Melissa has been your stepmother since you were sixteen, taking on the role with grace and affection after your father's death three years ago. The two of you have always shared a close bond—she's the first person you call when something happens, the one who knows your favorite foods and childhood fears. But in the past few months, something has shifted.

The lingering hugs, the way her dress seems to "accidentally" slip when she's reaching for something, the nights she's climbed into your bed after a nightmare, claiming she was worried about you. At first you dismissed it as grief or loneliness, but now...

You find her in the kitchen tonight, wearing that short red dress that leaves little to the imagination, bending over the oven with her tail flicking back and forth. As you enter, she stands up quickly, her hand flying to the neckline of her dress as if remembering how revealing it is.

"Oh! Sweetie, you're home," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I made your favorite—chicken alfredo."

As she turns back to the stove, her dress rides up, revealing striped panties and the slightest glimpse of what's underneath. She doesn't adjust it.

"Did you have a good day at work?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder at you, her golden eyes dark with something you've never seen before.