I WANT YOUR STEP DADDY, BESTIE

Nadia’s POV

“My stepdad’s dick is so big.”

Brielle didn’t even bother dropping her voice. She tossed the line out like a loose coin, right into the middle of the crowded cabana at the SLS South Beach.

Across our low bamboo table, Chloe froze mid-sip, nearly inhaling her iced matcha latte through her paper straw. Valentina let out a half-horrified, half-thrilled shriek that drew immediate looks from a pair of shirtless guys lounging by the edge of the pool.

I didn’t move a muscle. I just leaned back against the white linen cushions, sliding my Saint Laurent sunglasses lower on the bridge of my nose.

“Brielle, shut up!” Chloe hissed, her face turning bright crimson as she darted a frantic glance toward the cabana attendant who was currently setting down a fresh ice bucket. “You are literally insane! Someone is going to hear you!”

“I’m just stating facts,” Brielle laughed, completely unbothered. She stretched her long, oiled legs out on the white daybed, letting her heavy gold anklets jingle against the leather. “I walked past the master suite this morning before I came here. He’d just gotten out of the shower. Just a crisp white towel hanging low off his hips. Water dripping off his chest. God, my mother is a lucky woman.”

Valentina shook her head, fanning her face with her long, gel-manicured hand. “You’re sick, B. Seriously. Kane Vale would cut your monthly allowance in half if he ever heard you talking about him like that.”

“Kane doesn’t cut allowances,” Brielle purred, leaning forward with a dark, satisfied little smirk. “He handles things. And besides, he likes that I don’t pretend around him. He hates fake people.”

She swirled her passionfruit bellini, her sharp blue eyes drifting over to where I was sitting.

“What about you, Nadi?” Brielle asked, her tone shifting instantly into that patronizing sweetness she always reserved for me. “You’ve been dead quiet over there. Did the word dick shock your delicate little ears?”

Chloe giggled into her drink. “Leave her alone, B. You know Nadia doesn’t talk like that.”

“I know,” Brielle sighed, shaking her head with a fond, condescending chuckle. “She’s our group saint. Pure as driven snow. Right, Nadi?”

I forced a tiny, embarrassed flush to hit my cheeks—a quick breath held in my throat always did the trick—and pulled my cream linen cover-up a little tighter around my shoulders.

“I’m just listening,” I said softly, keeping my voice pitched lower, sweeter, and far more hesitant than it ever was when I was alone. “You guys talk fast, that’s all.”

“Speaking of missing out,” Valentina interjected, suddenly pointing her french-tipped finger right at my face. “Where were you two nights ago, Nadia? I texted you at ten, then again at midnight, and you completely ghosted the group chat. We were at E11EVEN until four in the morning.”

Brielle turned her head, suddenly interested. “Yeah, where were you, Nadi? You never miss girls’ night unless something is up.”

“I had a killer migraine,” I lied smoothly, not even needing a fraction of a second to construct the story. “I took two sleep gummies, turned my phone on Do Not Disturb, and was out cold by nine thirty. I didn't even wake up until eight the next morning.”

“Aww, poor babe,” Chloe said softly, her eyes full of genuine sympathy. “Migraines are the worst.”

“See?” Brielle laughed, leaning over to pat my knee like I was a loyal golden retriever. “Bor-ing. While you were sleeping off a headache, the rest of us were actually living. I hooked up with that fitness trainer from Star Island, remember? The one with the abs and zero stamina.”

“I’m sure it was thrilling,” I murmured, taking a quiet sip of my sparkling water.

Underneath the low table, my hands were perfectly steady.

They had no idea.

Two nights ago, I wasn't in bed with a migraine. I was sitting at a dimly lit corner booth in an underground lounge in Brickell, wearing a synthetic, crimson-red wig tightly pinned over my natural cream-blonde hair.

The red wig was my private ritual. Whenever the itch started—whenever that dark, heavy hunger coiled in my stomach and I felt like tearing out of my own skin—the wig went on. It hid my natural hair, completely altered the framing of my face, and turned Nadia Hart into someone else entirely.

I didn't believe in love. Love was a pathetic trap for weak girls like Chloe and loud girls like Brielle, who naively believed that giving a man your heart gave you power over him. I didn't want a boyfriend. I didn't want romantic texts, or flower deliveries, or sweet morning promises. I wanted control.

And nothing felt more empowering than picking up a wealthy, forty-something stranger at a high-end bar, letting him buy me three ridiculously expensive drinks, and taking him back to his penthouse hotel room for two hours of brutal, unfiltered pleasure.

I kept my rules strict and absolute. Fake name. Zero personal details. Pitch-black rooms. No kissing on the mouth. And I always left before they even had the chance to order room service or ask for my number. The moment I stepped back into my apartment, the crimson wig came off, the red lipstick was scrubbed clean, and sweet, quiet, innocent Nadia was back in her place.

If Brielle knew that the quiet girl sitting next to her had more raw, filthy experience with older, dangerous men than she could ever dream of, she’d lose her mind.

“Anyway,” Brielle said, snapping her long fingers to draw our attention back to her. “Back to Kane. I swear, the man is getting more ridiculously attractive every single year. It’s not even fair.”

“Is he really that intense in person?” Valentina asked, leaning across the daybed with wide eyes. “I’ve only seen him on the news and at those high-society charity galas your mom throws at the Vizcaya.”

“Intense isn’t even the word,” Brielle said, her voice dropping into a breathless, dramatic hush. “He walks into a room, and everybody just... stops talking. The executives, the politicians, the waiters—everyone. He has these dark, heavy eyes that look right through you. Like he knows every single filthy thought you’ve ever had in your life.”

Chloe shivered, rubbing her arms. “That honestly sounds terrifying.”

“It’s hot,” Brielle corrected sharply, her tone leaving no room for debate. “It’s insanely hot. Last week, I came home late from a private party in Star Island. I was completely wasted, trying to sneak up the grand staircase without waking my mom. Kane was sitting in the dark in his study, drinking scotch with the doors wide open. He called my name.”

Valentina gasped, clutching her designer bag. “Did he yell at you?”

“No,” Brielle smirked, tossing her bleached-blonde hair over her shoulder. “That’s the thing about Kane. He never yells. He doesn't have to. He just sat there behind his massive mahogany desk, looking at me until I felt like kneeling down on the floor right in front of him. He told me if I came home past three in the morning again, he’d personally take away the keys to my Porsche.”

“And what did you say?” Chloe asked.

“I told him he’d have to come into my bedroom and take them from me,” Brielle boasted, her eyes gleaming with pride. “He just smiled. That slow, heavy, dangerous smile he does. God, I almost died right there on the Persian rug.”

“Brielle,” I said, keeping my voice soft, cautious, and carefully naive. “He’s married to your mother.”

Brielle rolled her eyes at me, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, sweetie. My mom and Kane haven't slept in the same bedroom in over six months. It’s an arrangement at this point. Everyone in Coral Gables knows it. She gets her black credit cards and her status, and he gets a polished social hostess for his corporate dinners.”

“Still,” Chloe muttered, swirling her melting ice. “It’s a little messy, B.”

“Messy is where the fun is,” Brielle snapped, though her eyes darted away for a fraction of a second, revealing a flicker of raw desperation beneath her confidence. “Besides, he likes me. I can tell by the way he looks at me when my mom isn't around.”

I took another quiet drink of my sparkling water, watching Brielle’s face closely. She was lying—or at least heavily exaggerating. She wanted so desperately to be the center of Kane Vale’s dark universe. She talked about him like he was a prize she was on the verge of winning, a trophy she was itching to display in front of everyone in Miami.

“Well,” Brielle continued, turning back to me with a wide, bright grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. “You’re finally going to see what I mean this weekend, Nadia.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“My mom invited her over for the whole weekend,” Brielle announced to the other girls, sounding like a kid who had just won a prize. “We’re staying at the Coral Gables estate, hitting the yacht on Saturday afternoon, and getting pampered at the spa.”

“Must be nice,” Valentina grumbled, crossing her arms. “Wish I was invited.”

“Sorry, babe,” Brielle said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “It’s strictly a family thing. Plus Nadia.” She wrapped an arm around my neck, pulling me close so I was engulfed in her expensive floral perfume. “I need my sweet best friend there to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I might do something totally crazy.”

“Like what?” Chloe teased.

“Like climb into Kane’s bed while my mom’s at her board meeting,” Brielle barked out a laugh, pretending it was just a joke. But nobody else at the table laughed.

I offered a shy, gentle smile, letting her hold me, playing my part perfectly—the sweet, innocent, loyal friend who couldn't possibly understand the dangerous game Brielle was trying so hard to play.

I had spent my life listening to Brielle talk about her stepfather like he was a trophy she owned.

And in forty-eight hours, I was scheduled to stay at the Vale estate for the weekend. I was finally going to meet him.