My Mother's husband Is My Sugar daddy

Location: New York City,

USA The faint glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting delicate golden hues across the bedroom walls. Luci Monroe, 38 years old, stirred awake with a yawn, stretching her arms before slipping out of bed. It was another busy morning, another day of routine, another day of balancing work and family. She adjusted her nightrobe and walked toward the kitchen, her slippers making soft padding sounds against the polished wooden floors. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the apartment, mingling with the crisp scent of toast and sizzling bacon. Luci moved with practised ease, setting the table with precision. Francis Monroe, her husband and one of the most powerful banking moguls in the country, would be leaving soon for work, and she liked to ensure he started his day right. As she stirred the eggs in the pan, her gaze flickered toward the clock. 6:45 AM. Usually, Adriana would already be up, dragging herself to the bathroom or scrolling through her phone in bed. But today, there was silence. Luci frowned. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she made her way down the hall toward Adriana's room. She hesitated for a moment before knocking gently. When there was no response, she pushed the door open. Adriana lay curled beneath the sheets, her dark hair sprawled across the pillow, her breathing slow and even. Luci's expression softened. Her daughter was sixteen now, almost a young woman, yet there were moments when she still looked like the little girl she had raised alone for years. She stepped closer and bent down, brushing a stray strand of hair from Adriana's face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sweetheart," she murmured, nudging her gently. "Time to get up. You're going to be late for school." Adriana groaned, turning over, her face contorted as though in discomfort. "I don't feel well," she mumbled. Luci straightened, concern flashing in her eyes. "What's wrong? A headache? Stomach pain?" "My body just feels weak. I think I have a fever." Luci placed the back of her palm against Adriana's forehead, but her temperature felt normal. She studied her daughter's face, searching for signs of illness, but Adriana's eyes remained half-lidded, her expression unreadable. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" Luci asked. Adriana shook her head lazily. "No, I'll be fine. I just need some rest." Luci sighed. "Alright. I'll let you stay home today, but if you still feel sick by the afternoon, I'm taking you to the doctor." Adriana nodded, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. Still feeling slightly uneasy, Luci left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. In the dimly lit dining area, Francis Monroe sat at the table, sipping his black coffee as he scanned through the morning newspaper. He was a man of precision-his suits always pressed, his watch always set five minutes ahead, his day scheduled down to the last second. His entire presence exuded authority, a man used to being in control, both in the boardroom and at home. Luci entered, placing a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon before him. "Adriana's staying home today," she said, taking her seat. Francis raised a brow, setting the paper aside. "Is she sick?" "She says she has a fever, but she didn't feel warm. I'll check on her again later." Francis took a bite of his food, nodding absently. He wasn't particularly close to Adriana-he had only been in her life for a year since he married Luci. At first, Adriana had despised him, making it clear that she saw him as an intruder. Over time, the hostility had waned, but their relationship remained distant, polite at best. Luci glanced at the clock. "I have to leave early today. There's a board meeting, and Mr. Calloway wants me to help with the preparations." Francis nodded, sipping his coffee. "What time will you be back?" "Probably late. If Adriana gets worse, please call me." "I will," he said, but there was something detached in his tone as if he had already moved on from the conversation. Luci finished her breakfast quickly and kissed him lightly on the cheek before grabbing her purse. "I'll see you tonight," she said as she walked toward the door. Francis merely nodded, returning to his paper. As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the apartment deepened. A few minutes passed before the stillness was broken. The soft creak of a door. The gentle padding of bare feet against the floor. Adriana emerged from her room, wearing nothing but a sheer, silk revealing nightdress that clung to her frame. It was almost as if she had been waiting for the moment her mother left. She moved with calculated ease, her steps slow and deliberate, as she approached the dining area. Francis, still lost in the newspaper, barely noticed her presence until she was standing right beside him. He turned his head slightly and then froze. Adriana was standing too close, her body just inches away, her lips curved into the faintest of smirks. "You're not sick," he said, his voice unreadable. Adriana tilted her head, her dark eyes locked onto his. "I never said I was." Francis exhaled sharply, closing his newspaper. "Go back to bed, Adriana." She ignored him, stepping even closer and placing a delicate hand on the sleeve of his suit. "You're always in a rush. Always serious. Do you ever just... breathe?" Francis stiffened. "Adriana." "Hmm?" "Go back to your room." She let out a soft laugh, the sound both innocent and sinister. "Why? Does my presence make you uncomfortable?" Francis swallowed. "You're being inappropriate." Adriana ran a hand through her dark waves, letting them tumble down her shoulders. "I only came to say good morning." Francis stood abruptly, grabbing his suit jacket. "I have to go." He moved past her quickly, but just as he reached for his briefcase, he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist from behind. "Why are you always running from me?" she whispered against his back. He turned around swiftly, grabbing her arms. "Enough, Adriana." His voice was firm, but his eyes betrayed something else, confusion, hesitation, a crack in his resolve. Adriana smiled as if she had won some small victory. Their eyes remained locked for a long, tense moment. Then, just as Francis was about to pull away, she leaned closer and kissed him. It was at that moment that the front door burst open. A sharp, shattering sound filled the room. The glass designer clock in Luci's hands slipped and crashed onto the marble floor, the pieces scattering across the tiles like tiny, glimmering daggers. Francis and Adriana jerked apart, their bodies stiff with shock. The air was thick, heavy, and suffocating. Luci stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the scene before her-her sixteen-year-old daughter, barely clothed, standing inches away from her fifty-year-old husband. The betrayal was palpable, like a knife plunging straight into her chest. The silence that followed was deafening. And then- The clock's ticking stopped. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of Luci's shallow, trembling breaths. And the look in her eyes wasn't just anger. It was devastation. It was the moment everything fell apart.