Stiles wasted no time settling into the Hale mansion. Her suitcase was small—mostly filled with short dresses, lace lingerie, and skirts that left little to the imagination. The guest room she was given was right next to Peter’s, and she made sure her door always stayed a little open, her silhouette framed in soft light whenever she changed.

Her job, though, was clear: take care of the old man. And Stiles did it with a kind of dedication that made both Derek and Jennifer uneasy.

That afternoon, she slipped into Peter’s room. He was sitting by the window, cane leaning against the armchair, the sunlight casting his wrinkled features in gold. He looked tired, almost defeated by age.

“Mr. Hale,” she said softly, voice dripping like honey. “Shall we try walking today? You need to keep those legs strong.”

He lifted his eyes to her and immediately forgot his own weakness. She wore a skin-tight dress—black, with straps so thin they seemed ready to snap. Her breasts pushed against the fabric, threatening to spill out, and the skirt barely reached mid-thigh.

“S-Stiles…” he muttered, throat dry.

She came close, offering her hands. Her fingers were soft, nails painted pink. “Hold me,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m strong enough to take your weight.”

When he grasped her hands, she tugged him up. His body leaned heavily into hers, and his hand accidentally brushed against her hip. She didn’t move it away. Instead, she guided him slowly across the room, her voice low, coaxing.

“That’s it… step by step… you’re doing so well for me, sir.”

The words were innocent, but her tone wasn’t. It was the tone of a woman who knew she was driving him insane.

At one point, his hand slipped a little lower, cupping the side of her thigh. He jerked it back, embarrassed. But Stiles leaned in, her lips close to his ear.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, breath hot against his skin. “I don’t mind you touching me. You’re my responsibility now.”

Peter groaned quietly. His body hadn’t felt this kind of spark in decades.

Later, she sat him back down and brought in his lunch—a tray of rice, stew, and side dishes. She perched on the armrest of his chair, far too close, and spoon-fed him slowly.

“Open up,” she cooed, holding the spoon to his lips.

When he obeyed, she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his arm again. He chewed slowly, unable to take his eyes off her cleavage.

“You’re such a good boy for me,” Stiles teased, smirking.

Peter nearly choked. “B-Boy?”

“Yes,” she giggled, licking her spoon in a way that was far too deliberate. “I’ll take care of you like no one else can. You’ll eat for me, walk for me… and if you’re really good…” Her eyes dropped to his lap for a second. “…I’ll reward you.”

He swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. She noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

By the time Derek peeked into the room later, he found his father flushed and breathing heavily while Stiles dabbed a napkin at his lips, her hand lingering much too long on his chest.

“Father, are you… alright?” Derek asked suspiciously.

Peter snapped upright. “Y-Yes! She’s just… she’s very attentive.”

Stiles turned her head, smiling sweetly at Derek, though her fingers were still pressed against the old man’s thigh, hidden by the blanket.

“I only want Mr. Hale to be comfortable,” she said innocently.

Derek narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

The door closed again, and Peter let out the breath he’d been holding. Stiles leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear.

“See?” she whispered, her voice sultry. “No one will ever take care of you like I do. You’ll want me more and more, sir. And I’ll make sure you get everything you crave.”

She giggled softly, then kissed the corner of his jaw before standing up, swaying her hips as she walked away.

Peter was left trembling in his chair, his old body aching not from age anymore—but from desire.