Page 7 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

I walked away, feeling lighter than I had in many months. Whatever spell he'd once held over me was well and truly broken—and not just because of last night.

Therapy had helped me see what I hadn't wanted to admit: Miles had never loved me, not really. He'd loved the idea of me, the image we projected as a power couple.

As I approached our table, I saw that a newcomer had joined the group. A broad-shouldered man with silver hair was speaking to Cami, his back to me.

My heart stuttered.

It couldn't be.

But as I drew closer, that now-familiar scent of cedar and bergamot reached me, confirming what my racing pulse already knew.

My mysterious lover from last night stood at my table, chatting casually with my friends as if he belonged there.

I froze, uncertain whether to approach or retreat.

Before I could decide, Zoe spotted me.

"Savannah! There you are," she called. “Come chat with Cami's uncle."

Uncle? Relief washed through me. Not my stranger after all, just a coincidence of similar builds and hair color.

The silver-haired man turned, and my world tilted on its axis.

It was him.

The same compelling blue eyes, the same strong jawline, the same mouth that had explored every inch of my body mere hours ago.

"Hello," he said, his deep voice perfectly controlled, betraying nothing of what had passed between us.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. My brain was frantically trying to process the impossible.

Cami's uncle?

But that would mean...

"Savannah, this is Lucas Turner," Cami said brightly.

“One of John's friends. And Miles's dad."

The room seemed to spin around me. Lucas Turner. CEO of Turner Holdings.

Miles's father.

The man I'd spent the night with was my ex-boyfriend's father.

Oh. My. God.

My stomach dropped. The room tilted. I knew that face.

Not from last night—God, I knew it from last night. I could still feel the press of his body against mine, the weight of him inside me, the way his voice had broken when he came.

No, I knew that face from a dusty photo frame in Miles’s apartment.

One I'd barely glanced at two years ago.

A forgotten relic, buried between a stack of business books and a bottle of unopened bourbon.

Lucas Turner.

Miles’s father.

I’d slept with my ex’s father.

I slept with Miles ’ s father.

My lungs seized, heat rising in a sharp, frantic wave. Not just shame—though there was that.

Not just horror—though, yes, that too.

It was the memory of his mouth. The way he'd looked at me like I was his to claim.

The way I’d wanted to be his.

Last night hadn’t been a mistake. That was the worst part.

It had felt inevitable.

And now he was here.

Towering.

Composed.

Unapologetic.

The man I should’ve run from—and now the one I couldn’t stop wanting.

"Ms. Blake and I have met," he said smoothly. If he was shocked by the revelation, he hid it perfectly.

At the ceremony yesterday."

Our eyes locked, and in his I saw the same stunned recognition that must be evident in mine.

But while I felt my composure crumbling, his remained intact—the consummate businessman, unruffled even by this cosmic joke at our expense.

"Savannah?"

Miles's voice behind me completed the nightmare scenario.

I turned woodenly to find him standing there, looking between his father and me with a confused expression.

"Dad? I didn't know you'd arrived."

"Late last night," Lucas replied, extending his hand to his son. They shook briefly, a formal gesture that spoke volumes about their relationship.

"You're looking well, Miles."

"Thanks. I was just coming to introduce you to Savannah, but I see you've already met."

"Briefly," Lucas said, his gaze flickering to mine.

"At the ceremony."

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

The two men stood before me—nearly identical in height, in the set of their shoulders, in certain expressions—and I wondered with mounting horror how I could have missed the resemblance even in the dim garden light.

Miles was a younger, less weathered version of his father, lacking only the silver hair and the quiet confidence that came with age.

Lucas Turner.

Miles’s father.

The man who’d made me beg last night.

The man who had me coming apart in his hands.

The man now standing inches away in a tailored suit and polite indifference, his gaze cool, calm, and unreadable, like my body hadn’t been beneath his just hours ago.

"Savannah works at a prestigious marketing firm," Miles was saying, his hand coming to rest possessively on my lower back.

Lucas's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes at his son's proprietary gesture.

"Is that so?"

"She's brilliant with branding," Miles continued, as if I weren't standing right there.

"I've been trying to convince her to reconsider our... professional relationship."

The double meaning hung in the air between us. I wanted to scream, to run, to dissolve into the expensive carpet beneath my feet.

Instead, I stood frozen, trapped in this surreal tableau.

"I'm sure Ms. Blake is more than capable of making her own professional decisions," Lucas said, his tone cooling slightly.

He turned to me, perfectly composed. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

With a slight nod, he excused himself from our group, moving away with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to commanding any room he entered.

I watched him go, a bizarre cocktail of emotions churning through me. Shock. Embarrassment.

And underneath it all, a traitorous flicker of desire that refused to be extinguished even by this revelation.

"Dad's heading back to San Francisco tonight," Miles was saying, oblivious to my internal meltdown.

"But he'll be there for the strategy meeting with your marketing firm on Tuesday.

I was thinking maybe you could join us for dinner afterward?

Your insights on the Westlake project would be valuable. "

I barely heard him.

My attention remained fixed on Lucas's retreating back, watching as he stopped to speak with John Parker across the room.

As if sensing my gaze, he glanced back, his eyes finding mine unerringly across the crowded space.

For one unguarded moment, I saw it all reflected in his expression—the shock, the recognition of our impossible situation, and something else.

Something that mirrored the confusion in my own heart.

No regret.

"Savannah?" Miles's voice broke through my daze.

"Are you listening?"

"I—I'm not feeling well," I managed, the first honest words I'd spoken since the revelation.

"Excuse me."

I fled, ignoring Miles's concerned questions and Zoe's startled expression. Blindly, I made my way through the dining room and into the nearest restroom, locking myself in a stall as my legs finally gave way.

My hands shook violently as I gripped the metal partition. My skin felt too tight, too hot, as if I might burn up from the inside. The bathroom's cool air did nothing to soothe the scorching heat of mortification spreading through me.

Lucas Turner.

I had slept with Lucas Turner.

I pressed my forehead against the cool metal, trying to steady my breathing. Images from last night flashed through my mind—his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the intensity in those blue eyes as he'd moved above me. Eyes so like his son's, and yet so different.

My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat. I swallowed hard, fighting the wave of nausea.

What had I done?

More importantly, what would I do now?

My phone buzzed insistently in my purse. Zoe, no doubt, wondering what had happened.

I couldn't face her questions yet. Couldn't face anyone.

The bathroom door swung open, voices filtering in.

"—never seen Savannah Blake move that fast," someone said with a laugh. Cami's cousin, I thought.

"Did you see her face?" another voice replied. "White as a sheet. Think it was seeing Miles that did it?"

"Had to be. Though Lucas Turner isn’t someone to run from. For a man his age? Total silver fox."

They dissolved into giggles, moving to the sinks.

I remained frozen, barely breathing, until they finally left.

Alone again, I emerged from the stall on unsteady legs.

My reflection in the mirror confirmed what I already knew—all color had drained from my face, leaving my eyes huge and dark against my pale skin.

I looked haunted.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to regain some composure. Options cycled through my mind: I could leave immediately, make some excuse to Zoe.

I could avoid both Turner men for the remainder of the weekend.

I could pretend nothing had happened.

But I knew the truth would follow me home, would haunt my dreams, would color every future interaction with Miles—professional or otherwise.

I had slept with Lucas Turner.

Had cried out as he'd brought me to heights of pleasure I'd never known existed. Had whispered confessions against his skin that I'd never shared with anyone, let alone his son.

And the most damning truth of all, the one that made my knees weak and my pulse race even now: Given the chance, I would do it again.

That thought, more than any other, sent a tremor racing through my body—a visceral, physical response to a revelation too enormous to process.

My hands gripped the edge of the sink as a wave of dizziness washed over me.

What kind of woman did that make me?

Rather, what kind of woman was I becoming?