Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 93

Lyra

She straightened up, wiping a tear from her eye, still giggling like she’d just pulled the world’s most expensive prank. Her laugh had that high-pitched, wheezy chaos to it — the kind of sound that came from the gut, like she was unhinged and delighted and fully prepared to emotionally destroy me before breakfast.

"You should’ve seen your face," she choked out between gasps. "You looked like you were about to shit yourself and cry at the same time. Like a constipated Disney princess mid-breakdown. I thought you were about to pass out, bitch. Like faint, fall, and land in your own sin."

I blinked again. Jaw dropped. Soul missing. Pride on life support.

"Haha," I said stiffly. "Yeah. Right. So funny. Such a good joke. Bestie things. Love that for me. This was a very expensive joke, emotionally, mentally, spiritually... but sure. Let’s laugh about it. Let’s all just ha-ha our way through the gaping hole in my soul. Let’s sprinkle some trauma seasoning on it while we’re at it."

She didn’t stop smiling.

Tasha reached across the counter and tapped her fork lightly against my forehead like she was trying to see if my skull was hollow.

"You’re too easy, Lyra. Like, comically easy. I could tell you the sky was green and you’d pack your bags for therapy."

"I have trust issues!" I hissed, clutching my glass like it was a holy relic. "My childhood was full of lies and waist trainers and broken promises from MTN! I don’t do well with surprises!"

She snorted but then gave me a weird look — something in her expression softening just slightly, like she was remembering something.

"Do you know this girl from my old class?" she said suddenly, serious now, almost low-key. "Back in secondary school. Her name was Miracle or Melody or something that didn’t match her actual behavior. Anyway, she fucked her best friend’s dad once."

I froze.

Tasha went on.

"No one even knew how it started. But one day she came late to school with this limpy-ass walk and a fresh hairstyle and new iPhone and everybody was like, ’okay, she either has a sugar daddy or sold her kidney.’ Turns out it was her bestie’s dad. Shit hit the fan so fast. People stopped sitting near her. She couldn’t walk past a classroom without hearing ’daddy’s girl’ or ’call me uncle.’ Her whole rep was ruined. Like gone. Flushed. She left the school three weeks later. Vanished."

My heart was thudding like someone was banging on my chest from the inside.

"She said it was just once," Tasha added with a shrug. "But the class didn’t care. You fuck someone’s dad, you get branded. That’s how it works. You don’t recover from that.

I swallowed, hard.

Why the fuck was she telling me this?

My palms were sweaty. My hoodie suddenly felt tight around my neck like it was trying to strangle me with guilt. My legs crossed tighter beneath the stool and I could practically hear my heartbeat behind my ears.

Tasha leaned in just a little, eyes locked on mine.

"I’m just saying," she said carefully. "If that ever happened to someone I knew someone close to me — I’d want them to be honest. Because secrets like that? They never stay secrets for too long"

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again like a fish gasping for air.

Then I finally managed a sentence, though it came out in a whisper like my dignity was trying to backspace itself in real time.

"Damn. That girl is really nuts," I said, eyes wide, pretending my stomach wasn’t currently dissolving from anxiety acid. "Why would she—like, seriously, why would she fuck her best friend’s dad? What was she thinking? That’s crazy. That’s literally insanity. That’s like mental illness wrapped in daddy issues and dipped in betrayal."

Tasha didn’t respond. She just stared.

And I, being the emotionally unstable chatterbox that I am, kept going like my life depended on the speed of my voice.

"Like I get it, maybe the man was hot or rich or wore suits or whatever, but that’s someone’s father. Like not sugar daddy, not zaddy, not anonymous Twitter DILF. That’s your best friend’s actual dad. As in the man who changed her diapers. The man who probably has cholesterol and back pain. That’s not sexy. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen."

Still no reaction.

She just blinked.

Which of course made me spiral more.

"I mean, what kind of girl even lets it get that far?" I continued, because silence makes me panic. "How do you go from ’hi sir, good afternoon sir, happy birthday sir’ to ’wreck my pussy, Daddy’? Like where’s the transition? Where’s the moral compass? Where’s the shame? Is it dead? Did she bury it beside her self-respect?"

I laughed. A high-pitched, unhinged kind of laugh that sounded more like a scream in therapy.

Tasha didn’t crack a smile.

At all.

My stomach sank like the Titanic. My throat went dry. My hoodie felt like a noose.

But my mouth?

Oh, she kept running.

I slammed my hand on the counter dramatically.

"Some people really don’t fear.

Tasha leaned back slowly, her eyes dragging over my face like she was peeling back my skin with her stare.

She wasn’t amused.

Not anymore.

And me?

I was sweating like I’d just been interrogated by Jesus.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head again, that same tilt that made the air go cold.

Like she knew.

Like she didn’t need me to say it because my face was already spelling it out in guilt-font Times New Roman.