Hitting on the Home-wrecker's Son

He stormed into my path, his eyes blazing, "You said...

being with me, does it still count?"

"Of course."

I pulled Oliver into a tight embrace, "I adore you more than anything"

"Clatter."

I heard a loud crash as something hit the ground. Oliver turned sharply, waving his hand behind him. "Mom!"

I turned around and saw my husband holding hands with a woman, the woman Oliver called "Mom."

01

I had known for some time that Nigel was cheating on me. What cut deeper was the knowledge that the woman he was with had a son-an artist of just 19.

They say men are drawn to younger women, but it shattered me to realize Nigel had left me for a 38-year-old. Maybe he had some peculiar taste, but that didn't stop me from seeking revenge.

I decided to give this treacherous couple a shock they'd never forget.

The breakthrough was that 19-year-old college student.

I went to great lengths to orchestrate an "accidental" encounter with Oliver. Fortunately, the task was made easier by my brazen husband's careless mistake-he hadn't even bothered to delete his chat history. There, glaring at me from the top of his contacts, was Sylvia's name, the mistress.

From their chat logs, I unearthed a trove of secrets about Oliver. I discovered, for instance, that when he wasn't attending classes, he worked part-time at a bakery.

I sat in that bakery for three days.

Finally, on a bustling public holiday, I spotted Oliver. Fate seemed to have played a hand in my favor; as a freelance graphic novelist with no set schedule, I had the flexibility that made this elaborate plan possible. Had I been tethered to a rigid work routine, my carefully laid scheme would have crumbled from the very start.

Even though I had seen photos beforehand, seeing him in person still took my breath away.

I couldn't deny it-Oliver was undeniably handsome, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of my most vividly imagined comics.

He stood over six feet tall, his physique sculpted to perfection, with forearm muscles that rippled beneath his shirt. He wore a white mask that barely concealed the intensity of his presence, while his bangs fell artfully across his forehead. His almond eyes, framed by a smile that curved into crescents, radiated a magnetic charm. Beside him, the girl's gaze was locked on him, unable to tear away from the captivating allure.

I casually grabbed a pen and sketched Oliver on their napkin. Just as I was finishing, he walked over and set a wrapped cake box on my table. "Your tiramisu,"

"Thank you."

I stood up and left with the tiramisu. As expected, he picked up the napkin and said, "Your drawing."

"It's for you."

Without a glance back, I stepped out of the bakery. Through the glass window, I saw him staring at the napkin in a daze.

02

For the next half month, I practically lived in that bakery, drawing several napkins of Oliver. At first, he was shy and didn't dare talk to me, but later he could joke with me freely.

When I finally saw his face without the mask, it was even more breathtaking than I had ever imagined. No wonder the bakery's business surged when he was there. It was clear that the girls coming in for cakes were far more captivated by him than by the desserts.

After an endless parade of girls added him on text only to be turned away, I couldn't resist a playful jab. "Hey, handsome, you've got more admirers than you can handle."

"Yeah, so what do you think, big sis? Am I good enough to be your model"

I gave him a look without saying a word. He continued, "Hey, sis, how about I quit and become your model instead?"

"Sure."

didn't even blink and asked, "How about a nude model?"

He turned red instantly-he's still young and clearly not quite seasoned yet.

I stopped teasing him, put the pen down, and asked, "Would you like to be the lead character in my new comic?"

"Huh?"

He was stunned, but this time I wasn't joking.

I'd been mulling it over for days. It seemed like a win-win. First, he's incredibly handsome, and a comic featuring him would likely be a hit-especially with how busy the bakery's been lately. Plus, it'd give me a chance to get closer to him. With a little bit of strategic advantage, I wasn't worried about him not taking the bait.

"Oliver,I'm not joking," I said. "Take your time to think it over-I'm happy to offer you a royalty. If you're worried, we can sign a contract." He looked surprised, clearly not expecting a joke to turn into reality. Rubbing the back of his head, he replied, "It's not that I don't trust you, sis. It's just... can you give me a few days to think about it?"

"Sure, I'll wait for your answer," I said, lowering my head to continue drawing. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't turn me down. It wasn't just my confidence in my own charm-it was more about the fact that he needed the money and wouldn't miss a chance to earn.

I was right.

Three days later, Oliver asked, "Hey, sis, do you really think I can be your model?"

"Of course."

I handed him the prepared contract along with a card. "Here's an advance of $3,000," I said, "the password is 1027. I'll pay the rest once the comic is published. Take your time to review the contract, and let me know if you have any questions."

He blinked, surprised at the quick progress, "You prepared all this in advance?"

"Yes."

"How did you know I'd agree?"

"I didn't. Maybe you could call it a gut feeling."

His face turned red again, and I realized he was quite easy to fluster. I took a sip of my lemonade and said, "Even if you don't agree, I'll find a way to make sure you do."

"Huh?"

"I'd throw a fit. You wouldn't have the heart to refuse a pretty girl, would you?"

He chuckled, signed the contract without even glancing at it, and handed it back to me.

I raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you afraid I'll sell you off?"

"Not at all."

He shook his head, mimicking me, "A pretty girl wouldn't be cruel to a handsome guy, would she?"

I laughed, thought for a moment, and said, "You never know, pretty girls can be quite wicked."

03

So, I moved my work from the bakery to the studio. There wasn't any specific reason, really-it just felt like a place where he could relax and let his guard down, which made it easier for our relationship to move forward.

To get him to pose for me, I had him do a bunch of things, like cooking for me. I pretended it was to study the angle of his arm while he cooked, but honestly, I didn't need that at all. We'd covered all that in art class-force points and all.

He studied art, so he should have learned anatomy too, but he didn't question my reasoning. Maybe he felt obliged since he took the money, or perhaps he wasn't paying attention in class and was just a novice.

His cooking turned out to be absolutely delicious, so he ended up taking over my lunches and dinners. I usually skipped breakfast because I had trouble getting up in the morning, but he still brought me food, saying, "Skipping breakfast isn't healthy."

As a night owl, I gradually adjusted my schedule thanks to his influence, but while I managed to start waking up earlier, I still couldn't manage to sleep at night.

After dinner that day, we sat together and chatted. I asked him how he got so good at cooking. He told me that when he was young, his mom was always busy with work and didn't have time to cook for him, so he had to learn to cook for himself. At first, his dishes weren't great, but after a lot of practice, he finally got it right.

It was the first time he'd mentioned his mother, the mistress. I took a sip of water and said, "Sounds like you had a tough childhood."

"It wasn't too bad," he replied.

"I got used to it, and it's actually a good thing. Otherwise, you wouldn't be praising my cooking now."

I laughed and said, "True, I'm definitely benefiting from it. And I bet your ex-girlfriends did too."

"I've never had a girlfriend."

"Really? I thought you were quite popular. Are your standards too high for those who pursue you?"

"No, dating would distract me from my studies. I don't want to lose my focus."

Oh, a good boy. That makes things so much easier.

"What kind of girls do you like?"

Oliver thought for a moment and said, "I haven't really given it much thought, but I guess I'd prefer someone a bit older."

My heart skipped a beat, but he seemed completely calm, as if he wasn't hinting at me. I asked, "Why?"

"Girls my age are too immature. We don't have much in common."

"And with older women, you do?"

He took a sip of water and fell silent. I held my cup and said, "Oliver, let me tell you a secret."

"What?"

"Older women like younger men too."

I chuckled and hummed a little tune as I carried my empty bowl to the kitchen.

04

Why?

Late at night, Oliver sent me a message on WhatsApp. I was putting on a face mask and replied, "Why, what?"

"Why do older women like younger men?"

"Because cute guys are irresistible. Who can possibly say no to someone as handsome and charming ?"

"Cute guys?"

"What's that?"

"Google it."

He must have looked it up because he came back asking, "Do you think I qualify as a cute guy?"

"You do," I said, "but you come across as more mature one."

"And what's that?"

"Google it."

After a while, he asked again, "Do you prefer a cute one or a mature one?"

I laughed and said, "I like both. I guess I'm pretty shallow-I judge men by their looks."

He didn't reply after that. I put my phone aside. Nigel came in after his shower, telling me he had a business trip and would be away for half a month. I said, "Oh, I know."

Of course, I knew he wasn't really on a business trip. I'd already checked his phone's location history. An iPhone tracks frequently visited places, and his was showing up in a residential neighborhood in the city. I guessed his so-called business trips were actually spent at Sylvia's place.

With Oliver staying at school, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if they crossed paths. But with Nigel out of town, it was the perfect opportunity for me to stir up some trouble and shake things up a bit.

05

Friday, light rain.

I checked the weather forecast in advance and invited Oliver to my studio. He got caught in the rain, his hair and clothes toally soaked, sneezing several times. I snapped a photo of him, startling him. I said it was for reference for my drawings.

He asked why I couldn't draw it now. I told him he needed to dry off first, or he'd catch a chill.

I tossed him a towel. He wiped his face, and I had to admit, a soaked, good-looking guy was quite a sight.

He had on a white T-shirt, soaked and clinging to him, showing off his abs. Noticing me staring, he quickly tried to cover up with the towel, but it didn't do much, leaving him flustered.

It was awkward, but exactly what I was hoping for.

I asked, "Want to shower and change? I live close by."

"No need," he said, his voice firm, just as I expected.

I grabbed an umbrella, "Let's go. If you catch a cold, I'll be worried."

Before he had a chance to get flustered, I added, "Worried about my comic's progress, of course."

]

He snapped back to reality immediately. After we got off the elevator, I handed him the umbrella, but he froze, not taking it.

"What are you waiting for? Do you want me to hold it for you?"

He sighed, gave a small, helpless smile, then obediently opened the umbrella. I noticed he angled it toward me, keeping me covered, but his left shoulder was already getting wet. Luckily, my home was close, and we got there quickly.

We went upstairs, and I opened the door, telling him to leave the umbrella by the entrance. I pulled out Nigel's slippers from the shoe cabinet and tossed them on the floor.

"The bathroom's over there. I'll find you a fresh towel."

He'd easily notice signs that a man lived here. I wasn't trying to hide it, but I had put away Nigel's photos, including the wedding picture, just to avoid being seen by him.

He went to shower without even grabbing a towel. I knocked on the bathroom door and called, "Open up-I'll get you a towel."

After a moment of hesitation, the door opened just a crack, steam spilling out, and he reached a hand through the gap.

I handed him the towel and some clothes. "These are my husband's new clothes-never worn. You two are about the same size, so just make do."

I couldn't see his expression inside, but I noticed his movements paused. He grabbed the clothes and quickly shut the door. I didn't mind; I headed to the kitchen to make chicken soup. When it was ready, he came out.

When I saw him, I was caught off guard. He was still in his own clothes, just wearing shorts, no shirt. His eight-pack abs were on full display-firm and toned-a sharp contrast to Nigel's beer belly from all his socializing.

couldn't help myself; I swallowed hard, trying to stay composed as I set the chicken soup on the table. "Drink it, I don't want you getting sick."

He didn't touch the soup, asking, "You're married?"

His voice came out a bit hoarse, his gaze intense, almost unsettling. I acted like I didn't notice, sinking into the sofa. "Do I seem like someone who's single?"

"I don't know. You never told me."

He started to ramble.

"It doesn't matter. Knowing or not doesn't change anything. I'm planning to get a divorce soon."

He immediately looked up, frowning. "Why?"

"My husband cheated," I said, locking eyes with him, emphasizing every word.