Morning

You woke up early.

The cheap hotel curtains only blocked some of the light. Your head was pounding from the whiskey, your mouth dry, and your body heavy. For a few seconds you just stared at the ceiling, hoping everything that had happened was a nightmare.

It wasn’t.

You reached for your phone. 5:58 AM.

Three hours left.

At 9:00 AM you had to give Emma your answer — accept the deal, or lose her forever.

You sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. The room still smelled faintly of alcohol. Your phone had a few more messages from Emma that had come in during the night — more photos, another short video — but you didn’t open them yet. You already knew what they would show.

Your mind felt clearer than last night, but the decision still sat on your chest like a weight.

Option 2.

Public apology.

Wedding in name only.

Never touching her again.

Cleaning her whenever they ordered it.

You rubbed your face with both hands and stared at the floor.

Three hours.

That was all the time you had left to decide if you could live as the family’s official cheating cuckold… or if you were going to walk away from the only woman you had ever truly loved.

You forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

The hot water hit your skin hard, steam quickly filling the small hotel bathroom. You stood under the spray with your head bowed, hands braced against the wall, letting the heat try to burn the leftover alcohol out of your system.

Bit by bit, the fog in your mind started to clear.

The pounding in your head eased. The sick, swirling confusion from last night — the whiskey, the video, the way your body had reacted — began to settle into something sharper and heavier.

You closed your eyes and let the water run over your face.

I never cheated.

But no one believes me.

Emma is already his.

If I walk away… I lose her completely.

If I accept… I keep her in my life, but only as the man who cleans up after my father.

The memory of her voice in the video mixed with the memory of her pussy gripping your father’s cock. Then the memory of your own tongue cleaning her. Shame and something darker twisted together in your gut.

You stayed under the water until it started to run lukewarm, scrubbing yourself like you could wash the last few days off your skin. When you finally stepped out, the mirror was completely fogged. You wiped a clear patch with your hand and stared at your reflection.

You looked exhausted. Hollow. But clearer than you had been in hours.

You wrapped a towel around your waist and walked back into the room. The clock on the nightstand now read 6:41 AM.

A little over two hours left.