Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 17

Sydney strolled into the office like a storm in heels, her fitted blazer cinched at the waist and her high ponytail swishing with each purposeful step if they wanted to whisper about her, fine. Suppose they wanted to hate her, even better. She was done hiding, done pretending she didn't hear their nasty little comments, and absolutely done caring what they thought of her.

Her first stop was Monic's desk. Of course, Jenna was already halfway out of her chair, holding out a latte like she was presenting an offering to a queen.

"Good morning, Miss Evans," Monic said, her smile stretched so tight it looked like it might snap.

Sydney raised a perfectly arched brow, staring at the latte as though it had personally offended her. "Miss Evans? Didn't you call me Nymeria yesterday? Or was it... what was it again?" She tapped her chin theatrically, pretending to think. "Oh, right—' the invisible intern.'"

Monic flushed so red she looked like a human tomato. "That was just a—"

"Joke? Sure it was." Sydney leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But here's a tip, Monic. If you and Karen are going to kiss up, at least spell my name right next time you send an email about me behind my back."

Monic's jaw dropped, but Sydney was already walking away, sipping her coffee like it was champagne.

The office was buzzing with its usual hum of gossip, but now it was louder, sharper. Sydney's presence had lit a match under them, and she could almost feel the heat of their jealousy from across the room.

"Did you see her dress at the gala? She looked so full of herself," one coworker muttered just loud enough for Sydney to hear as she passed by.

She stopped, turning on her heel with a dazzling smile. "Aw, thanks, Jenna. I didn't know you were paying attention. Next time, I'll send you the brand name so you don't have to Google it."

Jenna's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Sydney winked and sauntered off.

At her desk, Sydney flipped open her laptop, pretending to type while the whispers swirled around her like smoke. Let them talk. It was amusing, really, how quickly their attitudes had shifted since the truth came out. A few days ago, she was Nymeria Turner, the quiet, awkward coworker in baggy clothes. Today, she was Nymeria Sydney Evans, the heiress they'd underestimated.

Alan passed by her desk, dropping a folder onto it with a quiet "Miss Evans."

Sydney smirked, not looking up. "Careful, Mr. Turner. You're starting to sound like them."

"Never," he murmured under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

She waited until he was halfway to the conference room before calling after him, her voice carrying loud enough for everyone to hear. "Don't forget our meeting later, Alan. I'd hate to have to remind you... again."

The office went dead silent. Alan stopped, his back to her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. Slowly, he turned, his expression carefully neutral.

"Of course, Miss Evans," he said, his tone polite but with an edge that only she could recognize.

Sydney's lips twitched as she turned back to her screen. Let them think about what they want. This little game between her and Alan was their secret, and the fact that it drove everyone else insane was just a bonus.

Sydney was scrolling through emails when Monic approached again, holding a file like it might explode.

"Miss Evans," Monic began nervously. "I, um, thought you might want to review this report."

Sydney took the file, flipping it open and skimming the contents. "Hmm. Not bad," she said, glancing up at Monic. "Did you actually do this yourself, or did you outsource it like last quarter's report?"

Monic's eyes widened. "I—uh—it's mine!"

Sydney's smile was razor-sharp. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

Monic scurried off, and Sydney leaned back in her chair, feeling more energized than she had in months.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings, emails, and more whispered gossip. By the time Sydney left the office, she felt like she'd just survived a battlefield—but one where she'd been wielding the sword.

When Sydney stepped through the front door of her home, the click of her heels echoed faintly against the tiled floor. The day had drained her—dodging whispers at work, playing power games with Alan, and the mixer where every glance had felt like a silent interrogation. All she wanted now was to peel off her dress, crawl into bed, and drift into oblivion.

But the sound of laughter—familiar, bright, and undeniably unexpected—brought her to a halt.

Her brow furrowed as she set her purse down on the console table. The laugh rang out again, coming from the living room, and Sydney's heart skipped a beat.

That laugh...

She rounded the corner, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Is that my little Syd?"

A woman stood in the center of the room, her figure illuminated by the warm glow of the chandelier. She was tall and striking, with sleek dark hair that fell in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her sharp cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes were as familiar as they were disarming.

"Lia?" Sydney whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Sydney!" Lia's face lit up with a radiant smile as she crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling Sydney into a tight hug. "Oh my God, it's been ages!"

Sydney stood frozen for a moment before she slowly wrapped her arms around her cousin, the flood of memories crashing over her like a tidal wave. Lia. Her mother's niece. The girl she had grown up with, confided in and leaned on during their chaotic childhoods.

"You're back?" Sydney finally managed to say as they pulled apart, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"I'm back," Lia confirmed with a grin. "Spain was incredible, but I missed home. And I missed you."

Sydney blinked, still processing. "I didn't even know you were coming back."

"Well, I figured I'd make it a surprise. Aunt Euri knew, of course," Lia said, waving a hand dismissively. "She's the one who insisted I come to stay here for a while but I refused, I prefer a hotel... more access from fun, you know your mother... she's boring."

Sydney's expression tightened at the mention of her mother, but she quickly masked it. "Of course she did," she muttered under her breath.

Lia tilted her head, her hazel eyes narrowing. "You don't sound thrilled about that."

"It's... complicated," Sydney said, forcing a smile. "But forget about that. Tell me about Spain. You've been gone for—what? Six years?"

"Seven," Lia corrected, flopping onto the couch with an air of effortless grace. "And trust me, I have stories for days. But first, tell me about you. I've heard some... interesting things."

Sydney raised an eyebrow as she sank into the armchair across from her. "Oh? And what exactly have you heard?"

Lia leaned forward, her grin mischievous. "Just that you're working at the company now. And that you've been making waves."

Sydney couldn't help but smirk. "Making waves is putting it mildly."

"I figured as much," Lia said, laughing. "You always had a way of shaking things up."

The two cousins chatted late into the night, their conversation oscillating between lighthearted banter and more serious reflections on the years they'd spent apart. Lia's presence was like a balm to Sydney's frayed nerves, a reminder of the simpler times before life had become so unbearably complicated.

As the hours ticked by, Sydney found herself relaxing in a way she hadn't in a long time. But as much as she cherished this unexpected reunion, there was a nagging thought at the back of her mind: Lia was here because of her mother.

And if Euri had orchestrated Lia's return, it wasn't just a family reunion. It was part of a plan.

"Lia," Sydney said suddenly, her tone cautious. "Why now? Why did you decide to come back?"

Lia hesitated, her playful demeanor faltering for the first time that night. "Honestly? Aunt Euri said you might need me."

Sydney's stomach twisted. Of course, her mother would spin it that way—like she cared.

"Did she?... well tell her I don't need anyone," Sydney said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Lia frowned, leaning back. "You don't have to be so defensive, Syd. I'm not here to intrude or meddle. I just... I want to help, if you'll let me."

Sydney sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. It's just—things are complicated right now."

"Complicated how?" Lia pressed gently.

Sydney hesitated, the words hovering on the tip of her tongue. She couldn't tell Lia everything—not yet, not about Alan, not about the mess of emotions and secrets that had become her life.

"Work stuff," she said finally, offering a strained smile. "You know how it is."

Lia studied her for a moment before nodding. "Okay. But if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Sydney nodded, her chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and guilt. Lia's return was a blessing, but it was also a complication. And if there was one thing Sydney didn't need right now, it was more complications.

The evening had stretched on longer than Sydney anticipated. After saying goodnight to Lia, she retreated to her room, grateful for the rare moment of solitude. The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the wind outside. She slid into her bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin, trying to push away the tension that had been building since Lia's unexpected return.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.

She sighed, her hand hesitating before picking it up. Maybe it was Alan checking in, or perhaps Lia had forgotten something she wanted to share. But the screen displayed an unfamiliar number.

Her gut twisted.

"Hello?" she answered hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, there was nothing—just a cold, empty silence. Then, a low, gravelly voice, one she thought she'd never hear again, broke through.

"Hello, Sydney."

Her heart stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the voice sent icy tendrils snaking down her spine. She knew that voice, the rasp, the tone—it was unforgettable.

Nick's brother.

Her captor's bloodline.

It was only two words, but it was enough to send her spiraling. She dropped the phone as if it had burned her, the thud against the floor echoing in the stillness of her room.

"No... no, no, no," she muttered, backing away from the nightstand as if the phone itself were a threat. Her chest tightened, and her breaths came in short, panicked bursts.

The room spun. The walls seemed to close in on her, the air thick with the weight of terror. The memories clawed their way back, unrelenting and cruel: the suffocating darkness, the shackles, the sheer helplessness.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor, clutching her head as if she could physically keep the memories at bay. But it was no use.

The voice echoed in her mind, over and over.

She didn't remember crawling back into bed, but the next thing she knew, she was there, her body trembling uncontrollably. Sleep came, but it was no reprieve. Her dreams were a chaotic blur of shadowed faces, suffocating fear, and that voice—taunting, laughing, promising something she didn't dare to imagine.

Sydney woke with a jolt, her body drenched in a cold sweat, the remnants of her nightmare clawing at her mind. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, her hands clutching the sheets as if they could anchor her to reality.

The voice still echoed in her head, low and menacing—Nick's brother. Her heart pounded wildly at the thought of him, her fear spiraling out of control.

What if he came back for her?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she scrambled out of bed, her feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. The room felt stifling, the air too heavy, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was still trapped in her nightmare.

"Alan," she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling as she scanned the empty room.

He wasn't there.

Panic surged through her veins, sharp and all-consuming. Her breathing quickened as she stumbled toward the door, clutching the frame for support. She called out his name again, louder this time, the sound echoing down the hallway.

Her feet carried her toward his room before her mind could even register it. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open with shaky hands, her heart in her throat.

There he was.

Alan was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows over his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, still fully dressed, as if he'd been waiting for something—or someone.

Relief hit her like a tidal wave, and she stood frozen in the doorway, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm herself.

"Alan," she managed to say, her voice cracking.

His eyes snapped open instantly, his gaze locking onto hers. He was on his feet in a second, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides.

"Sydney?" he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. "What's wrong?"

She couldn't speak. The fear, the relief, the overwhelming weight of everything crashed down on her at once, and she staggered toward him, her hands clutching the front of his shirt as she buried her face against his chest.

"I—I thought he'd come back," she stammered, her voice muffled against him. "I couldn't find you, and I panicked."

Alan's arms wrapped around her tightly, his hand resting on the back of her head as he held her close. His warmth seeped into her, steady and grounding, chasing away the remnants of her nightmare.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice soothing, his fingers gently threading through her hair. "I'm right here, Sydney. I'm not going anywhere."

Her trembling began to subside, but her hands didn't loosen their grip on his shirt. She clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

"I can't stop hearing him," she admitted in a broken whisper. "I can't stop feeling like he's going to find me again."

Alan pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands cupping her face. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver through her—not of fear, but of reassurance.

"He won't," he said firmly, his voice low and steady. "I won't let him, Sydney. Not while I'm here."

Her lips quivered, and she nodded faintly, tears slipping down her cheeks. Alan's thumbs brushed them away gently, his touch so tender it made her heartache.

"Come here," he said softly, guiding her toward the bed.

He sat down and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her once more. She nestled against him, her cheek resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and comforting.

For the first time in hours, she felt the terror begin to loosen its grip. She closed her eyes, letting his presence envelop her like a shield against the darkness.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alan didn't respond with words. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, his actions speaking louder than anything he could have said. And as she sat there in his arms, her breathing finally evening out, Sydney realized that as long as he was there, she could face whatever came next.