HIS FAVORITE SIN

Prologue: The Door Left Open

The front door was slightly open. Not wide—just enough to make her pause.

Nicole stepped onto the porch, glancing around. No sound. No voices. The porch light buzzed above her head, casting a dull glow.

“…Hello?” she called softly, knocking once. “You left the door open.”

No answer. She pushed the door wider and stepped inside. The house was dim, lit only by the amber hue of a lamp near the living room. For a second, everything felt still. Quiet. Empty. Then she heard it. A soft sound. A moan. Breathless. Familiar. Nicole’s stomach dropped. She moved forward, her steps cautious, slow. Her hand tightened around the wallet she was about to return. She turned the corner—into the hallway—and stopped cold. There they were. Dray. Anna. Up against the wall like they couldn’t wait another second. Anna’s dress was hitched high on her thighs, her leg wrapped around his waist. Dray’s mouth was on her neck, his hand beneath her skirt. Anna’s head fell back with a whimper as his fingers moved, her hips grinding into his like she’d missed him for years. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t hesitation. It was raw, deliberate desire. Nicole stood there. Frozen. Like her lungs had stopped working. The wallet slipped slightly in her hand. Neither of them saw her. Not yet. For a moment, she didn’t blink. Couldn’t. Her eyes burned. Her body wouldn’t move. Anna’s fingers clutched his hair. Dray groaned low in his throat and pressed harder into her, like he couldn’t get close enough. His voice—rough, quiet, hungry—sent a chill down Nicole’s spine.

The silence around her was deafening.

Then—finally—she stepped back. Slowly. Carefully. Not making a sound. She placed the wallet down on the little table by the door. Didn’t slam it. Didn’t say a word.

She just walked out and closed the door behind her. This time, tighter. She wanted to throw the wallet at them. Scream something loud, cruel, unforgettable.

But instead, she backed away. Quiet. Controlled. Outside, the cold night air kissed her skin. Her fingers curled tighter around Anna’s car keys.

She stared at them, considered tossing them into a bush. Maybe texting a middle finger emoji. And ghosting him. But she didn’t. She simply stood there.

Breathing in. And breaking apart.

Story begins.

“NICOLE POV””

NICOLE – POV

The sharp clatter of metal jolted Nicole from sleep. She blinked against the early light spilling through her curtains, heart racing. For a moment, she thought someone had broken in. Then she heard it—laughter. Male voices. Loud and overlapping. She groaned, shoved off her blanket, and slid from bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floor. Pajama shorts. Oversized T-shirt. The uniform of someone with zero patience for chaos. She padded toward the noise. Living with three men—two brothers and a mostly-absent dad—meant peace was rare. But this? This was war. By the time she stepped into the kitchen, she was greeted by a flour explosion. Literally. Clouds of it filled the air like smoke. Her dad—Mr. Oscar, the “ghost parent”—stood in the middle of it all with a spatula and a stupidly proud smile.

His white button-up was splattered with pancake batter. Jaden, her oldest brother, wore an apron and a dead expression, clearly trying to salvage a pan of eggs. Mark, the middle child and chaos incarnate, had just dropped another pancake on the floor.

Nicole squinted. “…What the hell is going on?”

Jaden didn’t look up. “Dad’s making breakfast.”

“That doesn’t explain the flour tornado.”

Mr. Oscar beamed. “It’s a special morning, sweetheart! I invited someone over. Alexa. She’s… a friend.”

Nicole blinked. “Alexa? Who’s Alexa?”

Mark grinned. “Dad’s new woman. Single mom. Two kids. Cooking skills: mid. But she passed our ‘don’t-break-dad’s-heart’ test. Solid 85%.”

Nicole folded her arms. Jaw tight. “So you’ve got time for a girlfriend now, but not for your own kids?”

Silence. Jaden froze. Mark looked away. Mr. Oscar started to speak but—she was already turning. Leaving. She didn’t want his explanations. She didn’t want more excuses. She wanted a father who showed up. Upstairs, in the shower, steam clouded her thoughts. Nicole ran her hands through her short, dark hair—a decision she made after her mom died. Short was easier. Less fuss. Fewer memories. But as she brushed it later in the mirror, one slipped through anyway. She was thirteen again. Sitting on a stool, her mother’s fingers weaving gentle braids.

“Pretty girls always take their time,” she’d whispered. It was the last time she said it. Cancer took her not long after. Nicole blinked back tears. It was five years already but the ache still felt fresh.

Downstairs, the laughter returned. She ignored it. Got dressed—joggers and her favorite hoodie—and stepped outside.

The bike was rusty. A gift from Jaden on her 16th birthday. But it worked. She pedaled.

Let them think she was tough. Let them believe she didn’t care. They didn’t need to know she was still just a girl… Still missing her mother. Still holding on by threads.

⸻

She reached the front gates of Lincoln High just as the bell rang. The red brick walls stretched high like a prison. Students buzzed around the front steps—laughing, shouting, spilling energy she couldn’t match. Nicole’s fingers tightened around her handlebars. New school. New year. New fake smile. Eyes turned as she walked her bike to the rack. She caught the glances. The subtle whispers. The quick judgment passed on her hoodie, her short hair, the way she didn’t shrink. She locked the bike. You’ve been through worse, she told herself.

Nicole looked at the towering school doors.

Took a breath. And walked in.