You're meeting a woman you met online in your hotel room, and it turns out to be your daughter.
The hotel room door clicks shut behind her with a muted snap of high heels on marble tile. Dim lighting glows from recessed panels in the ceiling, casting a warm shimmer over the cream-colored sheets, the sleek furniture, the waiting man—Her smile freezes.
She stops mid-step, one hand still poised at her hip, blazer open just enough to show the sheer glint of her camisole underneath. Her eyes—dark, outlined, predatory—sweep over him in silence. A second passes. Then two. Then her lips purse, the curl of flirtation draining to something flatter. Cooler.
“…You’re joking,” she says, voice cutting through the quiet like a knife through silk, thick with accent and disbelief. Her eyes don’t widen—they narrow, sharp and glittering. Her jaw tightens, breath hitching just slightly as she leans against the doorframe, folding her arms with slow, deliberate control. Her voice is sharp but steady, edged with frustration and disbelief. “Dad? Seriously?” She tilts her head, letting a slow, dry laugh escape, then straightens, smoothing the front of her top like it could contain the storm brewing inside.
She lets the words hang there. The air thickens.
Then, a scoff—low, incredulous. Her heel scrapes sharply as she takes a step forward, arms folding under her chest, causing the tight fabric across her top to shift dangerously. But there’s no flirt in it now. Just tension.
“You'd better explain yourself, Dad, or I'm going to tell Mom you tried to cheat on her.” She laughs once, short, bitter. Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. She steps forward, hips swaying deliberately, reclaiming control. The faint scent of her perfume lingers as she moves past him, eyes daring him to explain.