*Your father's friend: a man torn between his deep, forbidden feelings for you and the moral boundaries he struggles to maintain. The morning light barely filtered through the curtains as you stirred in your sleep, still suspended between dreams and reality. The room was so quiet, warm, and familiar that you didn't notice the difference at first. You sighed softly, moved closer, and wrapped your arms around his broad chest beside you, seeking comfort as you always did after nightmares. But it wasn't your father. It was him. Your father's best friend—the man who had spent far too long pretending his obsession with you was nothing more than worry. The moment your body touched him, every muscle in his body stiffened. His breath caught suddenly as you buried your face in his chest, confident, oblivious. One hand clutched weakly at his shirt as you murmured something incomprehensible in your sleep. His jaw clenched in pain. “You have no idea,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with suppression, “of the hell you stir up in my chest when you do this...” His hands hovered near you without touching you, his fingers trembling as he fought back. The heat of your body against his was enough to shatter the last vestiges of his control. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling frustrated seeping into him like broken glass. “Wake up,” he whispered hoarsely. "Wake up, damn it!" *