Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 7

Sydney buried herself in work like a woman possessed. The sterile glow of her office cubicle had become both her refuge and her prison. Every day, she arrived early, left late, and maintained only the bare minimum of interactions with her colleagues. Under her alternate persona, Nymeria, she was known for her efficiency and focus, a reputation she fostered to keep others at a distance. She wanted no openings, no cracks where someone like Alan could slip in.

And yet, avoiding him felt like trying to outrun her own shadow. Even though he made no effort to approach her, his quiet presence in the building was impossible to ignore. She would hear snippets of conversations from others—Alan handling a meeting with his usual calm, Alan helping a teammate resolve an issue—and every mention sent her nerves into a tangle.

Sydney planned her movements with military precision, choosing alternate routes through the hallways, and strategically timing her coffee breaks to avoid running into him. She skipped the cafeteria entirely during peak hours, opting instead to eat hastily at her desk or not at all. Yet, every now and then, she would catch a glimpse of him at a distance: his stoic expression, his composed demeanor, the way he seemed utterly self-contained. Her chest would tighten with an inexplicable mix of relief and regret.

At night, she would replay those fleeting moments in her mind, her thoughts oscillating between frustration and longing. She told herself this was for the best. She couldn't risk letting him in, couldn't risk the confusion and chaos that seemed to follow whenever he got too close. Distance would make things clearer. But each moment of separation felt like an ache she couldn't explain, a hollow place inside her growing wider with every passing day.

Her mother's calls, meanwhile, became a source of dread. Each time the phone lit up with her name, Sydney froze, staring at the screen as if it were a snake about to strike. Her mother's clipped voicemails piled up, full of veiled accusations and dismissive remarks that painted Sydney as unreliable and dramatic. She couldn't handle it—not the sharpness of her mother's words, nor the underlying pain of being so misunderstood. So she let the calls ring out, telling herself she'd deal with it later, though she knew she wouldn't.

The sleepless nights began to catch up with her. Her once-sharp focus at work started to blur, and her usually calm demeanor felt like a mask she was struggling to keep in place. The world outside her office felt oppressive, like a labyrinth of shadows, every corner hiding something that could hurt her. She was spiraling, and she knew it.

One particularly grueling evening, Sydney stayed at the office long after everyone else had left. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, the only sound in the otherwise silent space. Her eyes burned from staring at her computer screen, and her temples throbbed with the beginnings of a headache. She leaned back in her chair, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to stave off the growing tension in her body.

Her reflection in the darkened window caught her attention. She looked pale, almost ghostly, her features drawn with exhaustion. For a moment, she thought she saw movement behind her—a shadow passing just out of view. Her heart jumped, and she whipped around, only to find the empty rows of desks behind her.

"Get a grip, Sydney," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

She gathered her things and made her way to the parking lot, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. The building felt eerily quiet, every sound amplified in the emptiness. By the time she reached her car, a light drizzle had started, the rain tapping softly against the windshield as she climbed into the driver's seat.

As she pulled onto the main road, the drizzle turned into a downpour, the rain blurring her vision and making the streetlights glow like distant fireflies. Sydney turned on the wipers, trying to focus, but an unshakable sense of unease had settled over her. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white.

Then it started.

The dashboard lights flickered, casting the interior of the car in an erratic glow. The radio, which she hadn't even turned on, crackled to life, spitting out static. Sydney's breath hitched as she reached to turn it off, but the knob didn't respond.

"What the hell?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her breath hitched as she blinked hard, trying to focus on the road ahead.

It had started again—the darkness at the edge of her vision, the sharp, prickling chill crawling up her spine. Her thoughts spiraled. This isn't real. It can't be real. But the deeper her denial, the more vivid it became.

The car lurched forward suddenly, the dashboard flickering like a broken neon sign. The steering wheel twisted in her hands as if possessed, veering left and right without her control. "What the hell?" she gasped, yanking desperately to regain control.

Her phone buzzed in the cupholder, a mechanical voice cutting through the chaos. "Do not attempt to stop the car. You are being watched."

Her chest heaved, panic blossoming into raw terror. "No, no, no!" She slammed her foot on the brakes, but they didn't respond. Her car was no longer hers—it was a cage, a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

The rain thickened, obscuring everything outside. She could barely see where the road ended and the world dissolved into darkness.

Her heart raced as the car began to slow on its own, coming to a jerky halt near an isolated stretch of road. The sound of the engine dying was deafening in its finality. Sydney sat frozen, gripping the wheel as her pulse hammered in her ears.

Through the rain-streaked window, a figure emerged. Dressed in black from head to toe, the man moved with an eerie precision, his face hidden beneath the brim of a soaked hat.

"No," she whispered, panic clawing at her throat. She fumbled with the door, but it wouldn't budge. The locks clicked on their own, sealing her fate.

A sharp knock on the window made her jump. The man bent down, his silhouette monstrous against the night. He didn't speak, only gestured for her to roll the window down.

Sydney shook her head vehemently. "Leave me alone!" she screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the storm.

The next moment happened in a blur. The glass shattered, a gloved hand reaching in and unlocking the door. She barely had time to scream before she was dragged out into the freezing rain.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, kicking and thrashing. Her captor was silent, his grip unyielding as he shoved her into the back of the car. The world tilted as the doors slammed shut, plunging her into darkness.

Hours or minutes later—she couldn't tell—Sydney found herself tied.

A voice cut through the silence, deep and measured. "Your mother doesn't believe you're in danger."

Her head snapped up, his face now partially visible in the weak light. He held a phone in his hand, showing her a series of messages—pleas for ransom, and her mother's cold, dismissive responses.

She's lying again. Bring me her corpse then I'll believe you.

Sydney's chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "She wouldn't—she can't think I'm lying!"

The man leaned in, his expression devoid of sympathy. "Seems like Mommy doesn't care, does she? Maybe she thinks you deserve this."

Tears blurred her vision, mixing with the rainwater still dripping from her hair. "Please," she choked out, her voice cracking. "You don't have to do this."

He straightened, his shadow looming over her. "Your life depends on how convincing you can be. Get her to pay, or..." He trailed off, leaving the threat to hang in the air.

Sydney's mind raced, her thoughts a chaotic mess of fear and desperation. She tried to steady her breathing, but the walls of the car seemed to close in, her past traumas clawing at the edges of her sanity.

For a moment, she thought she could hear her mother's voice—cold and detached, accusing her of fabricating another story. The memory cut deeper than the man's threats.

And as the storm outside raged on, Sydney realized she was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

The car sped through the storm, the world outside a blur of rain and shadows. Sydney sat hunched against the cold leader chair, her hands bound tightly in front of her, her breathing ragged. Every bump and lurch of the vehicle jolted her body, but it was the voice of the man sitting in the driver seat that made her blood run cold.

Sydney's voice was hoarse from screaming. She had called out for help when they first took her, but her cries were swallowed by the relentless pounding of the rain and the roar of the car's engine. Now her throat ached, and the futility of her situation was sinking in.

"Please," she croaked, her voice cracking with desperation. "Let me go. I-I won't tell anyone. Just—just let me go!"

The man turned to face her, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. He leaned down, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

"You think this is about you?" he hissed. "You're nothing, Sydney. Just leverage. And if you want to make it out of this alive, you'd better hope your precious mother comes through."

At the mention of her mother, Sydney's stomach twisted. She had avoided her calls for weeks, shutting her out completely. What if her mother didn't believe she was in danger? What if she thought this was some elaborate ploy for attention? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through her.

The car came to a sudden stop, throwing Sydney forward. The driver grunted, muttering something under his breath as he climbed out, his boots splashing into the muddy ground. The other man grabbed Sydney by the arm, yanking her roughly to her feet.

"Move," he barked, dragging her out into the rain.

They were in some kind of clearing, surrounded by towering trees that swayed ominously in the storm. A dilapidated cabin loomed ahead, its windows dark and unwelcoming. Sydney stumbled as the man pushed her forward, her shoes sinking into the wet earth.

Inside, the air was damp and suffocating, the faint smell of mold clinging to the walls. The kidnapper shoved her into a chair, tying her wrists to the armrests with coarse rope. The knot bit into her skin, and she winced, tears streaming down her face.

"Listen carefully," the man said, crouching in front of her. His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made Sydney's heart pound. "You're going to call your mother. You're going to tell her exactly what I say, or this ends badly for you. Understand?"

Sydney nodded shakily, her tears blurring her vision. He handed her a phone, his gaze cold and unrelenting as she dialed her mother's number with trembling fingers.

The line rang once, twice, before her mother's voice answered, sharp and impatient.

"Sydney? What is it now?"

"M-Mom," Sydney stammered, her voice breaking. "I've been kidnapped. Please, you have to—"

The phone was snatched from her hand before she could finish. The kidnapper took over, his tone calm but laced with menace.

"You have 48 hours to transfer the money," he said. "If I don't see it, your daughter pays the price."

There was a pause, and Sydney could just barely hear her mother's voice through the receiver. It was faint, incredulous.

"She's making this up," her mother said dismissively. "This is just another one of her dramatics."

"No, Mom!" Sydney screamed, struggling against the ropes. "Please, it's real! I'm—"

The man hung up, his jaw tightening as he tossed the phone onto the table. Sydney's heart sank as she realized the truth: her mother didn't believe her.

The kidnapper's face darkened, his calm façade cracking as he turned his glare on Sydney.

"She doesn't believe you," he said flatly. "And I don't have time for games."

Sydney shook her head frantically, her tears coming faster. "Please, you don't understand. She—she'll come through. Just give her more time!"

But the man was already pacing, his movements agitated. The storm outside seemed to mirror his growing frustration, the thunder rumbling ominously as rain pounded against the roof.

"I should've known this would be a waste of time," he muttered. He stopped abruptly, turning to Sydney with a look that made her blood turn to ice. "You think I'm playing with you? You think this is a joke?"

He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. "If she doesn't pay, I'm going to make an example out of you. And I don't think anyone will even care."

"No," Sydney sobbed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't... Please..."

Her thoughts spiraled as she sat there, utterly helpless. She thought of Alan, his quiet presence, the way he always seemed to notice things others didn't. For a moment, she wished he could somehow sense that she was in danger, that he would burst through the door and save her. But the car remained silent, the only sound of her ragged breathing and the storm outside.

No one was coming. No one even knew.

She was alone, completely and terrifyingly alone.

Sydney's breaths came in ragged gasps as she huddled in the corner of the damp, dimly lit room, her body trembling uncontrollably. Her wrists were raw and bruised from the tight ropes that dug into her skin, and every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. The damp chill of the air clung to her like a second skin, amplifying her discomfort. The metallic taste of fear was sharp on her tongue, her voice hoarse from pleading with the man who now paced angrily in the center of the room.

"Please..." she croaked, her voice cracking. "I don't even know what you want. Why are you doing this to me?"

Her captor, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood, stopped and turned to face her. His gaze, cold and unrelenting, cut through her like a knife. "You don't get to ask questions," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You're just a pawn in a game you don't understand."

Tears streamed down Sydney's face as she shook her head desperately. "I don't know anything! I'm begging you—let me go! I swear I won't tell anyone. Please, I'll do anything..."

The man's expression twisted into a snarl as he stepped closer, his boots echoing ominously on the concrete floor. "Anything, huh?" he spat, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. The stench of cigarettes and stale sweat made her stomach churn. "Do you think your pathetic begging is going to fix this? Your life means nothing compared to what I've lost."

Sydney flinched as he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You ruined everything," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "And now, you're going to pay."

Her mind raced, trying to piece together his cryptic words. What had she ruined? She didn't even know this man—or so she thought. But his hatred felt personal, as if every blow, every cruel word, carried the weight of something deeper.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The man released her abruptly, as though her touch burned him. He turned away, his shoulders heaving with barely contained rage. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered, almost to himself. "But you will. Soon enough, you'll know exactly why you deserve this."

Sydney's heart sank, a fresh wave of terror washing over her. He wasn't just angry—he was vengeful. And she had no idea what she had done to provoke his wrath.