My Ex Dumped Me So I Seduced His Dad

The rain poured harder, drumming relentlessly against the sidewalk and soaking the edges of Cassandra's jeans as she hurried through the narrow alley beside the luxurious Silver claw Hotel. Her umbrella wobbled in the gusting wind, barely keeping her dry. But she didn't slow down. She couldn't. Not with the way her heart was pounding loud and frantic, like it was trying to warn her.

Not from the cold.

But from the gnawing sense of dread that had wrapped itself around her chest since morning and refused to let go. Something was wrong. She had texted Evan four times today.

No reply.

She had called him twice. Straight to voicemail. He had never ignored her before. Not like this.

Evan was the type to text back even during meetings, to send her little voice notes just to say he missed her voice. He would leave sleepy emojis in the middle of the night, and once, he'd surprised her with coffee at work just because she said she was tired.

That was Evan.

Sweet. Attentive. Predictable in the kind of way that made her feel safe. But the past week had been different.

It started with him cancelling their dinner date, no explanation, just a "Sorry, something came up."

Then, he stopped calling every night. And when they did speak, it was always rushed. Distracted. Like he had somewhere else to be. Somewhere more important than her.

She had tried to brush it off. Told herself he was busy, that stress could make anyone act distant. But even his voice had changed, cold, clipped, like the warmth she once cherished had frozen behind a wall she couldn't reach.

Now, standing in front of the Silver claw Hotel, drenched and aching, she could no longer pretend.

His car was parked right out front. The sleek black sedan he loved more than he loved sushi and Sunday naps. He was here. He just didn't want her to know.

A receptionist tried to intercept her the moment she entered the gleaming marble lobby. "Ma'am, you can't go up without-"

"I won't be long," Cassandra said, gripping her umbrella tighter, her voice low but firm. She didn't wait for permission. She didn't need it.

She pressed the elevator button with a trembling finger and stepped inside, alone.

The ride up to the penthouse was eerily quiet. No other guests. No distractions. Just the soft hum of the elevator and the storm inside her head.

Maybe he's sick.

Maybe he just needs space.

Maybe there's an explanation. Something, anything, that makes sense.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to silence the screaming thoughts.

But when the doors slid open with a soft ding, that hope cracked. The hallway leading to the penthouse suite was dimly lit and lined with soft grey carpet that muffled her footsteps. Cassandra didn't need directions. She knew where to go.

Suite 501.

The room Evan always bragged about. The one he booked whenever he needed to "escape" the noise of the city. He'd once brought her here for their one-year anniversary. Rose petals. Candles. Chocolate-covered strawberries. They had made love until sunrise.

Back then, she had thought: This is what forever looks like.

Now, her hands trembled as she raised one and pressed it gently against the door.

She told herself she'd knock. She told herself she'd wait. But just as her knuckles hovered over the wood, a sound stopped her cold. A soft moan.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Another moan. Louder. Drawn out. Followed by a familiar voice-low, breathless, almost broken with pleasure.

Evan.

Her heart twisted.

No.