Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 140

Lyra

Right in the same room where I was still standing—barely, shaking, bleeding inside, still dripping from what he did to me—and this woman, this polished, glossy, picture-perfect wife of his had the audacity to slowly undo her blouse like we weren’t even there. Like I was invisible. Like she was walking into her territory and reminding everyone of exactly who had it first.

One button.

Then two.

Then three.

And then I saw them.

Her tits.

Full, high, perfect, probably enhanced. They sat in her bra like they belonged in a magazine ad. Like they’d been lifted and powdered and prepared just to destroy me. And she fucking knew what she was doing. She tilted her chest forward ever so slightly, like she wanted him to look. Like she wanted to remind him that she used to be his.

And me?

God.

I wanted to grab her by the hair and slam her face down into the floor.

I wanted to tear that blouse off her body and scream into her face that she didn’t get to do this. That she didn’t get to come back from the grave and steal him away from me with some fancy bra and a fucking pout.

I wanted to rip her to shreds with my hands.

But I couldn’t.

Because I was still in shock.

Still in pain.

Still stuck at the top of the stairs, watching the man who said I was his say nothing as his wife tried to seduce him.

And that was the moment I realized I couldn’t stand there any longer.

I couldn’t watch another second.

Not if I wanted to survive this.

I turned.

Ran.

As fast as my sore, leaking, trembling legs would carry me.

I didn’t even think.

I didn’t even care if he saw me.

I just needed to get out of that hallway. Away from her. Away from the sound of her voice and the sight of her perfect, glossy, rich-girl tits trying to reclaim something that wasn’t hers anymore.

I got to the room, slammed the door behind me—quietly, so nothing would sound suspicious—but hard enough that the handle clicked and the sheets on the bed shifted from the gust of air.

And then I dropped.

Right there on the floor.

To my knees.

Hard.

I didn’t care about the pain. I didn’t care about the cold tile. I didn’t care about anything except the sound of my own breath catching in my throat and the tears that poured down my face so fast I couldn’t keep up with them.

I buried my face in my hands and cried. Cried like I’d never cried before. The kind of crying that shook your bones and made your stomach ache and made your soul feel like it was cracking right down the middle.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse, shaking, broken. "Why did I think I mattered? Why did I let him touch me like that? Why did I let him ruin me? I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so dumb. God, he probably didn’t even mean any of it. He probably just needed someone warm to fuck while his wife was gone. And I—I thought it was real. I thought he saw me."

"She’s beautiful," I whispered to myself, tasting the bitterness like poison in my mouth. "She’s everything I’m not. She’s his wife. She’s the one with the history. She’s the one he married. She probably gave him that house, that daughter, that life. And me? I’m just the girl who spread her legs and thought it meant something."

My voice cracked.

"I thought I meant something."

I laughed once. It was a horrible sound. Sharp. Ugly. The kind of laugh that didn’t come from amusement—it came from devastation.

"She probably knows all the things he likes. The way he likes to be kissed. The way he likes to be touched. She probably doesn’t even have to ask. She probably never had to beg. She probably never had to wonder if he was going to walk away and pretend she didn’t exist once he was finished."

I clenched my fists and slammed them against the floor once, twice, until the pain in my palms distracted me from the ache in my chest.

"I let him do everything to me," I whispered. "I let him use every part of me. I let him ruin me. And he couldn’t even push her away fast enough."

That was when the door opened.

I didn’t hear footsteps. I didn’t hear his voice first. Just the soft click of the doorknob turning and the creak of it swinging open like he had every right to walk in.

I lifted my head.

My face was soaked. My eyes were swollen. My hands were trembling as I clutched the sheet tighter around my chest and glared at the man standing in the doorway like he had no idea he just cracked me open.

And the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"What the hell are you doing here, Damon?!"

My voice was louder than I meant it to be. Sharp. Full of tears. Full of fury. Full of something that sounded too much like heartbreak to be anything else.

His face changed instantly.

He looked at me like I’d just stabbed him.

But I didn’t care.

Not this time.

"Don’t act like you care," I spat, getting up from the floor even though my legs were shaking and I felt like I might collapse. "You already made it clear I’m nothing compared to her. You already let her kiss you. You let her touch you. You let her do all of that right there where I could see it. Right after you—" I stopped myself, my voice cracking. "Right after you were inside me."

He stepped forward.

I stepped back...