Chapter 1: House of Opportunity

Kayden's POV

I graduated from high school two years ago, but I didn't rush into university like everyone expected. My father thought I was just going through a phase, travelling, partying, pretending to care about modelling offers, and beach events in Lake Como.

What he didn't know was that I was buying time. Every move I made, every delayed decision, was about waiting for the right moment.

I needed Thaddeus to settle in that new city, buy that mansion, and become the perfect host for the perfect setup. I didn't want to be seen as a boy. I wanted to walk through his door as an adult man.

So I waited, and I planned. Because when I moved into his house, I wasn't coming as a child. I was coming as temptation.

They said I was too young to know what I wanted.

But I knew.

I wanted him.

From the moment I first learned what it meant to want someone, not just admire or adore, but want with every nerve in your body it was him.

Not a boy from school, not a celebrity crush. It was Thaddeus Grey. My father's best friend. The man who had patted my head when I was ten took me to theme parks when I was twelve and taught me how to ride a motorcycle when I was fifteen.

And now? At twenty, I was living under his roof.

Not by accident. Not by coincidence.

It was all part of my plan.

He just didn't know it yet.

It started with a simple conversation over breakfast two months ago. My father stirred his coffee as I scrolled through fake university acceptance emails on my phone.

"Still haven't decided which school yet?" he asked, glancing at me over the rim of his mug.

I gave him a thoughtful shrug. Honestly, I'm thinking about Riyesdale University.

He blinked. "That's quite a drive."

Nine hours, yeah. But it's a good school. And it's in the city. Opportunities, connections, you know?

He looked unsure. I don't like the idea of you living alone out there. You're still young.

I set my phone down slowly. Dad, I'm almost twenty. I've lived a little. I know how to handle myself.

He hesitated. I knew him well enough to see the gears in his head turning. The protective father instinct was always his default. I also knew exactly how to push him the right way.

"If it makes you feel better," I added casually, Uncle Thad lives in the city, right? He just bought a new place?

My father looked up.

What if you asked if I could stay there just for the first year?

I didn't miss the flicker of relief in his eyes.

He wouldn't mind. You know how close we are. He'll look after you like a son.

That's what I thought. Dad.

He smiled sweetly. "Yeah, we are like family."

Just like that, he called his friend and told him I was coming. I didn't even need to say a word. He said I was like a son to him, and he'd look after me.

THADDEUS GREY'S MANSION

The mansion loomed before me now, bigger than I imagined. White marble, steel gates, a sleek black Audi parked perfectly out front. Everything about it screamed luxury, elegance, and money. Just like the man who owned it.

He opened the door before I could knock twice.

"Kayden," he said, eyes warm with surprise and a kind of fondness that made my stomach twist. You've grown up.

Not enough, apparently.

Hey, Uncle Thad, I said, offering my best charming smile.

He took my bags without hesitation, leading me into the grand foyer. My footsteps echoed against the floor. Every inch of the house smelled like cedar, cologne, and something uniquely his.

He showed me the guest room, perfectly furnished, too far from his own.

"If you need anything, just call out," he said. I'll be working late most nights, but the fridge is stocked. Press this button, and the maid will be at your door.

I nodded, but I didn't unpack right away. Instead, I walked the halls, memorizing where the master bedroom was. I leaned against the door frame for a long moment, staring at the slightly ajar door.

His scent lingered there, and it hit me like a drug.

That night, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirtless. I looked at myself not with vanity but calculation. Slim waist, toned chest, collarbones he'd see if I leaned over just right. My brown hair was tousled just enough to look careless but sexy. My lips were naturally full, no gloss needed. My big, sharp eyes had always been my secret weapon.

I looked like someone who belonged in his bed.

Not in his guest room.

By the third day, I had slipped into a routine. I'd walk around shirtless in the morning, claiming I "forgot" my towel. I'd bend a little too far forward when picking things up. I offered to cook breakfast, leaning close when he reached for the coffee pot.

He never flinched. Never reacted.

Which only made me more obsessed.

He was perfect. Clean-shaven jaw, always smelling like money and something fresh. He wore suits even at home, the kind that clung to his broad shoulders and made his tall frame even more intimidating.

At night, I watched him sip his wine in the study room, reading with those glasses perched on his nose. He didn't belong in this world. He was a man carved out of fantasies.

And he still saw me as a kid.

One evening, after a long silence between us, he finally asked, "How's school so far?"

I looked up from the couch where I was pretending to study.

"Busy. But good. Professors are decent."

He nodded, sipping his scotch.

"Any new friends?"

I smirked. "A few. One tried to kiss me last week."

That got his attention.

His brows lifted. Tried?

"Yes, but he's not my type."

He stared at me for a long beat. "And what is your type, Kayden?"

I met his gaze dead on.

Older, confident, and someone who knows what they're doing.

His jaw tightened so slightly. Well. Just be careful.

Careful's boring, I thought, turning back to my fake textbook.

THAT RAINY NIGHT

The night things shifted, it was raining. A soft thunderstorm outside, just enough to blur the windows and make the house feel warmer. He came home later than usual, hair damp, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

I was already waiting in the living room, pretending to read again. But I wore thin shorts, no shirt, my skin still warm from the shower.

He barely glanced at me.

He asked for something light. I smiled and poured something that tasted sweet but burned slowly. Just strong enough to warm his blood, not cloud his mind.

He drank it in one gulp.

Minutes later, he was on the couch, legs stretched, head back. His eyes fluttered shut.

I sat beside him closely.

"You know," I whispered. When I was alone in my room, I used to touch myself thinking about you.

His eyes shot open.

"Kayden."

"I still do."

He sat up and walked into his room. I followed, his expression a storm of conflict. This isn't…

I cut him off by leaning in, brushing my lips against his.

He froze.

"You look tense," I said, placing my hands gently on his shoulders.

He didn't stop me.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched, but he didn't move.

I leaned in again. And this time, he kissed me back.

Maybe he wanted to pretend he didn't want it. But when I leaned in again, he kissed me back.

This is wrong. Kayden.

But he didn't pull away. I deepened the kiss.

I wasn't a boy anymore, and he knew it.

That night, I stopped pretending.

I moaned his name too loudly, too desperately but I didn't care anymore. I clawed at his shirt, let him take control, then stole it right back. It was fire and need, and years of obsession finally broke loose.

He was strong, but I was hungry. He was hesitant, but I was desperate. And somewhere in the middle of that tangle of limbs and breathless gasps, he surrendered.

When I woke the next morning, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, shirt in hand, face pale.

We shouldn't have.

I'm sorry, I whispered, curling up and making my voice lower.

He turned to me, guilt in his eyes. You're so young. God, what have I done?

He didn't say more than that. Just sat there, looking like a man who had just broken his own rules.

Finally, he said. Please, don't tell your father, He whispered.

I flinched. "Of course not."

And just like that, the power shifted.

He thought he had taken something from me.

He had no idea, I had taken everything from him.

For the next two days, I played the part of the broken boy. I skipped class. I didn't eat. I stared out the window. Every time he walked into my room, I flinched.

He begged me to talk.

He apologized over and over.

And on the third night, when he asked what he could do to make things right, I looked him in the eye, wiped a fake tear, and whispered.

You already changed me. Now you take care of what you broke.

He stared at me, confused.

"What do you mean?"

You're the only one who can fix it. You started it. You finish it.

He paled. Kayden, I can't.

Then I'll tell my dad.

Silence.

His hands shook.

"Please don't."

I stood, walked over to him, and touched his cheek.

Then don't make me feel like I'm wrong for this. Don't make me feel like I'm the mistake.

His eyes glistened.

"Okay," he whispered.

And just like that, I had him.

But this wasn't the end of the game.

It was only the beginning.