CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter Ten: The Aftermath of the Near-Miss

Abigail Macron

The darkness of the walk-in closet felt less like a sanctuary and more like a velvet-lined coffin. I sat huddled on the floor, the cold marble biting through the silk sheet wrapped around my body, my fingers still gripping the ruined remnants of my dress. I didn't move for what felt like hours, listening to the absolute, terrifying silence of the empty suite. My ears strained for any sound—the click of a door, the murmur of a voice, the return of a nightmare.

Finally, the electronic lock on the closet door beeped, and the pocket door slid back with a smooth hiss.

The bright morning light of the bedroom flooded my vision, making me squint. Jasmine stood there, her hands on her hips, her expression a chaotic mix of intense relief and absolute awe. She didn't say a word at first; she just reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up from the floor.

"You are officially the luckiest girl on the face of the earth," Jasmine whispered, her voice a tense, furious hiss as she guided me out into the bedroom. "I was downstairs in the lobby trying to intercept the concierge when I saw your dad walk out of the elevator bay with Caleb. My heart nearly stopped. I had to hide behind a giant bonsai tree just so your father wouldn't see me."

"He was right outside the door, Jasmine," I gasped, my voice trembling as the adrenaline finally began to drain, leaving me feeling hollow and weak. "He was going to look at the bed. Caleb stopped him. If Caleb hadn't..."

"But he did," Jasmine interrupted, her grip tightening on my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "Caleb handled him. Because that’s what Caleb does. But Abby, the game has officially changed. Your dad being in Tokyo means we are operating on borrowed time. We can't stay here."

I looked over at the massive platform bed. The sheets were still a tangled, chaotic testament to the storm that had passed through the room only an hour prior. The scent of Caleb’s smoky cologne and my perfume still hung heavy in the air, a ghost of the sin that had almost cost us everything.

"I need to get dressed," I muttered, a sudden wave of shame and clarity washing over me.

I walked into the massive, stone-tiled bathroom, refusing to look at my reflection in the mirror. I washed the smeared red lipstick from my face, watching the water turn a faint, bloody pink before swirling down the drain. I borrowed a pristine, oversized white button-down shirt from Caleb’s closet, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows, and pulled on a pair of simple denim shorts I had packed in my tote bag.

When I walked back into the living area, Jasmine was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sprawling, neon-and-concrete expanse of the city. The sun was fully up now, burning away the morning mist, exposing every corner of Tokyo to the harsh light of day.

"Caleb sent a text to my burner portal," Jasmine said without turning around, holding up her phone. "He said he’s keeping your dad tied up in meetings at the Imperial Hotel until at least two in the afternoon. He told us to check out of the Aman immediately and move to the Ritz-Carlton in Roppongi. He said if we are still in this building when they get back, he’s calling your dad himself and ending it."

"He’s terrified," I said, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window.

"He should be," Jasmine countered, finally turning to face me. The playful, mischievous smirk she usually wore was entirely gone, replaced by a rare weight on her expression "Abby, I love a good rebellion, but we almost blew up two families today. Your dad loves Caleb like a brother. If he finds out his best friend is sleeping with his twenty-one-year-old daughter in a hotel room he paid for... it won't just be a scandal. It will break him completely, it will break his trusting ability."

"I know," I whispered, the weight of the realization pressing down on my chest like a lead weight.

Up until this morning, the fantasy of Caleb Macron had been a beautiful, intoxicating secret I kept in the dark of my bedroom. It was a thrill, a dare, a way to prove I wasn't the fragile little girl my father kept in a home cage. But the feeling of Caleb's hands on my skin, the bruising desperation of his mouth, his ability to go up and down, sideways inside of me. Then the sheer terror of hearing my father's boots outside the door had ripped the fantasy away, leaving behind a raw, dangerous reality.

We gathered our things quickly, erasing any trace that I had ever been in the suite. Jasmine smoothed the sheets of the bed, fluffed the pillows, and sprayed a neutral citrus air freshener to mask the scent of our encounter. By the time we walked out of the Imperial Suite, the room looked like it belonged to a lonely billionaire once again.

As the elevator plunged back down toward the lobby, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

My heart leaped into my throat. I pulled it out, expecting a reprimand from Caleb or an unsuspecting check-in from my father.

Instead, it was an unknown number. A single line of text that made my breath hitch:

Room 4012. Ritz-Carlton. Midnight. Don't make me wait, Abigail.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass. He had told Jasmine to move me to a different hotel to keep me safe from my father, but he had already booked a room for us under the radar. He was running from the guilt, but the hunger was still pulling him right back to the edge of the cliff.

I looked up at Jasmine, who was watching me closely. I didn't show her the message. I slid the phone back into my pocket, a slow, dangerous warmth blooming in the center of my chest, completely replacing the terror of the near-miss.

Caleb Macron thought he was trying to save us from a wreckage we couldn't recover from. But as the elevator doors slid open into the bustling, brightly lit lobby, I knew the truth. We were already in freefall, and neither of us had any intention of pulling the parachute.