Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 11

The mansion's silence was oppressive. Every tick of the ornate grandfather clock in the hall seemed to echo in Sydney's ears, marking the passing of time she wasn't sure she wanted to face. She was safe here—or so everyone kept telling her—but safety felt like a fragile illusion, one she could barely believe in.

Her thoughts churned, restless and angry, as she sat curled up on the window seat in her room. The curtains were drawn open, sunlight streaming in through the glass, but it brought no warmth. Instead, it only seemed to highlight the cold, yawning emptiness inside her.

Nick's face still haunted her, his twisted smirk burned into her memory. But it wasn't just him. No, what clawed at her chest the most wasn't the fear of Nick returning. It was the memory of her mother's cold indifference.

"Bring me her corpse then I'll believe you."

The words replayed in her mind over and over, a fresh wound every time. She had begged her mother for help, desperate and terrified, but her pleas had been brushed aside as if they were meaningless. Her own mother had dismissed her cries and turned her back on her when she needed her the most.

How could she?

The betrayal felt like a knife lodged deep in her chest, twisting every time she thought about it. This was the woman who was supposed to protect her, to fight for her, to believe her. And yet, when the danger was real when Sydney's life had been hanging by a thread, her mother had done nothing.

Her fingers clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms as anger bubbled beneath the surface. She had tried to bury it, tried to focus on other things—on the relief of being alive, on Alan's quiet but steady presence—but the resentment refused to be ignored.

This wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

She didn't ask for this life, didn't ask to be caught in the tangled web of her family's dysfunction. She had spent years trying to make peace with the cracks in their foundation, but this... this was too much. Her mother's betrayal wasn't something she could just swallow and move on from.

Sydney's gaze dropped to her hands, trembling in her lap. For so long, she had been passive, letting the currents of her life drag her wherever they pleased. But now, sitting in the quiet of her room, with the ache of her mother's betrayal gnawing at her insides, she realized she couldn't do it anymore.

She couldn't just sit here and let the world tear her apart. She had to do something.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mix of fear and determination. She didn't know what, exactly, she could do, but she couldn't let this stand. The pain, the injustice—it was all too much. She had spent her life trying to be good, to be what everyone expected her to be, and where had it gotten her? Nowhere.

Her mother had failed her. That much was clear. But Sydney couldn't afford to fail herself.

The thought was both liberating and terrifying. For so long, she had been trapped in the shadow of her mother's choices, trying to please her, to prove herself worthy of love and approval. But now, she saw the truth. Nothing she did would ever be enough.

A knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. She tensed, her heart leaping into her throat.

"It's me," Alan's voice called from the other side. "Can I come in?"

She hesitated, her emotions still raw, but eventually, she managed a quiet, "Yeah."

The door creaked open, and Alan stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, his gaze sweeping over her as if assessing her state.

"You've been up here all morning," he said, his voice low. "Are you okay?"

She almost laughed at the question. Was she okay? Not even close. But she didn't know how to say that, how to put the mess inside her into words.

"I'm fine," she said instead, though the crack in her voice betrayed her.

Alan's expression softened, and he crossed the room, sitting down in the armchair by the window. He didn't push her, didn't demand answers, and for that, she was grateful.

After a long moment, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think it's possible to forgive someone who's hurt you so deeply?"

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "I think it depends on the person and what they've done. Why?"

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "My mother," she said finally, the words heavy on her tongue. "She didn't believe me. When I was taken... she thought I was lying. She didn't care."

Alan's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt, letting her continue at her own pace.

"I keep trying to understand why," she said, her voice trembling. "Why she didn't believe me. Why she didn't do anything? But I can't. And it's killing me."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he met her gaze. "Sydney," he said quietly, "you don't have to forgive her. Not if you're not ready. Not if you don't want to."

The simplicity of his words caught her off guard. For so long, she had felt like forgiveness was something she owed her mother like it was the only way to move forward. But hearing Alan say it... it felt like a weight lifting off her chest.

"What if I don't want to forgive her?" she asked, her voice small. "What if I want to do something about it instead? What if it's not enough to just sit here and pretend like everything's okay?"

Alan's eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment but in thought. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice growing steadier. "But it feels unfair. She doesn't get to just... move on like nothing happened. She doesn't get to pretend she didn't abandon me when I needed her."

Alan nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Then don't let her," he said simply. "You have every right to feel the way you do, and you have every right to do something about it. But whatever you decide, make sure it's for you—not for her."

His words settled over her, grounding her in a way she hadn't expected. She didn't know what she was going to do, not yet. But for the first time, she felt like she had a choice. And that, at least, was something.

Sydney's breath fogged up the window as she leaned her forehead against the cold glass, her gaze fixed on the sprawling garden below. The sharp edges of her emotions had dulled slightly after what Alan said, but the embers of her anger still smoldered, fueled by a new resolve.

The plan forming in her mind was reckless. No, more than reckless—it was dangerous, wild, and teetering on the edge of outright defiance. But wasn't that what her life had always been missing? She had spent so long shrinking herself to fit into the mold others had carved for her, sacrificing her desires, her voice, and her strength, for people who wouldn't have done the same for her.

Not anymore.

Her mother's betrayal had lit a fire in her chest, one that refused to be extinguished. If her mother wanted to move on as if nothing had happened, then fine. But Sydney wouldn't make it that easy. She wouldn't let her mother walk away unscathed, unbothered, while she was left with the scars.

The consequences didn't matter anymore. Sydney was done with the fear, done with the hesitation that had ruled her for so long. If crossing boundaries was what it took to take back control of her life, then so be it.

What she was thinking was bold, audacious, and maybe even a little cruel, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted her mother to feel the weight of her choices, wanted her to understand what it felt like to be abandoned, ignored, cast aside.

An eye for an eye, a dark voice whispered in her mind, and for once, she didn't shy away from it.

The first step was simple: she'd confront her mother, force her to face the truth she had been so eager to deny. But this wouldn't be a quiet, teary reconciliation. No, Sydney wanted her mother to feel every ounce of her pain, to see the consequences of her neglect etched into every word, every accusation.

But that wasn't enough. Words were fleeting, easily dismissed, or twisted. Actions, on the other hand, left a mark.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she let herself imagine it. The freedom, the vindication, the satisfaction of finally holding the reins.

But the fear lingered too, a quiet voice reminding her of what she stood to lose. Crossing boundaries would change everything, not just with her mother but with the entire family.

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her racing thoughts. This wasn't just about revenge. It was about reclaiming herself, taking back the power that had been stolen from her, even if it meant stepping into the unknown.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Alan said, she almost forgot he was there.

"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just... thinking."

He didn't move closer, his posture careful, as if he could sense the storm brewing inside her. "About what?"

Sydney swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Terrible things."

Alan's brow furrowed, and he took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. "Sydney... what are you planning?"

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Her chest heaved with her next breath, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"I want to steal you from her," she said, her words falling from her lips like a challenge. Her heart thundered as she stared up at him, unflinching. "What are you gonna do about it?"

His eyes widened, his breath catching as the weight of her declaration settled between them. The silence was deafening, charged with a tension so thick it was almost unbearable.

It takes a moment for him to process... and when he did, he stepped back, his hand trembling at his side as though the very air around her was something he needed to resist. His eyes burned with a mixture of frustration, desire, and something dangerously close to surrender.

"Sydney," he said, his voice low and strained, the word cracking in the charged silence between them. "You don't understand what you're asking."

Sydney's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at him, every word she had spoken hanging heavily in the air between them. She had thrown caution to the wind, ready to confront the truth she had been denying for so long. But now, standing before him, with the weight of his gaze on her, she felt something else—something darker, sharper.

"I know it's wrong. I know it's dangerous. But I can't pretend anymore, Alan. I don't want to pretend," she confessed, her voice shaky, but resolute. The words felt like freedom slipping from her lips, and yet, the burden of them weighed heavy on her soul.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—anger, disappointment, or perhaps a mixture of both. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides, as though holding back some deep, primal urge.

"Or you're just gonna use me to hurt her?" he asked, his voice rough with a biting edge. "If you do, I won't let you." He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "I won't let you play a game where you're just gonna hurt me in the end. I'm not a toy, Sydney."

The words hit her like a slap to the face. The truth in them made her chest tighten, guilt sinking in like a lead weight. She hadn't realized—no, admitted—until now that part of her desire to be with him had been about more than just her own longing. She wanted to hurt her mother. She wanted to hurt the woman who had abandoned her, who had never protected her, who had failed her in every way.

Alan's voice, strained and filled with raw emotion, pulled her from her thoughts. "You're playing with fire, and I won't let you burn me just to feel the heat." He stepped back again, his eyes hardening with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. "I won't be your pawn, Sydney. Not in this game."

He turned away, leaving her standing there, staring at his retreating figure, her heart screaming for him to stop, to turn back, to touch her again. But Alan didn't look back. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he walked away, leaving her in the cold silence of the room they had just shared.

Sydney stood frozen, the echo of his words still ringing in her ears. I won't let you hurt me. I'm not a toy.

Her heart twisted as the guilt settled deeper. Alan was right—he was right. She had wanted him, yes, but there was a part of her, buried deep down, that wanted to use him to hurt her mother. To make her feel the pain she had felt for all those years of abandonment.

And now, standing in the aftermath of that moment, Sydney realized how dangerous that impulse was. It wasn't just her feelings for Alan—it was the anger and hurt she had carried for so long, and she had nearly let it destroy her chances with him.

She sank down onto the bed, her hands gripping the sheets as if they could anchor her in the overwhelming wave of emotions that crashed over her. She wanted him—God, how she wanted him—but the realization that she had used him as a weapon against her mother, even if subconsciously, made her sick.

A knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, but she didn't move. She couldn't. Her heart ached too much to face anyone, even if it was him. She was afraid of the judgment in his eyes, afraid of the hurt she had caused.

The door creaked open, but no one entered. A soft voice filtered through the crack, low and cautious, yet laced with undeniable tension.

"Sydney... I think you need some time to think about this. But whatever it is... just know that I won't let you use me for this." His voice grew softer, but there was an unmistakable resolve in his words. "I'm willing to play with the fire if you will ask me... even if it burns me, Sydney... but not like this. Not when it's to hurt someone else. intentionally."

The silence that followed felt deafening. The weight of his words pressed on her chest, suffocating her, while the guilt slowly ate away at her. She had been selfish, no doubt, in wanting him for herself. But what had she really wanted? To hurt her mother? To destroy the one thing that had already shattered her, just to feel some semblance of power?

The guilt was overwhelming, choking her in its grip, but as his words lingered in the air, Sydney realized that maybe... maybe this wasn't the kind of love she needed to seek. Not in a way that was born from revenge.

His footsteps retreated, and the door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving her in the dim room, with only the echo of his warning and the heat of his absence to keep her company. She had to think—she had to decide where her heart was truly leading her.

Had she been seeking Alan out of desire, or was it something darker, something she'd tried to bury under layers of anger and heartbreak?

His words burned into her. Not like this. It wasn't just about the forbidden love—they both knew that path was a fire they were already walking. But playing with fire to hurt others? That was something neither of them could afford.

She sank deeper into the bed, her mind whirling. She didn't have the answers. She didn't even know what she was truly seeking anymore. But for the first time, she understood that she couldn't keep using him as a tool in her quest to hurt her mother.

And just like that, the foundation of her feelings shifted, and the path forward became clouded with uncertainty.