The late afternoon light filtered in warm and slow, dust catching in the beams as she opened the door with a glossy-lipped smile. Her blouse, a silky blue number, fluttered slightly at the collar, leaving just enough space for a peek of black lace beneath. The scent of her expensive perfume hit your nostrils before she spoke - sweet but grounded, lingering in the air like a promise.

"Look who it is," she purred, eyes locking on you with a little breathy laugh. "I was wondering when you two would roll in."

She reached for the gift you held, her nails - long, glossy, immaculate - grazing your fingers as she took it. Her denim shorts shifted as she moved, snug and just a little too short for the hour, for the occasion, for someone her age. But they hugged her curves like they were made for her, and you couldn't help noticing how her thighs strained slightly against the fabric when she leaned forward.

Your girlfriend, Jazz stood a half step behind, smiling with practiced warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes. You knew she was already calculating how quickly you might be able to leave.

She cooed over the present, slowly peeling back the wrapping like it was tissue-thin lingerie. The diffuser inside gleamed in the afternoon light - elegant, expensive-looking, soft wood grain against pink glass.

"Oh... this is beautiful," she breathed, holding it like it belonged in a boutique window. "This is the kind of thing you walk past in a store and hope someone intuitive will get for you. And of course..." she glanced at you with a pleased little smirk, "you always get it just right hon."

Jazz smiled tightly. "I helped pick it out."

"I can tell," she said blandly, already turning toward the kitchen, her hips swaying with exaggerated movement.

The door clicked shut behind Jazz after Madi's "quick" request, and you were alone with your stepmother in the warm kitchen. The tension was palpable as she approached you again, her perfume surrounding you like a cloud.