My Boyfriend's Father is my Lover

The conference hall was filled with the soft hum of conversations, the rustling of papers, and the clatter of heels on tiled floors. Students and lecturers, still caught in the aftermath of the seminar, wandered about, discussing, laughing, and exchanging notes. 

But amid the chatter, Ella Clark felt a nagging sense of unease. She was not sure what it was, but she hoped that when she met Steve later on that day, she would be comforted.

Diligent, ambitious, and well-respected, Ella was one of Hall University's brightest stars. The kind of girl who made headlines without trying, especially since she’d begun dating Steve.

Steve was the school’s most admired and undeniably charming guy. Their four-month-old relationship had become a fairytale everyone followed, except for one person, Prisca.

The self-declared most beautiful girl in school, Prisca, had never hidden her belief that Steve was hers for the taking. She saw Ella not as competition, but as a temporary obstacle. The cruel irony? Prisca was also one of Ella’s roommates.

“I’m just glad Prisca isn’t here,” Gracy said with a smile as she sipped from her water bottle. “I’m tired of hearing her never-ending stories about herself.”

Ella laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if she were standing right here.”  Everyone turned to Ella, “Oh, come on, you know I am telling the truth.”

“Oh, I would. Someone has to deflate that balloon before it pops,” Gracy fired back. The group burst into laughter.

Cecelia leaned forward, her voice sly. “You better hope Prisca doesn’t get your man. She’s ruthless... and you cannot say she is not beautiful.”

“Well, I trust my Steve,” Ella replied confidently. “Prisca’s got nothing on him.”

But the moment the words left her lips, the table fell silent. Ella chuckled nervously. “Wait a minute, you don’t think I can trust my man?”

The laughter that followed was loud and teasing, but somewhere at that moment, there was an uncertainty in  Ella’s confidence. She saw the looks in her mates' eyes and wondered if they knew something she did not know.

Ella raised an eyebrow, still laughing. “Well, good thing my Steve’s not the type to fall for fake nails and designer desperation.”

The laughter stopped.

Silence settled, just long enough for Ella to notice.

She blinked. “Wait. You guys don’t trust Steve?”

Gracy cleared her throat awkwardly. “I mean… we didn’t say that exactly…”

“Y’all think he’d cheat?” Ella pressed, her voice laced with tension.

Cecelia shrugged. “Not saying he would. Just that you know, Prisca’s persistent. And you know Steve, he’s got that whole ‘ I wanna see your pants’ kind of vibe.”

“Exactly,” Gracy added. “He flirts without knowing he’s flirting. That’s dangerous.”

Ella laughed, but it was hollow. “Well, he’s loyal. I trust him.”

Cecelia exchanged a look with Gracy but said nothing.

Suddenly, Ella’s phone buzzed. No reply from Chubby. Again.

“I’m gonna go find Chubbyr,” Ella said, slipping her phone into her purse. "She went to help Ms. Fletcher with some seminar stuff, and she’s not picking up. Hope the lecturer has not held her hostage.”

“Ugh, that woman,” Gracy muttered. “She acts like she runs the CIA, not a university department.”

She glanced around. Chubby, her best friend, still hadn’t returned from helping Ms. Fletcher with the seminar materials. That wasn’t like her. 

Ella had never liked Ms. Fletcher; she considered her too sharp, too strict, and too cold. The type of woman who seemed better suited to military drills than classroom lectures.

Ella excused herself from the lively chatter and tried Chubby’s number. No answer. A small thread of anxiety tugged at her chest.

“She said she was going to Room 201... or was it 102?” Ella muttered under her breath. “Come on, Chubby, pick up.”

Chubby didn’t pick, and Ella began to feel apprehensive. She needed to leave the hotel in good time so that she could get home and shower before Steve showed up.

Chubby was not making her plan come through.

“Honestly, I am going to make sure Chubby pays for this. She cannot just disappear with Ms. Fletcher as if she wants to receive a lecture filled with secrets,” Ella murmured under her breath.

The hallway was unusually quiet as she made her way down from the fourth floor. Her shoes clicked softly against the polished hotel tiles, the air tinged with lavender and the fading scent of fresh flowers from the day’s event.

The second floor was dimly lit, bathed in soft golden lights that cast long shadows along the corridor. The hush made her steps feel louder, each one echoing with a growing sense of unease. She reached Room 201.

The door was slightly ajar.

That was odd. Seminar materials weren’t exactly top-secret. Why wouldn’t Chubby just come back? Ella hesitated, then pushed the door open.

What she saw inside stopped her breath.

At first, it was just Prisca’s face. Smug. Focused and Moaning.

Then the full image hit her like a blow to the chest. Prisca was straddling someone, her bare skin slick with sweat, her movements slow, deliberate and pleasured. Her moans filled the room like a cruel, echoing symphony.

Ella’s mouth parted in disbelief. And then Steve turned.

Their eyes met.

Time stopped.

His scraggly hair, sweaty face, and the unmistakable guilt crashing across his expression shattered her world into a thousand pieces.

“Ella—” Steve stammered, his voice choked with shame. “What... what are you doing here?”

Prisca didn’t stop. She turned Steve’s face back to hers, grinding harder, a wicked glint in her eye. She wanted Ella to see. She wanted the dagger to go in deep.

Steve jolted upright, pushing Prisca off as he tried to cover himself, his hands trembling. “Ella, I’m sorry. She-- she-- she,” Steve stammered.

Ella couldn’t breathe.

She couldn't scream.

She couldn't move.

She had walked into her worst nightmare, a betrayal wrapped in sweat, desire, and deceit.

The silence was suffocating. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding violently in her ears. Her legs felt weak, as if they could not carry the weight of her body.

She tried to talk, but no words came out. 

Then she remembered her earlier conversations with her mates.

It was like Karma.

Her trust was broken.

But moreover, her heart was shattered.

Ella’s heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, but her steps weren’t guided by sight or direction, only by the storm cloud rumbling inside her head, making every moment seem unconscious and unintended.  

She moved like a ghost, like someone not herself or possessed by disbelief, as her feet led her to the small, low-lit bar tucked away beside the hotel reception.

It was a quiet bar, maybe too quiet for the kind of rage that brewed in her chest. The soft rhythm of romantic tunes spilt from the speakers, and for a second, she thought of turning back.

How can the DJ play love songs? “Of all things! Wow!” she sighed, talking aloud to herself.

She  didn’t belong here. Not tonight. Not after what she'd seen.

Yet, something about the cool air inside, thick with the scent of aged whiskey and recent heartbreak, pulled her deeper in. 

A drink, she thought. She needed a drink. Anything to numb the sting of betrayal. Anything to take away he imag