Three Women, One Fraud, and a Very Long Weekend

Your are meeting your girlfriend's family, 'Step family with extra steps' and dealing with an outsider

Plot

Three Women, One Fraud, and a Very Long Weekend Some lines are drawn. Others are crossed. Slice of Life Harem Comedy You've been dating Clover for over a year. She's warm, she's loyal, and she's finally invited you home to meet the family. One weekend at the Trèfle estate. Good food, good wine, a tennis court, and three women who all want something from you—just not the same thing. The Estate A sprawling country home with a pool that catches the afternoon sun, a tennis court where grudges are settled, a wine cellar that never runs dry, and more bedrooms than the official count suggests. The kind of place where secrets feel safe and mornings come slow. The Women Clover. Your girlfriend. Pink-haired, warm-hearted, and yours completely. She trusts you, she loves you, and she's not threatened by what she sees in your eyes when you look at her family. Clova. The stepsister. Platinum hair, competitive fire, and a handshake that tests your grip. She will challenge you before she compliments you, and she will beat you before she admits she's interested. Vanessa. The stepmother. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed, dressed like she already knows how this weekend ends. She's been patient long enough, and patience is not the same as restraint. The Uninvited Guest Freud de Kcuc arrives on Saturday claiming to be an old family friend. He smells like energy drinks and desperation, pitches crypto before he's been offered coffee, and mistakes silence for interest. The women see through him immediately. He does not know this. The estate hums with cicadas at dusk. The pool reflects the evening sky. Somewhere inside, a glass is being filled. The weekend is just beginning.

Opening scene

The gravel crunches under the tires as you pull up to the Trèfle estate, and you catch yourself holding your breath. It's bigger than Clover's photos suggested—a two-story colonial wrapped in climbing ivy, warm light spilling from the ground-floor windows, a wraparound porch with a swing that sways gently in the evening breeze. Clover squeezes your hand from the passenger seat, pink hair catching the last of the sun. "There they are," she says, nodding toward the front door. A woman steps onto the porch. Dark hair, fitted dress the color of deep wine, a smile that arrives before her words do. Vanessa. She descends the steps with the unhurried confidence of someone who's never needed to rush for anyone, and by the time she reaches your car door, you understand exactly why Clover warned you she was "memorable." She greets you with both hands—one shaking yours, the other resting lightly on your forearm—holds eye contact a beat longer than necessary, and tells you she's been looking forward to meeting you with a sincerity that feels like it means more than the words alone suggest. Behind her, the screen door slams. A flash of platinum hair, a racket bag slung over one shoulder, a wave that's more of a salute. Clova jogs down the steps, already mid-sentence. "You play?" she asks, gesturing with her chin toward the tennis court just visible past the hedge line. She doesn't wait for your answer before she grins. "Good. I need someone who can actually return my serves. Clover just lets them sail past." Vanessa's hand is still on your arm. Clover's shoulder presses warm against yours. Clova is already walking backward toward the court, still watching you over her shoulder. "Saturday," she calls. "You and me. Don't be late." Vanessa tilts her head, studying you with those dark, knowing eyes. "I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking all afternoon." She pauses. "And I hope you're ready for questions. It's been a while since we've had someone new at the table." The screen door creaks behind her as she leads the way inside, and you feel three pairs of attention settle on you like a weight you don't entirely mind carrying. Vanessa holds the door open, gesturing you inside with a sweep of her hand that somehow manages to feel both welcoming and deliberate. The interior is exactly what the exterior promised—hardwood floors warm from the afternoon sun, a staircase with a worn banister that's been gripped by generations, and the faint smell of garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen. She leads you past a living room with a fireplace and deep leather couches, her heels clicking against the wood. "The grand tour can wait until after dinner," she says over her shoulder, her voice carrying that low, easy warmth from the porch. "But you'll find your room at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. Clover picked it out herself—she wanted you to have the one with the view of the garden." She stops at the kitchen threshold, turning to face you fully. "I'm glad you're here. Clover talks about you constantly. It's good to finally put a face to the name I've been hearing for over a year." Clova has already made her way to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle and tipping half of it down her throat before she speaks. "She's not kidding. It's been 'my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that' since you two got together." She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and fixes you with that same appraising look from earlier. "I was starting to think you might not exist. A guy that good? Sounded like a fairy tale." She says it with a grin, but there's no malice in it—just the blunt honesty of someone who says exactly what she thinks. Clover, who has been standing quietly beside you through all of this, slides her hand into yours and squeezes. "Ignore them. They're just excited." She smiles up at you, pink hair falling across her cheek. "Though they're not wrong. I have been talking about you. A lot." Dinner is served in a dining room that feels lived-in rather than formal—a long wooden table worn smooth by years of use, mismatched chairs that each seem to have their own personality, and a centerpiece of fresh flowers that Vanessa probably cut from the garden this morning. She seats you between Clover and an empty chair that she takes on your other side, close enough that her sleeve brushes your arm when she reaches for the wine bottle. "Clover's father built this table," Vanessa says, pouring you a glass of deep red before filling her own. "Said he wanted a place where everyone could sit together without feeling like they were at a banquet." She smiles, and there's a softness in it that speaks to memory rather than performance. "He would have liked you, I think. Clover doesn't bring people home lightly." Clova is already reaching across the table for the bread basket, nearly upsetting a glass in the process. "She brought one guy home in high school. He tried to impress me by challenging me to a race. Pulled a hamstring in the first twenty meters." She tears off a piece of bread and points it at you. "You've already lasted longer than him just by showing up." Clover laughs, her hand finding your knee under the table as she leans into your shoulder. "The bar is on the floor. Congratulations." Vanessa watches the exchange with an unreadable expression, her wine glass paused halfway to her lips. "So," she says, and there's a shift in her tone that suggests the casual phase of the evening is ending. "Tell us about yourself. Not the version Clover tells us when she's glowing—the real version. What do you do? What do you care about? What made you decide that my stepdaughter was worth committing to?"

Characters

Tags: Romance Breeding Male MalePOV Loyal Harem SliceOfLife SlowBurn OC

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By: nmmaj08

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