My Dad’s Basement, My Prisoners

Chapter 2

I pursed my lips, strolled into the dining room like I'd lived there forever, and plopped down onto the chair at the familiar table. My stubby little legs swung back and forth in the air.

I knew it was a tough pill for any normal person to swallow, but I'd stuck around, and that meant I could stop Dad from turning into a monster.

"Dad, I'm starving." I patted my hollow, grumbling belly and fired off my first command without a shred of hesitation. "You're going to cook for me!"

Cassian's face twisted like I'd just declared the moon was made of cheese. "You want... me to cook?" He jabbed a finger at his own nose, sheer disbelief plastered across his features. "I can't cook! I've never cooked a single thing in my entire life!"

"Liar." With exaggerated solemnity, I counted them off on my fingers. "You can whip up pizza, steak, barbecue, and your legendary seafood noodles! Those noodles are my absolute favorite!"

His frown deepened, his brows knitting together. "I never set foot in the kitchen. We have Martha."

"That's only because you haven't started learning yet!" I blinked my huge eyes, flashing him a glowing 'I've got total faith in you' grin. "Turns out you're a natural—you pick it up instantly! And no one can ever recreate that flavor you make. It's 'Dad's special flavor.'"

The corner of his mouth twitched violently, and his gaze darted unconsciously toward the wall clock.

I knew exactly what he was checking. In the original timeline, less than three hours from now, he'd be heading out to meet Celestine, the woman he pined for but could never possess, the very one who'd eventually shove him into the abyss.

If he started learning to cook right now, he'd almost certainly miss that all-important date.

Right on cue, my stomach unleashed a deafening growl!

I dropped my gaze, my voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. "I haven't eaten in three whole days. My stomach's practically caved in."

Cassian whipped his head around, skewering me with a stare so sharp it could cut glass. "What's going on? Don't your parents feed you?"

"That's not it." My voice dropped to a fragile whisper, a tiny sob threatening to break through. "I only have you, Daddy... but you're dead."

His whole body jolted as if struck by lightning.

"After you died, those jackal-like relatives tore the Fitzwilliam family fortune apart, and I was tossed into an orphanage." I lifted my chin, eyes brimming with tears, but I held them back with fierce defiance. My words were barely a murmur, yet each word hammered into the suffocating silence. "That orphanage was a cesspool. The director was secretly sending kids to wealthy pedophiles. In the dead of night, I slipped out, freed every child I could, and I was about to torch that filthy pit, burn it to ashes. But the moment the flames caught, they grabbed me."

Cassian's fingers unconsciously clenched into fists, knuckles bone-white from the pressure. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving violently.

After what felt like an eternity, he ground out the words through gritted teeth. "Then what about your mother... who is she?"

I bit down on my lip and shook my head, hard. "I don't know."

"How can you possibly not know your own mother?" His voice cracked with disbelief, laced with the raw sting of betrayal.

"She died giving birth to me. I never even saw her. Who she is… shouldn't I be asking you that, Daddy?"

Cassian was struck utterly dumb, his expression hardening as if he'd just confirmed I was crazy. He whirled around, stormed to the window, and turned his back to me.

I opened my mouth to say more, but my stomach cut me off with a thunderous grrrrowl. I was so ravenous my head was spinning.

That gurgling rumble seemed to yank Cassian back from the brink of breaking down. He turned, his eyes a tangled mess of emotions as he stared at me.

His gaze pinned me in place for a solid thirty seconds. Then, as if he'd finally made up his mind, he whipped out his phone, thumbed open a browser, and began hunting for a recipe.

Right at that moment, the doorbell chimed. It was a woman who I assumed was Martha.

She came in, arms laden with bulging grocery bags, and froze. Her eyes ballooned to the size of dinner plates as she took in the sight: Cassian standing helplessly in the kitchen, and me perched in the dining room, swinging my little legs back and forth.

"Sir… who is this… Oh, my stars! This little girl is the spitting image of you!"

Cassian cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "Ahem, a… a child staying here for a bit. She's hungry, so I'm about to fix something to eat."

"Oh, heavens above! Sir, you don't know the first thing about cooking! The kitchen gets all smoky—let me handle it!" Martha dropped her shopping bags with a thud and began rolling up her sleeves, already marching toward the stove.

I locked my eyes on Cassian, my gaze practically shimmering with hope.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, and then to my utter shock, he spoke up. "No need, Martha. Today… I want to give it a shot myself."

Martha's jaw dropped, her mouth forming a perfect O. Her gaze flicked wildly between the two of us. "Sir, are you saying… you're going to cook? With your own two hands?"

Cassian had already started clumsily rolling up his other sleeve, his strong forearm flexing into view. "Just walk me through it."

Martha looked from Cassian to me, then back again, and suddenly a lightbulb flickered behind her eyes. She beamed, her face crinkling into a grin so wide her eyes crinkled into slits. "Alright, alright! I'll be your sous-chef! Little miss, what's your heart set on?"

"Seafood noodles!" I cheered, hopping off the chair.