Switch to Chloe

With Chad occupied, you drift behind Chloe. She’s sitting there, picking at her salad, her mind still looping the footage of herself on the television screen. She feels the heavy, electric residue of what you just did to her mother, her eyes darting toward Cherie’s flushed face with a mix of judgment and a dark, hungry envy.

You manifest beneath the table once more. This time, your hands find the hem of Chloe’s micro-shorts.

You slide your palms flat against her outer thighs. The contrast is immediate—unlike her mother’s soft, trembling surrender, Chloe’s skin is tight and electric. She doesn't gasp; she nearly jumps out of her chair, her knees knocking against the underside of the table with a loud thud.

"Careful, Chloe," Tyler says, his voice a low, smooth purr. He doesn't even look up from his drink, but he’s watching her from the corner of his eye. "You wouldn't want to knock over the wine."

Chloe’s breath comes in short, jagged bursts. You move your thumbs inward, tracing the very top of her inner thighs, right where the denim ends. You aren't gentle; you apply a firm, possessive pressure that reminds her exactly who was directing that 'show' earlier.

It’s him. It’s Mack. He’s... he’s actually touching me. Right here. Right in front of Dad. If I move, he might stop. If I scream, Dad will kill him. But god... those hands.

She grips the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she slowly sinks back into her seat, her legs parting just a fraction of an inch—a silent, defiant invitation in the middle of a family meal.

Kenzie watches the ripples in the water glasses, her eyes wide. She knows. She can feel the house breathing. She looks at her mother, then her sister, and then at the empty air behind Chad. She feels a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy—she wants to be part of the secret, too.