Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 98

Lyra

I looked him right in the eyes, tilted my chin like the bad bitch I was learning to become, and smiled.

"No. I’d slap you. Then I’d rinse my mouth with holy water and burn the air between us."

He blinked.

I turned away.

Because I was done.

Not healed. Not okay. But done.

And if he tried me tonight?

I would show him what it meant to play with a girl who learned how to set fire to her own pain.

I don’t know what kind of ancient demon possessed Marcus that night, but the way he leaned in to me like we were about to have some cute, nostalgic movie moment where old flames reignite under disco lights and fake forgiveness — I swear my body rejected it.

He was right in front of me, inches away, his breath hitting my face like temptation and trauma mixed into one. His stupid smirk was back, eyes half-lidded like he thought this was foreplay. Like I still wanted him. Like two years of pain and humiliation were just foreplay for the big reunion kiss.

I stood there frozen, heart thumping like it was trying to fight its way out of my chest and run out the front door, but then his hand reached up — and I snapped.

No, I detonated.

I slapped him.

So hard.

Like ancestors rose in my palm and said, "Let her cook."

The entire party froze. Music still played in the background like the world hadn’t just ended, but the people? They stopped. Mid-dance, mid-laugh, mid-sip. Like the slap echoed through the floorboards and rearranged everyone’s understanding of who the hell I was.

Marcus’s head tilted sideways from the impact, jaw clenched, face stunned, hand still slightly raised as if he was holding the kiss that never happened.

I dropped my cup.

Didn’t even flinch when the red liquid splashed all over my sandals and the floor. I didn’t care. I didn’t blink. I didn’t even apologize — because sorry was for accidents, and this? This was a public service announcement.

He looked at me slowly, like he couldn’t believe it. Like I was supposed to still be that little broken girl crying in the bathroom stall with toilet paper in my hand, replaying his voice note over and over again. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was eighteen. I was angry. And I had a platform now — the entire party.

I stepped forward.

"Don’t you ever," I started, voice trembling from how hard I was holding it together, "try to touch me like that again. Not here. Not ever. Not after what you did. Not after how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough unless I stripped for your ego."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, and I cut him off with a raised finger.

"No. Don’t talk. Don’t even breathe in my direction right now. You think this is cute? You think just because you got taller and started dressing like an Instagram reel that I forgot everything? I remember, Marcus.

"I remember everything. The voice notes. The comments. The way you laughed about me in your group chat. The way you told people I probably didn’t even know what head meant, like my innocence was funny, like my body was some dumb joke you couldn’t cash in on."

He had the nerve to shift like he was uncomfortable. Good. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"You kissed me, made me feel like I mattered, then ghosted me and came back with a meme about girls who don’t suck dick. You made me feel like my worth was tied to what I didn’t give you. You made me think something was wrong with me. And now you walk back in here, like nothing happened, like we’re just two old flames with unresolved tension?"

I laughed. Loud. Bitter.

"There’s no tension here. There’s just me trying not to vomit in this party dress while you parade around acting like you’re God’s gift to women."

Gasps. Murmurs. I could feel the room shifting. People were watching. And I didn’t even care anymore.

Then I heard it.

Low. Whispered.

Behind me.

"She slapped him harder than she slapped Tasha when she found out."

The breath caught in my throat.

Wait.

I turned slowly. Because something in my bones knew.

"What did you just say?" I asked, voice too calm. Too still.

The girl blinked. Froze. "Nothing. I—I didn’t mean—"

I locked eyes with Tasha.

She had the nerve to avoid my gaze.

My best friend. My sister in soul ties and snack runs. My partner in pain. She was staring at her shoes like they held the secret to world peace.

I stepped forward again.

"Tasha. What the fuck is she talking about."

She didn’t answer.

Oh. Oh no.

"Tasha. What. The fuck. Is she talking about?"

Still silence. Just the low bass of the music and my own blood screaming in my ears.

And then someone else — some drunk idiot who didn’t know how to shut up — decided to end my life.

"She means when Tasha and Marcus hooked up last year."

The silence that followed could’ve sucked the roof off the house.

I stared at Tasha. I mean stared.

My brain tried to process, to reject, to pretend maybe they meant another Tasha or another Marcus, but my stomach already knew the truth. It dropped like a bag of bricks. My chest hollowed. My throat tightened.

"You what?"

She looked up finally. Her face was pale. Her mouth opened. Closed.

"It was..it was just once. It didn’t mean anything. It was stupid..."

Oh fuck this bitch!"