Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 16

The day of the event arrived with a force that shook Sydney to her core. The grand gala for the Evans Empire-a celebration of its expansion and success-was just around the corner. It was the kind of high-profile event that required the perfect combination of grace, poise, and a touch of something that could keep the guests talking for days. But Sydney was no longer interested in playing the part of the invisible office worker. She had shed that version of herself the moment she had embraced her darker, more powerful self-the one who no longer cowered in the shadows of others.

As she stood in front of her full-length mirror, the transformation was startling. Gone were the oversized shirts, the carefully concealed baggy clothes, the long, dull skirts. Instead, she wore a fitted black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, plunging just low enough to hint at what lay beneath, and tight enough to make her feel powerful. The fabric shimmered under the lights of her bedroom, as if it, too, knew something had changed.

Her red lipstick was bold, a statement. The same red that had only a few weeks ago seemed out of place now felt like a declaration of war, a sign that she had shed the woman she had once been, the one who had allowed her mother's indifference to define her. Sydney was no longer the timid, unsure woman who had allowed herself to be humiliated by her colleagues.

Tonight, she was Sydney Evans. The heiress. The successor.

She applied a final coat of lipstick, her eyes narrowing as she looked at herself one last time. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. The insecurities, the hesitations-they had all been washed away, buried beneath layers of defiance. She had made peace with the truth that had haunted her for years-her mother had abandoned her the night she was kidnapped, and there was no use in pretending that she hadn't. No more pretending. No more waiting for approval from someone who didn't even care.

The Evans name-her name-was as much a part of her as the blood running through her veins, and tonight she was going to claim it. Every part of it.

The venue was as grand as the event itself, an opulent ballroom glittering with crystal chandeliers and the murmur of high society. Sydney stepped out of the car with the same daring air she had worn to the gala. She could feel eyes on her immediately, their gazes shifting as they tried to place her, recognize her, but she remained composed, her head held high.

As she entered the venue, the buzz in the air grew louder. Whispers seemed to follow her as she walked down the marble floor, the soft click of her heels echoing in the grand space. People paused, their conversations faltering when they saw her.

She wasn't the shy, nondescript employee anymore. She wasn't the meek Nymeria they all thought they knew. No, tonight she was Sydney Evans-the woman who had a right to walk with confidence. She could feel the shift in the room as soon as she stepped into the light, the air thickening with intrigue.

Her coworkers, the ones who had once made snide remarks, and who had tried to bully her into submission, stared in disbelief. They had never seen her like this-not with her shoulders back, head high, and that undeniable fire in her eyes. She caught the eyes of one of the women who had been among the worst of her tormentors, and the woman's face drained of color as she recognized Sydney for who she truly was.

The gossip that had spread throughout the office was true-Sydney Evans, the heiress to the Evans fortune, and the successor to the Evans Empire.

Her former tormentor tried to hide her shock, but Sydney could see it-the way her colleague's face twitched in disbelief, the small, nervous laugh that followed her realization. Sydney smiled coldly, her presence commanding, like a queen returning to her throne.

"Are you all right?" one of her colleagues asked, feigning concern.

Sydney didn't even look at her, her smile sharp and knowing as she walked away. "Fine," she replied without missing a beat. "Just fine."

The evening continued, and Sydney felt the eyes of the crowd follow her every move. Their reactions spoke louder than anything they could have said aloud. Some people gossiped, others congratulated her on her success, but she didn't care about their opinions. She was the heiress. She was the future of this empire, and no one would dare stand in her way.

The gala continued around them, a swirl of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. Sydney, standing amidst the crowd, moved like a queen in her own right, the weight of her newfound identity settling around her with every step. She knew the eyes were on her, felt the whispers behind her back, but she no longer cared. She was done with hiding, done with pretending. Tonight, she was Sydney Evans, the heiress, and she would not apologize for it.

Yet, despite the company of the crowd, the lively chatter, and the clinking of champagne flutes, there was an unmistakable tension in the air. Sydney could feel it, even if no one else could. It was the weight of a thousand unspoken words between her and Alan.

They didn't speak to each other.

Not a word passed between them, though their proximity was undeniable. Sydney moved through the room, greeting important figures and mingling with executives, yet in the corner of her eye, she could feel Alan's gaze never leaving her.

It was suffocating. It was intense.

He stood across the room, his presence as commanding as ever, but this time there was no conversation, no flirtation, just a silent, burning intensity. Sydney could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move, lingering on her figure, drinking in the sight of her. His gaze was heavy, almost palpable, and she could feel the heat of it from across the room like fingers trailing down her skin, unspoken words pressing against her mind.

Alan didn't try to hide it-his eyes raked over her body with a hunger so raw it could almost be felt in the air. He didn't bother pretending he wasn't watching her, didn't try to mask the way his eyes moved over her from head to toe, undressing her with a glance. His expression was dark, filled with something unspoken, something dangerous that made her pulse quicken every time she caught his stare.

She refused to meet his eyes for too long, but it didn't stop her from feeling the weight of his gaze. It burned into her, demanding attention, but she would not give him the satisfaction. Instead, she focused on the conversations around her, pretending to be engrossed in the latest business updates, the latest gossip. But all the while, his eyes remained on her, unwavering, constant.

Every glance was a claim. Every look was a promise.

It wasn't just the way he looked at her; it was the intensity, the force behind it. It was as if he wanted to consume her as if his gaze was a prelude to something far more carnal, far more dangerous. It was a game between them, one unspoken, and yet both knew the rules.

Alan stood there, tall, broad, a shadow in the midst of the crowd, like a predator watching his prey. He didn't care who saw, who noticed. His eyes never left her, always watching, always lingering. And Sydney knew it, felt it deep in her bones, like a pulse that wouldn't let her breathe. His gaze was the most intimate thing she had ever felt-more than a touch, more than a whisper.

It was a claim. And the longer she felt it, the more it stirred something in her-a dangerous, fiery heat she didn't want to admit.

She could feel her body reacting to him, despite her best efforts to keep her composure. Her breath hitched, her heart raced, and every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to escape the pressure building in her chest. But she stood firm.

And still, he stared.

The feeling of his eyes on her was consuming, and despite her resolve, she couldn't ignore the heat pooling inside her. She couldn't avoid the undeniable pull that seemed to tighten with every second, every lingering moment he held her in his gaze.

And he wasn't going to stop.

Alan knew the game he was playing. He didn't need to speak to her to make his intentions clear. His eyes, his silence, said everything. She could feel it-the tension between them, thick like a storm waiting to break. The thrill of knowing that they were the only two who understood the unspoken language, the shared history that bound them together in this strange, forbidden dance.

Sydney couldn't stand it any longer. The tension between her and Alan was suffocating, like an electric charge in the air that neither of them dared to acknowledge directly but felt all the same. It buzzed and crackled, pushing her to the edge, and she needed to escape the weight of it. She needed something-anything-to distract her.

Her gaze flickered across the room, and there, among the sea of faces, she saw her mother talking to one of her business partners. She was dressed in an elegant gown, her posture impeccable as usual. But there was something different tonight. She was softer, almost warmer, a little more approachable. Sydney hadn't missed how her mother had treated her with slightly more kindness since her return, though the edge of her coldness never fully faded.

Still, it was enough. It was enough to make Sydney feel like she could-just for a moment-take refuge in her mother's presence. She walked toward the pair with a steady gait, her heels clicking on the polished floor, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

Her mother turned to acknowledge her, her eyes softening just a fraction. "Sydney," she greeted, her voice smoother than usual. She glanced at her partner and gave a polite nod. "This is Mr. Caldwell, one of the key investors in the Evans Empire. Mr. Caldwell, my daughter Sydney."

Mr. Caldwell, a middle-aged man with sharp features, gave her a respectful nod. Sydney responded with a small, composed smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Caldwell," she said, her voice neutral, a little forced.

"I've heard a lot about you," Mr. Caldwell said, his smile turning into a more genuine one. "Your mother speaks highly of you."

Sydney could barely mask the faint skepticism that tugged at her lips. Her mother, the woman who had abandoned her when she needed her most, now spoke highly of her? It was almost laughable.

But instead of responding with the biting sarcasm that had been so natural for her in the past, Sydney simply nodded, allowing the moment to pass without much acknowledgment.

Her mother, sensing the distance in Sydney's demeanor, cleared her throat. "You've been quite the enigma lately, Syd. I'm glad you decided to come tonight. You've grown so much."

Sydney's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. The woman standing before her might have been her mother, but it felt like they were strangers.

"I thought I should make an appearance," Sydney replied, her tone clipped. "After all, I am part of this empire too." Her words lingered in the air, sharp with a hidden meaning. She wasn't just Sydney Evans anymore-she wasn't some silent, meek figure in the background. She was the heir, and the world needed to know it.

Her mother studied her for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Then, she turned back to Mr. Caldwell, a silent dismissal. "Excuse us, Mr. Caldwell. We'll talk more later. I think my daughter has some things to say."

Sydney stiffened, the words cutting deeper than she had expected. But instead of lashing out, she forced herself to stay calm, to hold her composure. She had bigger things on her mind-Alan, the fire in his gaze, the way he was staring at her even now from across the room. She couldn't afford to get wrapped up in her mother's games tonight.

Once Mr. Caldwell excused himself, her mother turned back to her, looking her up and down. "You've changed," she remarked, her voice quieter now, almost as though she were trying to find the right words. "I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not."

Sydney met her mother's gaze, the weight of everything they hadn't said pressing on her chest. "You don't get to judge me anymore," she said quietly, her words sharp but controlled. "You lost that right the moment you walked away from me. When I needed you most."

Her mother's eyes flickered with something that almost resembled regret, but it was gone before it could settle. "You think you've seen the worst of me, Syd. You think you know everything, but you don't."

"I don't care to know," Sydney replied, her voice steady. "I don't need to hear any more of your excuses. I've done just fine without you."

There was a long silence between them, the air thick with unspoken truths. Her mother didn't say anything at first, as if unsure how to respond. Then, finally, she spoke in a low, almost weary tone.

"I never meant to hurt you."

Sydney looked her mother in the eyes, searching for the sincerity she had longed for as a child, but all she found was an empty apology, a hollow gesture. She had spent so many years yearning for her mother's approval, her love, but she had finally come to terms with the fact that it would never come.

"I'm not your little girl anymore," Sydney said, her voice soft, but her eyes fierce with newfound strength. "I don't need your approval, and I don't need your love. What I need now is nothing from you."

Her mother opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself, seemingly realizing that she couldn't argue with the woman Sydney had become. Instead, she simply nodded, her expression unreadable.

Sydney took a deep breath as she stepped away from her mother, the weight of their conversation still hanging heavy in the air. Her heels clicked against the floor as she moved through the gala, trying to blend in with the crowd, trying to forget the tension that had built up between her and Alan all night.

But as she made her way through the room, she could feel his eyes on her. She didn't need to look to know he was watching-his presence was suffocating, magnetic. She had already been aware of it for the past few hours, his gaze following her like a predator tracking its prey. It was an intoxicating feeling, the power he wielded over her with just a look.

She tried to focus on the people around her, the chatter, the clinking of glasses, but it was all white noise compared to the beating of her own heart. And then, she felt it-a presence behind her, so close that she could almost feel his breath on her skin.

"Don't move," came the low, husky voice that sent a shiver down her spine. Alan.

Her pulse quickened, and she stilled, unsure of whether to turn around or keep walking. But before she could make up her mind, his voice came again, softer, more intimate, like he was speaking only to her.

"Wipe your lipstick," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the words sending an instant spark through her body. "Meet me at the balcony."

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she didn't know if she should listen or walk away. But the fire that had been smoldering inside her since their first interaction tonight burned hotter now. She couldn't deny it anymore-the pull, the need for him was undeniable, and it made her head spin.

Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking with his for just a brief moment. His gaze was predatory, dark with intent, and she could feel every inch of her body responding to him. Without saying a word, she nodded once, a silent agreement.

As she walked away, wiping the red lipstick from her lips, her mind raced. What was he planning? Was she ready for whatever he had in store for her? But as the thoughts rushed through her, one thing became clear-she didn't care. She wanted it. She wanted him.

The balcony doors loomed. Sydney stepped through, the night air a shock against her skin. City lights were insignificant compared to the heat radiating from Alan, a dark silhouette against the railing. His eyes, gleaming with something predatory, followed her every move. A low murmur escaped him, a breathy, "God, you're beautiful."

He didn't need words; his gaze was a brand. But the compliment, husky and raw, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She felt it, a wildfire spreading through her veins. Her breath caught.

He moved, a predator closing in. His hand, a burning brand, grazed her jaw. "That dress...it's exquisite." The touch ignited a storm within her. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a primal sound that resonated deep within her own body.

He didn't need to speak his desire. It was in the way he moved, the way he looked at her, the way his body seemed to vibrate with barely contained need. A whispered, "You drive me wild, Sydney," was a caress against her ear. Her body responded instinctively, a desperate yearning mirroring his own.

She leaned into him, a silent plea. He couldn't stand it any longer. The simmering tension, the barely contained desire, exploded. He claimed her lips, a fierce, desperate kiss that was both a question and an answer. His mouth was a brand, demanding, possessive. It wasn't a gentle touch; it was a conquest, a taking. Her breath hitched as his lips devoured hers, a hungry pressure that stole her breath and ignited a fire in her core. His tongue sought entry, a bold invasion that sparked a wildfire of sensation.

It was a kiss that tasted of desperation, of need, of a hunger that had been building for too long.

They both didn't care if someone might see them.

His hands moved with a possessive urgency, exploring the curve of her back, and the delicate skin of her neck. She responded with equal fervor, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more, always needing more. The world dissolved, leaving only the searing heat of their bodies pressed together, the frantic rhythm of their breaths, the desperate urgency of their need.

The kiss ended not with a gentle parting, but a ragged gasp for air, a desperate need to reconnect that was immediately fulfilled. Alan's hands, still burning with possession, trailed down her arms, his fingers lingering at her wrists before tightening, pulling her closer. She felt the hard press of his chest against hers, the steady, powerful beat of his heart mirroring the frantic rhythm of her own.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, a playful glint now dancing in their depths. His gaze swept over her, lingering on her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, and the way her breath hitched with each shuddering intake of air. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "You're breathtaking, you know that?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "So," he whispered, his voice a teasing murmur, "about that dress... I think I prefer you without it tonight."

A playful smile touched her lips. "Oh?" she breathed, her voice husky with lingering desire. "And what makes you say that?"

He traced a finger down her arm, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "Everything," he murmured, his gaze meeting hers. "The way you look at me... the way you taste... the way you feel in my arms." He paused, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And the way you make me want to..." He trailed off, his lips curving into a slow, sensual smile.

They moved as one, a seamless dance of desire, their bodies intertwined, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. There was no destination, no plan, only the urgent need to be closer, to explore the depths of a connection that felt both ancient and brand new.

He paused, his eyes meeting hers. The city spread out before them, a breathtaking panorama of twinkling lights, but all Sydney could see was the reflection of her own desire in Alan's dark, captivating eyes. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, a whisper hot against her skin.

"Wishing you were mine and I'm all yours," he murmured, his voice low and suggestive. And as he pulled her into his arms once more, Sydney knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her soul, that she wished he was a free man.