Obligation

Stacy curled tighter beneath the blankets, face buried against a pillow that still smelled faintly like Evan. Tears soaked into the fabric in uneven patches, hot and humiliating. Every few seconds another wave hit her chest, twisting painfully through her ribs before breaking loose as another shaky breath.

The potion had ruined her life.

That much hadn't changed.

David was gone. Not dead, not missing, but gone all the same. Rewritten into someone else entirely. A stranger wearing the face of the man she'd loved. The man she'd built herself around. Everything she'd become over the last few years had been for him. Every change she'd made to her appearance, her habits, her ambitions. Stacy had shaped herself into the kind of woman David Mercer wanted standing beside him.

And she'd been good at it.

Beautiful enough to turn heads when he walked her into expensive restaurants. Elegant enough to survive cocktail parties full of people richer and smarter than she'd ever expected to know. Domestic enough to make his house feel warm and welcoming. She'd learned all of it for him. Learned wines she didn't care about. Learned art she'd never otherwise have looked twice at. Learned how to smile at people she hated.

David had loved that version of her.

More importantly, he'd taken care of her.

That thought alone brought fresh tears stinging to her eyes.

Because now David was upstairs in another bedroom somewhere in the house, probably texting some woman he'd met while the universe quietly pretended Stacy had never mattered to him at all.

Meanwhile the woman he'd once adored was curled into a ball crying over his son.

God. The thought should have disgusted her. Instead it sent a pulse of heat low through her stomach. Another frustrated sound escaped into the pillow. Stacy pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes hard enough to hurt. What the hell was wrong with her?

The shower continued running in the ensuite bathroom, muffled behind the partially closed door. Water striking tile. Steam probably filling the room by now. And immediately her imagination betrayed her again.

Evan standing beneath the spray. Naked. Wet. Still hard. A needy ache rolled through her body so suddenly that her thighs pressed together instinctively.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered hoarsely.

That was the worst part. The betrayal wasn't just emotional anymore. It lived in her body now. In her nerves. In her pulse. Every thought of him came wrapped in heat and longing so intense it bordered on painful. And underneath all of that sat something even more terrifying.

Need.

Not lust.

Not exactly.

Need.

Slowly, Stacy rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling through blurred eyes while the realization she'd been fighting all morning settled heavier and heavier in her chest.

She wanted Evan.

Not because he resembled David. Not because the potion had simply swapped one Mercer man for another. The feelings weren't even remotely similar.

David had made her feel admired. Desired. Protected. Being loved by him had felt glamorous, stabilizing, intoxicating in its own way. Stacy had enjoyed being his wife because David made her feel chosen.

But Evan...

Evan made her feel safe. The difference terrified her.

A shaky breath left her lips as memories from the previous evening replayed themselves again. Him stopping her on the porch. Him gently moving her hands away throughout dinner. Him refusing her in bed that morning despite how badly he'd obviously wanted her.

Most nineteen-year-old boys would've folded instantly. Hell, most grown men would've folded instantly. She'd practically thrown herself at him. Hell, she'd woken him up with his dick in her mouth! And he'd still protected her. The thought made her chest ache.

Evan is a good man.

The sentence drifted through her mind again, followed immediately by another warm rush of arousal that spread through her stomach and down between her legs. But this time the feeling carried something else with it too. Something softer. Fuller.

Trust.

Even without the potion, she thought she might've believed it. That was the part she couldn't untangle anymore. Where did the magic stop and her real feelings begin? Was there even a line anymore? Maybe there never had been. Maybe the potion wasn't creating feelings so much as twisting existing ones into something stronger, stranger, impossible to ignore.

Because the truth was ugly. Before all this, she'd never really given Evan a fair chance. He'd been inconvenient. Moody. A reminder that David had a life before her. Stacy had spent years treating him like unwanted furniture cluttering up an otherwise beautiful house. Counting down the days until he'd move out so she and David could finally have the life she'd imagined uninterrupted.

And still, after all that...

Evan was protecting her.

Another tear slid down the side of her face.

The shower shut off. Instantly her heart jumped. Ridiculous! One little sound from the bathroom and suddenly every nerve in her body lit up expectantly. Her breathing shallowed as images rushed uninvited through her head again. Water dripping down his chest. Damp hair. One strong hand braced against the shower wall while the other rubbed furiously up and down the length of his...

No.

Absolutely not.

Stacy rolled onto her side again and pulled the blanket tighter around herself as if it could physically restrain the thoughts. Still, they kept coming. Because underneath the arousal sat something far more dangerous.

Obligation.

Not ****. Not magical in the obvious sense. It felt deeper than that. Older somehow. Bone-deep certainty humming beneath her skin.

Evan had taken care of her.

And now she needed to take care of him.

The feeling wrapped itself around everything else until it became impossible to separate from her desire. She wanted to comfort him. Support him. Please him. The urge felt natural in a way that scared her half to ****. Especially because part of her genuinely believed he deserved it.

Her eyes drifted toward the bathroom door. Maybe she should go in there. Maybe she should explain herself properly this time instead of crying into pillows like a teenager. Maybe if she climbed into the shower with him, wrapped her arms around him, kissed him, made him understand how grateful she was...

"No," she whispered aloud immediately.

The word sounded weak. Because she still wanted to do it. Even now. Especially now.

Another ache rolled through her body at the thought of his hands on her waist. His voice against her ear. The weight of him pressing her against cool tile while steam curled around them.

God.

Stacy squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to spark little bursts of colour behind her eyelids.

He had told her to stop. And she had. His words hadn't just been words, they'd been instructions. Guidance. Heavy, but grounding. Evan had drawn a line and she'd listened. Not because she feared him. Not because he **** her. Because some part of her needed his approval now. Needed him to think she'd done well.

Fresh tears welled up immediately after that thought.

Humiliating.

Humiliating and horrifying and somehow still comforting.

A broken laugh escaped her throat before dissolving into another shaky breath. What was she turning into? Every day the magic carved away another piece of certainty. Another piece of herself. First her marriage. Then her home life. Then her body. Then her thoughts. And now apparently even her heart wasn't safe anymore.

Yet despite all that fear, despite the grief and shame and confusion twisting through her chest...

One truth remained painfully clear.

When Evan had stepped away from her on the porch, she'd felt cold.

When he'd left the bed that morning, she'd felt abandoned.

And right now, lying there alone while the bathroom door remained shut between them, all Stacy could think about was how desperately she wanted him back beside her.