Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 150

Damon

"She’s not the one who disappeared for nine months on a pill binge while I ran this house. She’s not the one with a fucking addiction . She’s not the one who came crawling back after rehab with a fake smile and a fucking spray tan, expecting me to forget what you did."

Camilla gasped, clutching her chest like I’d stabbed her, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

"You want to talk about disrespect?" I growled. "You lost the right to speak about respect when you let this entire family fall apart while you played victim in every damn spa and clinic across the state."

She shook her head, eyes watery now, but I didn’t feel sorry for her.

I felt rage.

Because Lyra hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong. Because Camilla walked back in here thinking she still owned me. Thinking she could piss on the territory I’d already marked.

"I’m warning you, Camilla," I said slowly, my voice deadly calm now. "If you ever raise your hand to her again—if you so much as breathe wrong around her—I will personally drag your ass out of this house and make sure you never step foot inside it again."

"She’s just a girl, Damon," she whispered, like it was the final blow. "You’re old enough to be her father."

And maybe I was. But that didn’t fucking matter.

I turned to glance at Lyra then, and just seeing her—flushed, strong, raw, beautiful—was enough to steady every part of me.

"She’s not just a girl Camilla. She is ’MINE’"

"What the hell, Damon," Camilla hissed again, her voice cracking under the weight of whatever ugly emotion was rising in her chest. "What is it? Because she’s a wolf like you? Is that it? And I’m just a human, huh? That’s why you’re treating me like trash.

She stepped closer, like proximity would make her words hit harder, like standing in front of me would force me to see something that wasn’t fucking there.

"Tell me!" she shouted, eyes wild now. "Why are you supporting this child?! Why are you defending her like she’s your equal—like she fucking matters more than I do?!"

Before I could answer, Lyra took a step forward. Her entire body was coiled tight with rage, fists clenched at her sides, eyes locked on Camilla like she was ready to lunge.

"Call me a child one more time, bitch, and I’ll—"

"Lyra," I said sharply, grabbing her arm and holding her back, firm but calm, my voice cutting through her fury like ice against flame. "Don’t."

Her lips trembled with the words she wanted to say, but she held them in, barely, because I asked her to. Because she listened to me.

I turned my attention back to Camilla.

"This isn’t about wolves and humans," I said slowly, deliberately, each word soaked in warning. "This isn’t about biology. This isn’t about species. This is about the fact that you walked into my house, insulted a guest, raised your hand to her like a bully in a middle school hallway, and expected me to applaud you for it."

She opened her mouth, but I raised a hand to stop her. I wasn’t done.

"And I don’t give a fuck what you are. Human, wolf, or something in between. You don’t get to slut-shame her just because you’re miserable. You don’t get to talk about her curves, her skirt, her mouth, or her body like you didn’t just come down those stairs dressed like a porn parody of a housewife."

Her face twisted, eyes glassy with a mix of anger and humiliation. She tried to scoff, tried to roll her eyes, but I didn’t let up.

"You want to talk about appearances?" I said, stepping forward now, lowering my voice.

"Let’s talk about appearances, Camilla. Let’s talk about how you spent thousands of dollars on surgery just to end up looking like a second-rate version of your old self.

"Let’s talk about how even after rehab, even after the facials and the tummy tucks and the lipo, you still walk into a room and look at every younger, prettier woman like she’s a fucking threat."

She gasped like I’d slapped her. Her hand flew to her mouth, but I wasn’t finished.

"You’re jealous," I said, no longer yelling, no longer angry—just stating a fact so raw it sucked the air out of the room. "That’s what this is. You’re not upset that she’s a girl. You’re upset that even after all the work you’ve done on your body, she still has more curves than you.

"You’re upset that I look at her the way I haven’t looked at you in years. You’re upset that someone young and untouched and full of life walked into your old territory and took the air right out of your lungs."

Camilla staggered back a step. Her chest heaved. Her mascara had started to run. And for the first time since this argument began, she didn’t have a comeback.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear.

"I know what you’re trying to do, Camilla," I said, my voice low, steady, and sharp enough to slice through the tension choking the air between us. "And it won’t fucking work."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t deny it. Of course she didn’t. She knew what I meant.

"I won’t fuck you."

Her mouth snapped shut.

"Not now. Not ever."

And with that, I turned away from her.

Lyra was still standing there, shoulders tense, arms crossed tightly across her chest like she was barely holding herself together. I reached for her again, this time slower, softer. My hand on her waist. My fingers brushing her skin. My voice gentler now, just for her.

"Go wait in the car, kitten," I said, my mouth close to her ear. "I’ll handle the rest."