VINCENT
‘Daddy.’
The word echoed through the walls of my bedroom, muffled but unmistakable. A sob. A plea. The desperate cry of a broken girl calling for the man who’d destroyed her.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the closed door that separated my room from hers, and felt rage build in my chest like pressure behind a dam. Hot. Violent. Threatening to burst through the control I’d been maintaining.
It had been a week of this. Seven nights of listening to her scream for him.
The torture of hearing her beg ‘Daddy’ to come back, to save her, and take her home.
I always lay awake in the dark, heart right with poison while she worshipped the memory of the bastard who’d broken her.
It wasn’t her fault. I knew that.
My little Angel had done nothing wrong. This was all on Daniel.
