Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 2

The office was alive with the usual hum of keyboards and phones, but today, there was a subtle shift in the air—a low murmur that ran through the cubicles, growing louder with each passing hour. It wasn't until Sydney sat down at her desk, settling in for another busy day, that she caught the full force of the gossip.

"Have you heard about Nymeria?" Karen's voice rang out, a little too loud, as she leaned across the partition to whisper to her coworkers. "Apparently, she's connected to the Turners."

Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, her eyes flicking toward Sydney, who was already absorbed in her work. Sydney didn't look up, but the mention of the Turners made her stomach tighten. She'd been working hard to keep her identity hidden, to maintain a low profile. This? This was the last thing she needed.

"Seriously?" another voice chimed in, Monic, a woman from the marketing department. "I thought she was just some intern or something. I didn't know she had connections."

Karen nodded, a sneer creeping into her expression. "Yeah, well, that's the rumor going around. They say she's the daughter of the owner. The Turners. Must be nice, huh? Coming into a company and acting like she's one of us."

Sydney could feel the eyes on her now, but she refused to acknowledge them. She kept her focus on the report in front of her, the steady clicking of her pen the only sound she could hear over the whispers. She'd heard rumors like this before—whispers about her being related to powerful people—but she'd never confirmed or denied them. It was safer that way.

"Doesn't look like a Turner," Monic scoffed. "She's too... plain for that. Not even one designer piece. I mean, who doesn't wear a decent suit when they're working for a family empire like that?"

"Exactly," Karen snorted, her eyes glinting with disdain. "She's just a low-level worker, trying to get by. I bet she needs the money. Doesn't look like she has anything else to offer."

The harsh words cut through the air, but Sydney remained perfectly still, her face an unreadable mask. She was used to this. People didn't know her. They didn't know who she really was, and that was exactly how she wanted it. If they thought she was some lowly commoner, desperate for a paycheck, then so be it.

The truth didn't matter to them. To them, she was just a means to an end—another employee in the sea of faceless workers.

"And if she's really part of the Turners," Karen continued, oblivious to the fact that Sydney could hear every word, "then I can't wait to see if she'll actually do something with it. I bet she'll just sit there and play pretend like the rest of them."

Sydney's hand gripped the pen tighter, the tension in her jaw making it hard to focus. She wasn't going to let them get to her. She wasn't here to prove anything to anyone. But there was a part of her—just a small, lingering part—that wanted to shout out the truth, to set the record straight. But she kept quiet. There was nothing to prove.

Just as Karen finished her rant, the door to the office opened, and Alan Turner walked in. His presence was always felt, cold and commanding. He didn't look anyone in the eye, not even Sydney, as he passed by. The whispers about him had long since turned into a mix of awe and fear among the staff. He was the CEO of the family company, and though he spent most of his time at Evans Empire, his visits were always marked by his strict, authoritative air.

Karen's eyes immediately followed Alan as he passed, her interest so obvious that it almost felt comical. She stood straighter, trying to catch his attention, but Alan never even looked her way. Instead, he walked straight into his office, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Karen sighed dramatically. "That man... If I didn't know better, I'd say he only has eyes for his company."

"Probably too busy for anyone else," Monic murmured, and the two exchanged knowing glances.

Sydney rolled her eyes internally but remained focused on her work. Alan's presence was something she had grown accustomed to—silent, distant, cold. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was strictly business. But sometimes, there were moments, brief encounters in the elevator, in the hallway, where their eyes would meet, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

He knew she wasn't part of the game they played in this building. She knew he was only here because his family owned the place, and his responsibilities didn't end at the boardroom.

It wasn't until later in the day that they crossed paths again. Sydney was in the elevator, her eyes scanning the documents in her hands when the doors slid open, and Alan stepped inside. The air between them was thick with silence, but there was something comforting about it. They didn't need to speak; there was no reason to.

Just as the elevator reached its floor, Alan's voice broke the quiet. "You handle them greatly," he said, though his gaze remained forward. "They'll say whatever they want... see you later."

Sydney's eyes flicked to him in surprise, but she said nothing. She wasn't sure what prompted him to speak, but his words were oddly reassuring. It was a brief, unexpected moment of kindness—or maybe just acknowledgment. She wasn't sure.

The elevator dinged, and Alan stepped out, his cold demeanor never wavering. Sydney was left standing there, a strange feeling lingering in the air. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful or confused, but for the first time in a long while, the gossip didn't sting as much.

She had learned long ago that people were always going to talk. What mattered was what she did next. And for now, that meant pushing forward, keeping her head down, and doing her job—no matter what anyone thought of her.

When she got home, she didn't bother eating anymore, she went straight to her room to sleep and rest.

The room was still and dark, except for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Sydney tossed and turned, her sleep restless as her subconscious pulled her into the depths of a memory she had tried for years to forget.

She was twelve again, crouched in the cramped cabinet, clutching her mother's phone with trembling hands. The air was thick with fear, and her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid it would give her away.

"Sydney? Listen to me," the officer's voice on the other end of the line said. "Stay hidden. Don't move. We're on our way."

"O-okay," she stammered, tears streaming silently down her face.

Through the crack in the cabinet door, she saw him—Nick, her stepfather, looming over her mother. His rage filled the room, a suffocating presence that made her feel smaller than ever.

"You pushed me to this!" Nick bellowed, gripping her mother's hair.

"You'll never touch her," her mother spat back, her voice defiant even as bruises darkened her skin. "Not my daughter."

Nick's face twisted with fury. "Where is she?!"

Sydney's mother's gaze flicked toward the cabinet for the briefest second before she masked it with a glare.

"She's not here. You'll never find her," her mother said, her voice steady despite the quiver in her hands.

Nick stormed through the room, overturning furniture in his search. Sydney's breath hitched as she watched her mother reach under the cabinet. Her fingers closed around the hilt of a knife, and she pulled it free.

"I love you," her mother whispered, her lips barely moving.

Tears blurred Sydney's vision. "I love you too," she mouthed silently, clutching the phone tighter.

Nick turned back, his steps heavy and deliberate as he stalked toward her mother. "Enough games. Where is she?"

"You'll never touch her!" her mother screamed, lunging at him with the knife.

But Nick was faster. He caught her wrist, twisted it cruelly, and sent the blade clattering to the floor. With a vicious slap, he sent her mother sprawling to the ground.

"No!" Sydney screamed, throwing open the cabinet door and running to her mother's side.

"Sydney, no!" her mother cried, her voice filled with equal parts terror and desperation.

Nick's gaze snapped to Sydney, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "There you are."

Sydney froze under his predatory stare, but her mother, battered and broken, found the strength to push Nick away. "Run!"

Instead, Sydney grabbed the knife from the floor. "Stay away from her!" she screamed, the blade shaking in her hands.

Nick sneered and stepped toward her.

Before he could get any closer, Sydney lunged, driving the knife into his side. Her screams echoed through the room as she struck again and again, tears streaming down her face.

"Sydney, stop!" her mother's weak voice broke through the haze. "It's over."

Sydney dropped the knife, her hands shaking as blood smeared across her trembling fingers. She turned to her mother, collapsing to her knees.

"Mom, I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Her mother's trembling hand cupped Sydney's face. "None of this is your fault," she whispered. "But you have to live, Sydney. Promise me. Tell them... I did it."

"No," Sydney whispered, shaking her head furiously. "I can't. I won't!"

"You have to," her mother rasped, her voice fading. "Live."

Her mother's eyes fluttered closed, her hand slipping from Sydney's cheek.

"Mom?" Sydney shook her. "No. Please, no! Don't leave me!"

Her cries filled the room, her small frame hunched over her mother's lifeless body as sirens wailed in the distance.

Sydney jolted awake, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She clutched her chest, trying to calm the rapid pounding of her heart. Sweat clung to her skin, and her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair.

The air in the mansion felt thick with tension as Sydney walked through the dimly lit hallway, her mind still haunted by the remnants of her nightmare. She wasn't sure what had driven her downstairs for water, but something about the silence in the house had made her restless. Now, her pulse was still racing, and she was desperate for a moment of calm.

But when she reached the living room, she froze.

Alan was there. In the shadows, the light from the hallway spilled faintly over his form, his back to her. His silhouette seemed to loom unnervingly large against the quiet backdrop of the room.

She hadn't expected him to be up so late. She hadn't expected to encounter him at all.

Sydney's breath hitched involuntarily as he turned slowly as if sensing her presence. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to vibrate with an unspoken intensity.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Alan's voice was low, a touch gravelly as if he'd been awake for hours already, not just minutes.

Sydney swallowed, her pulse spiking again. "No," she replied, the word coming out sharper than she intended. Her mind raced to recall the last interaction they'd had—a brief exchange over coffee earlier that morning and at work. But this felt different. He felt different.

Alan didn't say anything more, just watched her, his gaze unwavering, calculating. There was a strange stillness in him that made her skin prickle, a calmness that almost felt predatory. His silence seemed to draw her in, and yet, it made her want to back away.

She forced herself to speak, her voice tinged with the faintest irritation, masking the unease she felt. "You've been drinking," she observed, eyeing the half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was more a flicker than a real expression. "Does it bother you?"

Sydney stood a little straighter, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or something else that caused her unease. "Not really," she answered, though she wasn't sure it was the truth.

His gaze flickered to her hands—still clutching the glass of water—and then back to her eyes, his stare unrelenting. "You seem tense," he said, his tone observant but soft. "Something on your mind?"

The question hit her like a dart. She hesitated, caught off guard by the directness of it. There was something almost intrusive about the way he watched her like he was seeing straight through her.

Sydney tightened her grip on the water glass, her knuckles going white. She wasn't sure how to respond, but the silence stretched too long.

"I'm fine," she muttered, but her words felt empty even to her own ears.

Alan didn't seem convinced. Slowly, he stood up from his seat and moved toward her, his steps measured, and purposeful. His presence loomed larger with every step, filling the space between them.

Sydney instinctively took a step back, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She wasn't sure what it was about him that set her on edge. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze or the way his movements seemed deliberate, and calculated. Or perhaps it was the unsettling calmness that surrounded him, making her feel like she was the one losing control.

"Don't worry," Alan murmured, stopping just a few inches from her. "I won't bite."

His voice was so quiet, so composed, that it almost felt like a dare. A challenge.

Sydney's throat felt tight, her breath shallow. She wanted to take another step back, to distance herself, but she found herself rooted to the spot. Something in the air between them had shifted—something dangerous, something volatile. She felt it now, more than ever.

"Then why are you so close?" she asked, trying to mask the quiver in her voice with forced bravado.

Alan's lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile, his eyes dark with a hint of amusement. "Just making sure you're alright," he said, his voice low and smooth.

The proximity between them seemed to increase the tension in the room, and Sydney couldn't help but feel a prickling awareness in every inch of her skin. She had no idea why she felt so unsettled by him, or why she was suddenly so aware of his every move.

"You don't need to," she replied quickly, her voice tight. "I'm perfectly fine."

Alan's gaze softened, but only slightly. He was still too close for comfort. "You're not," he murmured. "But I won't push."

The words hung in the air, an unspoken invitation, or perhaps a warning. Sydney didn't know which.

The moment stretched between them, thick with tension, neither one of them willing to break the silence. The room felt smaller now, suffocating, as if every breath was measured, every movement scrutinized.

Finally, Sydney stepped back, breaking the charged silence. Her heart was still racing, but she couldn't stay any longer. "I should get some sleep," she muttered, her voice colder than she intended.

Alan simply nodded, watching her, his expression unreadable. "As you wish," he said, his tone casual, though something was lurking beneath it. Something that made her feel like he was waiting for her to make a mistake—waiting for her to crack.

Sydney didn't look back as she turned and left the room, her steps quick and hurried. But the tension lingered in the air, and she couldn't shake the feeling that Alan wasn't finished with her yet.