Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 149

Damon

I honestly didn’t expect to see this.

Not this early in the damn morning.

I was getting ready to head out. Had my mind already locked on the day’s business — pack meetings, a border patrol issue, some late shipments I needed to handle myself.

I was halfway through a black coffee, shirt undone, planning to take a quick call with one of the Elders when I heard that voice. Camilla’s voice.

That sickly-sweet, high-pitched voice she used when she thought she still had control.

And then I heard Lyra’s voice.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant. Wet with rage and something else too. That shaken breath girls get when they’ve just been humiliated and don’t know whether to scream, cry, or throw a chair.

So I stopped. I didn’t care about the meeting anymore. I didn’t care about the shipment. I didn’t even care that my goddamn coffee was going cold on the marble.

I walked to the doorway.

And what I saw? It made something feral snap in me.

Lyra. Standing there in that tiny skirt, face flushed, chest rising and falling like she’d just run five miles. Holding herself tall. Fierce. Braver than I’d seen her yet. And Camilla — standing in front of her with that judgmental little smirk she’s always worn when she’s about to destroy something she secretly envies.

And I lost it. Quietly. Dangerously. Completely.

I said her name — just her name — and the whole room shifted.

Camilla froze. Lyra turned slightly, just enough for me to see her eyes, and fuck, she looked like she wanted to collapse and fly all at once. I saw the tension in her jaw. The heat behind her lashes. The way she was shaking — not from fear, but from fury she didn’t know how to unload.

And then Camilla opened her mouth.

Started that bullshit about thick thighs and little whores and husbands seeing too much ass. Talking like she hadn’t spent years popping pills while I cleaned up her mess. Talking like she still meant something here. Like she still had the right to talk about what I could and couldn’t see.

Like she didn’t know I’d already tasted the girl she was trying to shame.

I snapped the moment she lifted her hand.

She hadn’t even touched Lyra yet. Her arm was just halfway up, but that was all I needed to see. The second she moved with that venom in her eyes, I crossed the kitchen in three strides and slammed my hand on the damn counter.

"Don’t you fucking dare touch her, Camilla."

My voice boomed through the kitchen like thunder. Lyra didn’t even flinch. She stood her ground like a soldier, but I saw it. I saw the way her body tensed. I saw the way her breath caught in her throat. And I swear to God, I almost lost it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I roared, eyes locked on Camilla like she was prey. "Why the fuck are you still in my house?"

She didn’t even blink.

She had the audacity to fold her arms beneath her fake tits and tilt her head like she was the injured party. Like she hadn’t just tried to slap a girl barely past eighteen who hadn’t said one thing that wasn’t deserved.

"You mean our house, Damon," she spat, her words laced with syrup and venom. "And I’m not going anywhere." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

This fucking bitch.

I felt the rage boiling beneath my skin. My jaw clenched. My fists curled. And I swear I could hear the blood pounding in my ears like war drums.

"Why the fuck are you siding with her, Damon?" she screamed suddenly, stepping forward like she thought she still had a right to confront me.

"Why? Are you forgetting that I am your wife?! That this girl is just a fat, thick-ass kid with a rude mouth and no self-respect?!"

Her voice rose, ugly and raw, and then she jabbed a manicured finger toward Lyra

"Look at her skirt! What is she even feeling like? Walking around this house like she owns it. Like she’s not just a slut in training."

I was already moving.

But Lyra didn’t say a word. Didn’t cry. Didn’t cower. She just stood there, eyes burning, back straight, like she already knew I’d burn the whole world down for her.

"Just shut the fuck up, Camilla," I snapped, stepping fully between them. My body now a wall, shielding Lyra from every ounce of Camilla’s bullshit. "Look at what you’re wearing. You want to talk about skirts and asses? You’re in this kitchen with your tits hanging out, wearing shorts that could double as fucking underwear, but you want to slut-shame her?"

Her eyes widened. She took a step back, shocked that I dared to speak to her like that. But I wasn’t finished. Not even close.

"I’m a grown-ass woman, Damon!" she yelled, her face flushed now with both rage and humiliation. "I can wear whatever the fuck I want!"

"And so can she!" I roared back. "You think age gives you a free pass to act like a bitter, washed-up mean girl? You think your ’grown-ass woman’ status means you get to police what an eighteen-year-old wears or how she looks or who she fucking talks to?"

She opened her mouth, but I kept going, my voice hard as stone, low and vicious enough to make the floor feel like it was shaking beneath us.