I love my mom's boyfriend

[The scenario has changed to 15 days ago]

The club was alive with pounding bass and flashing lights, a perfect escape for anyone wanting to lose themselves in the rhythm. But for me, the music was just noise, and the lights only made the shadows in my mind darker.

I had come here with my friends to try and forget, to drown my sorrows in a sea of strangers, but the recent betrayal was too fresh.

My boyfriend—no, my ex-boyfriend—had been cheating on me. And with Nikita, my supposed best friend. The image of them together, tangled in each other in that hotel room, was seared into my mind.

I tried to keep a mask of indifference, but inside, I was seething. I didn’t want to be here, but I also didn’t want to be alone. My friends, sensing my mood, left me some space, but Sneha, always perceptive, slid into the seat next to me.

“So, what’s the next plan?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes probing.

I took a deep gulp of the scotch in my hand, feeling the burn as it slid down my throat. “Nothing,” I replied, my voice flat. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes clink together, trying to keep my anger from bubbling over.

“I don’t give a f*ck about them,” I added, more to convince myself than Sneha. The words tasted bitter in my mouth, and I knew they weren’t entirely true. I did care—too much, maybe. But I couldn’t show that. Not here. Not now.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with his name. Again. My heart twisted in my chest, a cruel reminder of the pain he’d caused. How many times had he tried to call tonight? I’d lost count. Each missed call felt like a tiny victory, a refusal to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I cursed under my breath, “F*ck!”

"Don't pick up; there's a lot of hunks here. Choose one and bang him," Sneha winked, mischief glinting in her eyes.

I smirked, letting her words wash over me. "Not a bad idea," I replied, though my smile felt hollow. "But life's been throwing me curveballs lately."

It wasn't just my ex; the breakup was a wound, but the real turmoil came from my parents. Their marriage was on the brink, and my dad, despite everything, was desperately trying to hold it together.

I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of it all. This was supposed to be a night of distraction, but my thoughts were heavy with family drama and broken trust. I needed a break, a moment to forget. Without another word, I stood up and headed to the second floor, where I had already spotted a potential distraction—a tall, handsome guy nursing a whiskey.

As I approached, I hesitated for a brief moment, but then I squared my shoulders and tapped him lightly on the arm.

"Excuse me!"

He turned, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Y... Yes?" His voice was deep, and the look in his eyes was both curious and amused.

I glanced at his glass, then met his gaze, letting a playful smile curl my lips.

"Will you accompany me for a dance?"

He chuckled softly, looking down at his drink before meeting my eyes again.

"I don't know how to dance," he admitted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"So, I guess I'm going to break a pretty lady's heart tonight."

I pressed my lips together, crossing my arms as I watched him hesitate. His initial rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. It wasn't just about being turned down; my friends were watching, and it had become a matter of pride. I couldn't let this moment slip away, not with all eyes on me.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to push my boundaries. I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. With a confident smile, I leaned in and said, "We might end up banging each other, dear."

His friends exchanged glances, their eyes widening in surprise. The look of shock on their faces was almost comical. I flashed a flirtatious smile and turned, descending the stairs to the first floor, giving him a playful wink as I left. He watched me go, sipping his whisky with an amused grin.

I reached the dance floor, letting the music wash over me. The beat was infectious, and I began to move, swaying to the rhythm. The energy of the crowd was electric, and I felt myself getting lost in the moment. As I danced, I glanced back up to the second floor, my eyes searching for him.

Sure enough, his friends were whispering urgently in his ear, gesturing towards me. He listened with a bemused expression, then nodded. A slow smile spread across his face as he set his drink down and made his way toward the stairs.

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of triumph. He was coming to me, just as I knew he would. My confidence grew, and I focused on my moves, letting my body express what words couldn't.

As I turned, I spotted him standing right behind me, a playful smile on his lips. I couldn't resist grinning back as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Leaning in close, I whispered in his ear, “I thought someone told me he might break my heart.”

The music was deafening, so he leaned in as well, his breath warm against my ear.

“He thought it would be a bad idea to break a pretty lady’s heart,” he shouted back, his voice filled with a mix of charm and sincerity.

I smirked and pressed my back against his front, feeling the warmth of his body through our clothes. His hands found my waist, and together we moved to the rhythm of the music, our hips swaying in sync. The connection was electric, the crowd around us fading into the background as we found our own groove.

He leaned in again, his voice loud over the music. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella!” I shouted back, my lips close to his ear.

“And yours?” I asked, turning my head slightly to catch his eyes.

“Chris!” he replied, a smile lighting up his face.

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Chris, huh?”

“So, Chris, you said you don’t know how to dance, but it seems you’re pretty good at it.”

Chris laughed; a deep, infectious sound that made me smile even wider.

“The credit goes to all my partners,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of genuine modesty.

Dancing with Chris was exhilarating, his playful demeanor and easy charm drawing me in. As we moved, I found myself checking him out, appreciating his tall frame and confident presence. He caught me looking and chuckled, clearly amused.

"So, what's your age?" he asked, his tone light but direct.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you want to know?" I teased, waving my brows playfully.

Chris leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't I need to know the age of the girl I'm going to bang?" His cheeky grin made me laugh out loud.

I decided to play along, stepping closer until our faces were inches apart.

"I'm 19," I whispered, my voice sultry, "but I have the magic to take you to heaven from the bed."

The words were bold, but I was enjoying the banter, the flirtation, and the thrill of the night.

Just as we were getting into the moment, Sneha suddenly appeared, her hand grabbing mine. "Isabella, your mom wants to talk to you," she shouted over the music.

I barely had time to process her words before she started pulling me away from Chris. I turned back, wanting to at least say goodbye, but the crowd swallowed us up too quickly. Chris's face flashed with surprise; he tried to talk, but before that, Sneha took me out of there.

We came out and Sneha handed me the phone.

I saw my mom's number flashing on the screen and answered with a sigh, irritation seeping into my voice.

"Yes, Mom?"

“What are you doing in the club?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise around me.

I sighed, glancing at Sneha. She avoided my gaze, guilt written all over her face. She had told my mom.

“Don’t you know what people do in the club?”

My mom's anger was palpable, a familiar sting in her tone, “Don’t be like your dad, Isabella. You’re just following his path.”

“Will you please stop it, Mom?” I pressed my lips together, trying to contain my frustration.

It hurt to hear her compare me to my dad, especially after everything that had happened.

My dad’s affair had shattered our family. My mom had caught him with another woman, and the betrayal had cut deep. I understood her pain because I was going through something similar. My ex had cheated on me with my best friend, Nikita, and the betrayal still felt raw.

I couldn't bring myself to suggest my mom patch things up with my dad, knowing how disrespectful and painful that would be.

“I can’t, Isabella. You are my one and only child. Everything I have, it is all yours. You are the heir of my property,” Mom said, her voice a mixture of pleading and determination.

I knew what she was trying to convey. My mom was a remarkably successful woman, with properties and a company to her name. In terms of wealth and accomplishments, she surpassed my dad. I often wondered why, despite all this, my dad chose to cheat on her. Was it simply in a man’s nature, or was there something deeper that I couldn't understand?

I took a deep breath, recognizing the tug-of-war she was in, trying to keep me on her side.

“When is your final hearing?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from our painful history.

“Your dad is intentionally delaying it,” she replied, irritation seeping into her voice. “He’s trying to drag this out as long as he can.”

Suddenly, I heard her tone change completely. She was speaking sweetly to someone else, and it caught me off guard. The voice on the other end was unmistakably male.

My curiosity piqued, I narrowed my eyes.

“Mom!”

“Listen, I’ve booked a ticket for you, darling,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

I blinked, taken aback.

“Mom, what?”

“It’s for tomorrow. I have a surprise for you.”

My mind raced, trying to grasp what she meant.

“Mom, I have my last semester exam soon. I can’t just go to Italy now.”

“Oh, I’ll handle everything, Isabella. And you know what? I’m going to have a special day in my life, and I want you here with me.”

Her words left me more confused than ever.

“Special day?” I echoed, trying to make sense of it all.

“It’s a surprise, baby. Just come tomorrow. You’ll find out then.”

With that, she hung up the call, leaving me standing there, phone still pressed to my ear.

I stared at the screen, feeling a mix of confusion.

Was she really that excited about the divorce? Or was something else going on? The idea of her being so happy at a time like this seemed out of place, yet her tone had been unmistakably cheerful.