They say forbidden fruit is the sweetest.
They also say some desires should never be acted on. But what if that desire has a name? What if it has a face, a body, a voice that haunts you in your sleep?
Mine did. His name is Thaddeus Grey.
He's everything a man should be. Tall, powerful, refined. The kind of man whose very presence demands attention. He owns rooms when he enters them and commands respect without even speaking. A businessman, a leader, and above all, my father's best friend.
And the man I fell in love with.
From the moment I understood what it meant to want, he was the only one I ever did.
My name is Kayden Thornwell. I was born from young love. My father, Ryland Thornwell, was nineteen when I came into the world. My mother, a shy and fiery girl of eighteen, gave up everything for him. They were both children of powerful families, business moguls, politicians, and bloodlines drenched in old money. But somehow, against all odds and everyone's judgment, their love only grew stronger with time.
I was the result of that love. Raised with everything. Wealth, safety, education, and attention. But no one could protect me from myself.
Especially not from my feelings for Thaddeus Grey.
Thaddeus was always there. He was constant in my life. My father's best friend since childhood, closer to him than a brother. Broad-shouldered, with thick light brown hair that always seemed perfectly styled, and a jawline sharp enough to wound. He had this calm, calculated way of speaking, his voice always deep, smooth, and laced with quiet authority.
When I was a kid, he was the one who brought me comic books, took me to the arcade, and taught me how to tie a tie. I called him Uncle Thad like any kid would. And like any adult around a child, he treated me with gentle affection and fatherly protectiveness.
But that changed.
Not for him.
For me.
The shift was slow, creeping in like fog. I didn't realize when I started watching him more closely, memorizing the slope of his neck, the sound of his laughter, the way his lips curved around a glass of scotch. I was fifteen when I first had those thoughts. Sixteen was when I started exploring them.
I remember the exact night. He came to visit late. I had just come down the stairs for water and saw him standing in the hallway, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a sliver of chest and the cross necklace he never took off. His sleeves were rolled, revealing forearms that made my breath hitch. He looked tired but powerful, like a storm in a suit.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, imagining his hands on me. I touched myself to the thought of him whispering my name, guiding me, and claiming me.
That night, I stopped being a boy in my own eyes.
From then on, I started preparing.
I studied seduction the way others studied chemistry. I watched videos. I read articles. I took notes. I learned how to move, how to touch, how to speak so it lingered. It was stupid, maybe. But when you're young and obsessed, everything feels possible.
He remained the perfect gentleman. He never noticed or pretended not to.
I hated it.
Graduating from high school gave me a perfect excuse. Everyone expected me to apply to Novy League schools. Instead, I picked a university in the same city where Thaddeus had just bought a new mansion.
My father worried about me living alone. I acted innocent.
"Dad, I don't know anyone in the city," I said one night, faking vulnerability. I don't want to stay in a dorm. Please, maybe Uncle Thad can let me stay with him?
He thought about it. He called Thaddeus. And just like that, my plan was in motion.
Thaddeus welcomed me with open arms. He said he was happy to help and said I was like family.
Like family.
Those words made bile rise in my throat.
His house was massive, with modern design, all marble floors, and glass walls. It was too big for one man, but it suited him. Everything he touched was polished and pristine.
Living there meant temptation at every turn. He had a damp towel after a shower. His cologne lingered in the hallway. His shirt was draped over a chair. Each little detail drove me wild.
I would walk around shirtless, pretending to search for my phone, bending too low near him. I made breakfast in tight pyjamas. I left my door cracked open at night, hoping he'd see me.
Nothing worked.
He stayed distant, polite, and paternal.
I grew frustrated. I got reckless.
I drank more. Hung out with the wrong crowd. I skipped classes and threw parties when he travelled. I started testing him. Seeing if he'd scold me. Anger might be the key to unlocking something in him.
Still nothing.
Until one night, everything changed.
It was raining. The city lights outside blurred through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I had been waiting, pacing. My fingers clenched around a glass of something light.
He walked in, soaked slightly at the collar, his tie askew.
"Kayden," he muttered, clearly tipsy. He asked for something light.
I handed it to him silently. He downed it without a second glance.
We sat on the couch. I let the silence stretch until it hummed between us.
Then I said it. "Do you ever see me as more than just Ryland's son?"
His head turned sharply. "What?"
I mean… as a man. Not a boy.
He blinked. "Do you drink?"
"Not at all."
"Then don't say things like that again."
I'm obsessed with him.
Living under the same roof while pretending everything's normal is the hardest thing I've ever done because I've already accomplished my first mission, getting close to Thaddeus Grey.
He's the definition of a perfect gentleman. Even after that one night between us, he still tries to set boundaries, still pretends there's a line we can't cross again.
But I've never been good at following rules.
I don't just want to be in his bed. I want him to be mine. Heart, body, and soul.
I've tried to fight it. Tried to walk away. But the more I see him, the more he holds back, and the more I lose control.
I'm in love with Thaddeus Grey.
My father's best friend.
And I'm not ready to let go of this feeling.
So dive into our messy, forbidden love story. Because this isn't just an obsession.
It's war. And I intend to win.
Special Note.
Thank you so much for reading this story. Your time, interest, and support mean the world to me. Writing is not always easy, but knowing that someone out there is enjoying the journey makes every late night worth it.
If this story made you feel something made you smile, ache, or hold your breath, I hope you'll keep going with me.
Your votes, comments, and bookshelf adds aren't just numbers. They're real encouragement. They remind me that this story matters.
So, thank you truly for being here.
Let's keep going together.