denying this twisted, obsessive desire—feels impossible. She’s a flame, and I’m a moth driven mad by its glow.

For a moment, she pauses by the window, maybe adjusting the curtains. My breath catches. If she looks out now, she’ll see me. The thought of being discovered, of having to face her or Eric, is both terrifying and oddly exhilarating, making my body harden instantly. But the blinds remain partially closed, and I remain invisible in the darkness.

Eventually, the light goes out, plunging her room into darkness. I linger a little longer, hoping for any sign of her—maybe the soft glow of a bedside lamp, or the faint flicker of her phone screen. But it stays dark. She’s gone to bed.

Sighing, I run a shaky hand through my hair. My conscience screams at me, telling me I’m crossing every line. But I can’t deny this fierce, possessive longing that’s burrowed into my chest. Sienna. Every time I think her name, my head swims.

I circle back around the house, each step feeling heavier than the last, as though the guilt has turned my legs to lead. When I reach my car, I slide behind the wheel and sit there for a moment, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Part of me wants to back away from this, to let the rational side of my brain take over andremind me that this is Eric’s daughter, that I’m too old for her, that I have a thousand reasons to keep my distance.

And yet, I know the truth. I’m not sure I can stop. I’m not sure I even want to. She’s become an obsession, a precious thing I can’t look away from. Something about her draws me in, makes me ache with a longing so intense it feels like a physical compulsion.

I start the engine, the car’s rumble loud in the still night. As I pull out of the driveway, I glance once more toward her bedroom window. Nothing but darkness, and the reflection of the moon. But even that is enough to set my heart racing, reminding me of her silhouette and the quiet hush of that room.

I drive away, headlights carving tunnels into the night. My thoughts stay with Sienna. It’s reckless, dangerous, and wrong in every sense of the word. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the image of her from my mind—her shy smile, her gentle laugh, the curve of her body. She’s all I can think about. And in the pit of my stomach, I know that tonight is only the beginning of something I’m helpless to resist.

3

Sienna

I stretch out on the pool lounge chair, letting the sun warm my skin. My hair is damp from my last swim, and beads of water still cling to my arms, catching the light. The morning is bright and feels almost lazy, a perfect kind of summer day. I’m back home for a short break from college, but already it feels like another world here—so polished and quiet. No roommates blasting music in the next room, no communal showers. Just the sound of water rippling in the pool and birds chirping in the hedges beyond.

I sigh, adjusting my sunglasses and letting my thoughts drift. Or more specifically, letting them drift back to Dane. I don’t even know how to process it. The way he looked at me last night at dinner, and then how I had that uncanny feeling someone was watching me when I went to bed. I could’ve sworn I sensed eyes on me. It’s silly to imagine it was Dane, peering in through my window—right?

Yet here I am, replaying the idea in my head, half-turned on by the notion. Which is absolutely insane. He’s Dad’s best friend,he’s known me since I was a kid, he’s older—like, definitely older. And still, I catch myself daydreaming about him. About what it would be like if he saw me as more than just Eric’s daughter. My stomach twists with a rush of adrenaline at the thought, even as guilt nags at the back of my mind. This is a dangerous game, Sienna.

A breeze rustles the trees, and I decide it’s too hot to stay on the lounge chair. I stand up and walk to the edge of the pool. The water is a brilliant turquoise under the sun, practically begging me to dive in. I peel off my cover-up so I’m just in my bikini—something I bought at a little boutique near campus. It’s maybe a bit more revealing than what I used to wear in high school, but I’m eighteen now, and I guess I’m entitled to some expression of my more adult taste… right?

I dip a toe in. The water’s cool and refreshing. Without overthinking it, I jump in, and the shock of the temperature makes me gasp. I love that instant rush—it clears my mind. I swim a few laps, letting the repetitive motion calm the thrum of nervous energy I’ve been carrying since last night. Maybe I can forget the intensity of Dane’s gaze. Or that fleeting thrill that skittered up my spine when he said my name.

Eventually, I pop up at the pool’s edge, arms braced on the tile. My eyes drift to the study window. Dad uses as his office, and Dane’s probably with him. They’re discussing contracts, numbers, business stuff—stuff that should mean nothing to me. And yet… I wonder if he’s thinking about me right now. The thought sends a little flutter through my stomach.

I force myself to focus on something else. “Chill, Sienna,” I mutter under my breath. “This is ridiculous.” I haul myself up and sit on the edge, feet dangling in the water. The sun beatsdown on my shoulders, and I close my eyes, letting my head tip back. Time seems to slow in the heat.

Then I hear a soft click, the sound of the patio door sliding open. My pulse jumps. I glance over my shoulder, water droplets rolling down my spine. Dane steps out onto the terrace. He’s in his usual uniform: a well-tailored suit, jacket draped over one arm this time, as if the heat finally convinced him to lighten up. His tie is still in place, and the crisp white shirt does nothing to hide the broad lines of his torso.

“Enjoying your swim?” he asks, his deep voice carrying across the patio.

I clear my throat, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, it’s hot out, so…” I gesture lamely to the pool.

He steps closer, stopping at the pool’s edge. It strikes me how out of place he seems, so formal against the casual setting of shimmering water and bright sunshine. But that’s Dane—he always carries himself with a controlled sort of power.

He sets his suit jacket on a nearby chair. “Your father’s on a call,” he explains, “so I thought I’d come out for some air.” He studies me for a moment, and I feel the heat of his gaze more intensely than the sun.

Self-conscious, I run my fingers through my damp hair. The water trickles down my arm, but I’m not sure if it’s the water making me tremble or his attention. “Cool,” I manage, hoping I sound casual.

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