Take Me Daddy

ANNABEL

Fuck you, Mark! Fuck you!

I cursed under my breath as I walked underneath the rain, tears streaming down my eyes, my mascara running wild across my cheeks. I felt like my world was about to tear apart—shredded into a million fucking pieces.

Mark had broken up with me—or rather, had I broken up with him? I had caught him banging another girl so fucking wildly, like some unhinged animal. My screams pierced through the air while I called out his name, a desperate, pathetic symphony of betrayal.

He had said I wasn't a good rider, that I was dry as fuck, and like the naive idiot I was, I had believed him. And now? Now I had caught him balls-deep with Janet, my ex-best friend. The ultimate fuck you to everything I thought I knew.

I ran with vigorous determination, mud splashing beneath my feet, more tears streaming down my face like a volcanic breakdown. The streets of San Francisco blurred around me—a wild canvas of my pitiful state.

Living in these wildest, most notorious rural areas was nothing to write home about. Just another shit hole I couldn't wait to escape.

Just a few feet away from home, colored lights flashed in the distance—an unexpected scene which I wasn't expecting.

I walked closer, my curiosity momentarily cutting through my rage.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered, my pace quickening with a mix of anger and intrigue.

The moment I reached home, my little brother Max came rushing out. I couldn't tell if he was crying or if it was just the raindrops cascading down his face.

"Father is dead," he choked out, his voice breaking. "He... he fell from the construction site..."

Max hugged me under the rain, and I stood still, arms wrapped around my brother's shoulders. Shock ricocheted through my body like a live wire.

"Father..." I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips.

I dragged Max inside. My mother came crashing into me, confirming the brutal reality. Yes, it was real. My father was indeed dead.

I had just seen him this morning, and now, he was gone—just like that.

One month had passed since my father's death—one month of suffocating grief and mounting desperation.

"Mother, I will be leaving. I love you so much," I said, hugging my mother with an intensity that spoke of both goodbye and hope.

"You don't have to leave, Annabel," my mother pleaded, her voice a mix of fear and maternal protection.

"I have to," I insisted, my voice sharp with determination. "When I go to the city, I will work so hard to make ends meet. I'll take both you and Max out of this hellhole to a better life."

It wasn't just words. It was a fucking promise carved into my soul. I was going to give my family a better life, even if it meant traveling to live with my father's best friend—a complete stranger who was now my only lifeline.

The house was fucking good. No, scratch that—it was beyond good. It screamed luxury so loud it could wake the dead. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or had somehow stepped into an alternate universe, but hell, I was here.

"The master is not yet back from work; you will meet him tomorrow morning. I will take you to your room where you will be provided with anything you want," an old man said. He looked like he'd stepped out of some period drama—a butler who apparently didn't realize butlers don't exist in this modern world.

I shook the thoughts from my head. I followed the butler; two maids carried my bags as I made my way through the vast rooms. I could lose my way if I wasn't careful.

Still amazed by the craziest, most expensive designs I had ever seen—if I had ever truly seen luxury before—I walked right into my room.