The usually boisterous Harry Johnson was oddly quiet that day, until Emily White dropped a stack of papers onto the desk in front of him. With headphones securely in place, Harry was engrossed in his game, only to be unceremoniously killed just before a victory. Before he could lash out at his teammates, Emily tugged off his headphones.

“What do you want?” Harry shot to his feet, towering over her, annoyance in every line of his body.

“Master Harry, have you forgotten you’re still a student?” Emily tapped the packets of exam papers she'd procured from his teachers. “Your finals are in two weeks. These are practice papers. Six a day—finish them before indulging.”

Harry blinked as realization set in—he had completely forgotten about the exams, thanks to Emily’s whirlwind decision to bring him here. Vacation was the last thing on his mind when he arrived.

“I thought we were here for a holiday,” Harry quipped but sat down nonetheless. The hotel’s low tables meant he settled on the floor, lazily grabbing a pen to begin his work.

Emily, ever considerate, placed a fruit platter beside him and sat cross-legged opposite. “Your homeroom teacher sent me your previous grades. They’re quite impressive.”

“Duh,” Harry retorted, eyebrows arching defiantly with typical teenage bravado. “Did you think I was just some entitled brat?”

“I’d say less than me,” Emily shot back with a teasing smile. “I ranked third citywide in my finals. Top in physics.”

Harry’s grip on his pen tightened, a soft scoff escaping him. “Looking to tutor me now?”

“It’s an option,” Emily mused, picking a pineapple chunk from the platter. “Is there anything you’re aiming for?”

Harry glanced up briefly, catching her in the act of taking a bite, lips and teeth creating a fleetingly captivating sight. He blinked and lowered his gaze. “What makes you think I need anything?”

“Progress deserves reward, don’t you think? Otherwise, it’s a bit dull.” Emily wiped her fingers, offering him a grape with an encouraging smile. “If you’re too embarrassed to ask your father, I can do it for you. You’re ranked thirtieth now—get into the top ten, and I’ll make sure he rewards you.”

The cold, juicy grape was tempting, hovering near his lips. Harry stared at the delicate fingers holding it, the act devoid of any awareness of possible innuendos. Begrudgingly, he succumbed, biting into the grape. The sweet juice exploded in his mouth, a delightful intensity singing through him. Beyond the fruit’s taste, another fragrance lingered—a subtle, sweetly bitter aroma tantalizing his senses, leaving a lasting impression against his skin.

“Mmm,” he mumbled from behind a veil of papers, ears tinged with a hint of red. —— Of course, she wouldn’t see it as suggestive. She was just feeding a child!

Emily patted her hands, brushed her fingers clean. An innocuous touch seemed unshakeable. When feeding her friend’s dog, she never felt anything amiss.

Reflecting on this, she decided it best not to treat young Master Harry like a puppy. Smiling, she said, “I’ll drop your father a message—think about what you might want as a reward.”

Intent on her mission, Emily rose, smartphone in hand. But as she turned, her wrist was snagged by his firm grip, the unexpected heat of it nearly overwhelming—a living manacle, tethering her to the spot, escape impossible.

“Harry?” she queried, attempting to read his expression.

“...First place,” Harry muttered, eyes still rooted to the blank exercises. His voice was low, restrained, as if holding back something deeper.

“When I reach first place, I want a reward.” As soon as the words left his lips, his hand withdrew swiftly, attention refocusing on the papers.

Emily flexed her wrist, feeling a trace of warmth there, while subtly noting Harry’s crimson ears. His naturally fair skin revealed every tint of embarrassment with striking clarity.

She smiled knowingly, an understanding softening her features as she retreated to her room. Harry Johnson, it seemed, had a shy side. Perhaps her presence might ease the tension between him and his father. After all, even asking for a simple reward had embarrassed him. She resolved to help, eager to encourage a thaw in their chilly relationship.

As her footsteps grew faint, Harry lifted his head abruptly, staring at the ajar door, exhaling with force. His pulse raced, a drumline in his chest threatening to break free. He discreetly wiped his face with his hand, feeling the heat as if struck by fever.

“...Damn,” he muttered after a while, the expletive thin among his usual calm.

His gaze involuntarily lingered on the hand that had clutched hers. Fingers curled and uncurled, reliving the feel of her skin—warmth mixed with a gentle coolness.

She attracted him, he yearned for her. She was like an untainted lotus, clean and untouched, pure in clarity. In her presence, he found no trace of greed—a rare feeling enveloping him.

Desire unfurled within him, its roots deepening with each passing moment, spreading like a relentless prairie.

Eyes half-lidded, hiding a smoldering depth.

Harry shuffled through his memories, recalling that marriage certificate. His father’s recent marriage had been surprisingly discreet—mentioned offhandedly the previous month at most. Registered five days ago, absent any fanfare or ceremony, this second marriage seemed excessively understated. Family and friends remained largely unaware. 

So, why did he marry her?

Her words—“Your acceptance doesn’t change what I do”—resurfaced. At the time, he’d perceived them as a retort, but now...

This marriage probably held more complexities than appeared on the surface.

Pondering this, Harry savored the phrase ‘what I do,’ his thoughts setting alight the shadows in his eyes. Perhaps, it was time to pay his father a little more attention.

Perhaps, to start caring for his—dear stepmother.