Her First Time With Daddy

Chapter Fourteen

Ava’s POV

I spent most of the morning trying to decide whether I had the right to ask.

The west wing was quiet, as it had been since Corren restricted my movement. I sat by the window with a cup of coffee gone cold, watching the gardeners move across the distant lawns, and felt the old restlessness return. Before all of this—before Vance’s betrayal, before the restroom, before the rules and the study and the word *Daddy*—I had been planning to continue my studies. Nothing ambitious. A few courses. Something that belonged to me. The estate had swallowed that plan along with everything else.

By noon the thought had hardened into something I could no longer ignore.

I left my room and walked the long corridor that connected the west wing to the main house. A security man near the staircase looked up, then stepped aside without comment. Corren’s instructions had clearly been precise: I was allowed to move when necessary, but I was still being watched. The knowledge sat uncomfortably under my skin.

I found him in the smaller sitting room off the main hallway, the one with the dark leather chairs and the wide windows that overlooked the front drive. He was seated with a folder open on the low table in front of him, pen moving steadily across a page. When I appeared in the doorway he looked up at once, as if he had already known I was coming.

“Ava.”

My name in his mouth still carried weight. I stepped inside and let the door remain open behind me. For a moment I simply stood there, hands loosely clasped in front of me, searching for the right place to begin.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I said.

He closed the folder, set the pen aside, and leaned back in the chair. The full force of his attention settled on me. “Speak.”

I drew a breath. “I want to start going to school again. University. Even if it’s only part-time. I had plans before everything happened, and I don’t want to lose them completely.”

The silence that followed was brief but dense. Corren’s expression did not change, yet something in the air between us tightened. He studied me for several seconds, eyes moving across my face as if looking for the source of the request rather than the request itself.

“School,” he repeated, tasting the word.

“Yes.” My voice held steadier than I expected. “I can still follow the rules. I can come back every day. I just… I need something that is mine. Something outside these walls.”

He remained still. The only movement was the slow turn of the heavy watch on his wrist as he rested one hand against the arm of the chair. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Approaching him with a demand—even a reasonable one—still felt like stepping onto uncertain ground.

“You’ve been thinking about this for some time,” he said. It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“And you decided today was the day to ask.”

I nodded.

Corren rose from the chair in one controlled motion. He was taller than me by a considerable margin, and when he closed the distance between us the difference became impossible to ignore. He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that I had to look up to meet his eyes.

“You understand that this house operates under certain conditions right now,” he said quietly. “Security is not for decoration. There are reasons you have been asked to remain inside the perimeter.”

“I understand.”

“And yet you want to leave that perimeter on a regular schedule.”

“I want to study,” I said. “I’m not asking to disappear. I’m asking for a schedule. Something structured. I can take a driver. I can check in. I’ll follow whatever rules you set.”

The words came out more carefully than I had planned. Part of me hated the carefulness. Another part knew it was the only language that worked with him.

Corren’s gaze remained locked on mine. The intensity of it made my skin warm in a way that had nothing to do with the request itself. I could still feel the memory of the night before—his hands, his mouth, the way he had held me open and ordered me to come. That memory lived in my body even while I stood here asking for something as ordinary as school.

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he spoke, voice low and precise.

“Come closer.”

I stepped forward until only a small space remained between us. He lifted one hand and rested it lightly against the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw. The touch was not rough, but it was unmistakably possessive. My breath caught.

“You live under my roof,” he said. “You eat the food I provide. You wear clothes I choose. You come to my study when I tell you to come. And now you want to add an outside schedule that removes you from my direct oversight for hours at a time.”

“I’m not trying to leave you,” I said. The honesty of the sentence surprised me. “I’m trying not to disappear.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—something darker and more complicated than simple refusal. His thumb stroked once along my jaw, a small movement that sent a ripple of heat down my spine.

“We’ll discuss the practical side of this later,” he said. “Drivers. Hours. Conditions. But first I need a clear answer to a different question.”

His hand shifted slightly, keeping my face turned up to his. The full weight of his stare settled on me, sharp and searching.

“Which of my workers convinced you to go to school?” he asked, each word measured. “Who convinced you to go to school?”