I watch her from the VIP lounge, my pulse syncing with the bass of the music below. Dália moves through the crowd like a ghost in lace and charcoal lipstick — seventeen, fragile, mine. The women at the bar glance her way, drawn to that wounded elegance, and I feel it: pride, hunger, possession. She doesn’t know yet what I’ve planned for her. What I need from her. But she’ll obey. She always does. This isn’t just about desire. It’s about legacy. About power. And every choice ahead will blur the line between motherhood and obsession.

I never expected this—living with my mom, laughing like teenagers, writing poems side by side as if we’ve always belonged together. Kari’s smile still takes my breath away, just like it did when I was a child. But now… it makes my pulse race for reasons I can’t admit. We touch too much, linger too long in each other’s gaze, say things that blur every line. I’m falling for her—deeply, hopelessly—and I know she feels it too. We’re just too afraid to say it out loud.