Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy-Chapter 62 | I Was Blackmailed By A Demon

Cheon froze in the doorway. "Where’s Rome? His message said—"

"I know what his message said." Mera held up a phone—Rome’s phone. "I sent it."

"Why would you—"

"Because we need to establish some ground rules before things get complicated." Mera slid off the desk and approached Cheon with a predatory grace that reminded her of a cat stalking a mouse. "You tracked me down in the bathroom yesterday. You asked about Rome’s ability. You said he drained twenty-three percent of your Essentia in four minutes."

Cheon’s face burned. "That was a private conversation."

"Nothing about Rome is private to me." Mera stopped directly in front of Cheon, close enough that Cheon could smell her perfume—something warm and spicy, like cinnamon. "I know what happened in that storage room."

Cheon took an involuntary step backward. "Nothing happened."

"Really? So he didn’t kiss you? Didn’t touch you? Didn’t make you come so hard you couldn’t stand afterward?" Mera’s smile widened at Cheon’s shocked expression. "Rome tells me everything, especially the sweet little moans you made."

The humiliation was complete. Cheon wanted to sink through the floor, to disappear entirely rather than face this conversation. "What do you want from me?"

"I want what’s best for Rome." Mera pulled a folded document from her bag and held it out. "And right now, that means making sure you understand your position in all of this."

Cheon took the document with trembling hands. It was a contract, typed and printed on heavy paper. At the bottom were two signatures: Rome’s and Mera’s.

"Read it," Mera said. "All of it."

Cheon read through it once, fast, the way she processed everything — looking for the structure first, then the details. The document was eight pages. Dense paragraphs. Formal legal language that had clearly been written by an actual attorney and not just formatted to look like one.

A non-disclosure agreement. Specifically about Rome’s Essentia, its classification history, and the circumstances of any prior contact between herself and the signatory party. The language around "prior contact" was clinical in a way that made her face heat up all over again.

"This is absurd," she said. The paper felt strange in her hands. Heavy. "You’re asking me to sign a legal document swearing silence about an ability the NEA hasn’t classified. That’s not secrecy, that’s complicity."

"Check the date on the attachment." Mera nodded toward the second page. "Specifically the registration timestamp."

Cheon turned to it. Three seventeen AM. This morning. Official NEA header, certification number, the works. Classification listed as adaptive-type, Essentia output marked as variable, notes section redacted.

"That’s not possible," she said. "The NEA takes weeks for standard registration processing. The review queue alone—"

"For standard applicants, yes." Mera’s smile didn’t move. "Angelo Enterprises isn’t a standard applicant. They have a dedicated NEA liaison office on the fourteenth floor of their downtown building. Has for twenty years." She let that land. "Money doesn’t just solve bureaucratic problems, Panda. It relocates them to somewhere more convenient."

Cheon read through the contract again, slower this time, checking each clause against the one before it. The terms were tight. Professionally tight. "Then why does he need this at all? If the registration is legitimate and the classification is on file—"

"Because what’s registered isn’t what’s real." Mera’s voice dropped lower. "And you’ve already felt the difference."

The memory flashed through Cheon’s mind—Rome’s hands on her body, the strange pulling sensation as her Essentia flowed out of her, the pleasure that followed.

"What is he?" she whispered.

"Sign the contract, and you’ll find out." Mera produced a pen from her pocket and held it out. "Unless you’d rather keep wondering, keep obsessing over what happened, keep lying awake at night replaying those four minutes in your head."

Cheon’s hand shook as she reached for the pen. "How did you—"

"Because I’ve been where you are." Mera’s expression softened slightly. "The difference is, I stayed. You ran."

Cheon looked down at the contract again. The terms were clear: sign and learn the truth, or walk away and keep wondering. It was no choice at all.

She signed her name beneath Mera’s.

"Good girl," Mera said, taking the contract back and returning it to her bag. "Rome will meet you after school today."

"Why not now?"

"Because he’s arranging something else at the moment." Mera stepped closer again, invading Cheon’s personal space. "One more thing before you go."

"What?"

"If you ever call his phone at one-thirty in the morning again, I will make you regret it." The threat was delivered with a smile that never reached Mera’s yellow eyes. "Rome is mine. I’m willing to share under specific conditions, but I set the boundaries. Understood?"

Cheon should have been outraged at the presumption. She should have reminded Mera that as Class Representative, she could report this entire conversation to the disciplinary committee. Instead, she found herself nodding.

"Good." Mera stepped back, her demeanor shifting back to casual in an instant. "See you around, Panda."

Cheon fled the classroom, her heart pounding in her chest. She’d just signed a contract agreeing to conceal information about a classmate’s ability. She’d just tacitly agreed to Mera’s bizarre sharing arrangement. She’d just committed to a course of action that violated at least three academy regulations.

And the worst part? She couldn’t wait to see Rome again.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. Cheon sat through her classes, taking mechanical notes without processing any of the information. She avoided looking at Rome during the periods they shared. She ignored Nolan when he tried to discuss strategy for Friday’s Battle Trials. She pretended not to notice Aurora’s concerned glances.

Finally, the last bell rang. Her phone buzzed with a message.

Room 3-C. Now. —R

This time, she knew it was really him.

She packed her things with deliberate slowness, waiting until most of her classmates had filed out before making her way back to the empty classroom where she’d met Mera earlier.

Her hand hesitated on the door handle. Beyond this point, there was no turning back. She would learn what Rome really was, what he had done to her in that storage room, why her body still hummed with the echo of his touch. She would become complicit in whatever game Rome and Mera were playing.

She pushed open the door.

Rome was waiting.