I’m standing in front of my mirror in just my underwear, debating on what to wear to tonight’s inevitable shitshow.

I have been summoned to dinner with mommy dearest and her new fiancée, Michael. Urgh, someone shoot me now!

I need to be at the restaurant at 7 pm sharp, dressed nicely but demurely – what does that even mean?

I decided to go with my go-to dinner dress – a little black number that hits just above the knee, has lace sleeves to just below my elbows, and a neckline that shows a hint of cleavage but is still respectful.

My hair is in loose curls and done up in a half-ponytail, subtle make-up and a nice red lip stain complete the look along with my favorite black ballet flats. Comfortable, practical yet nice enough for a fancy restaurant.

At 6:55 pm, I walk into the restaurant and as I wait for the hostess to seat me, my mom comes rushing over.

“Could you not have worn anything nicer?” She starts fussing over my dress, trying to pull my neckline down so more cleavage is on display. I swat at her hands and adjust my neckline to a position that I’m comfortable with.

“I am dressed perfectly decent and I’m not here to impress anyone. If Michael can’t accept me and my looks as is, he can go fly a kite.” I know I’m unnecessarily snarky towards someone I haven’t even met, but I refuse to be cowed into acting and looking a certain way.

Mom huffs in annoyance but begrudgingly drops the subject. I follow her to the back of the restaurant towards a table with an older gentleman who is already seated with his back to us.

As we near the table, he stands and turns around. He glances at my mom for a second, but then his gaze immediately locks on to me. He starts at my feet and slowly and very deliberately looks up my legs, over my hips, across my breasts, lingering on my little bit of cleavage and eventually settling on my face.

He has a smile on his face that, at face value, would seem friendly and inviting, but his eyes tell a whole different story. He gives me the creeps and I decided then and there that if it were up to me, I’d never be alone with him in the same room.

“Hi, you must be Layla. I’m Michael. Your mom has told me so much about you.” As he’s speaking, he extends his hand, and my manners dictate that I do the same. A subtle shiver runs up my spine as soon as my fingers slide over his. I don’t like this man.

“Pleased to meet you, Michael.”

He pulls out my chair and as I scoot myself in under the table, his fingertips subtly brush against my shoulder blades. I silently pray that it was an honest mistake.

He helps Mom into her seat across from me and then takes his seat to my left. I immediately pick up the menu so I have something to distract myself with.

“Are you excited about the wedding?” Michael glances at me with a smile that feels more predatory than friendly.

“Honestly, I don’t even know when it is taking place or where, so I haven’t had the chance to get excited.”

“My apologies, I was the one to spring everything on your mom, so she probably just hasn’t had time to discuss everything with you.”

Yeah no, that’s not it. Mom has deliberately kept me in the dark until now. I’m just not quite sure what her reasoning behind her subterfuge is.

Michael looks up and practically freezes with his fork midway to his mouth. Interesting.

I follow his line of sight to a tall, foreboding figure that lords over our table. He is at least 6 foot 5 inches tall, covered with tattoos from his knuckles to his neck, and something tells me they even cover his legs. Legs that are almost as thick as my head is wide. He’s dressed in black jeans, a cotton black T-shirt that struggles to hold his biceps, and even black sneakers. Stereotypical much?

He is glaring at Michael as if he could have him go up in flames by just focusing on him long enough.

Next, his gaze slithers over to my mother and she stills like a deer in headlights. One side of his mouth tips up in a sneer as if he is looking at dog shit that is stuck under his shoe.

“Allison,” he acknowledges her, but I get the distinct impression he would rather eat fire than be in her vicinity.

Next, his gaze glides over to me and I’m immediately caught in a sea of emerald-green orbs. My breath catches and my heart rate picks up. I can feel my pulse jumping at the base of my neck.

“So, this is my new stepsister, the gold-digging whore. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.”

My jaw goes slack and I’m completely floored – this absolute douche nozzle!

\ – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –