"I'll see you soon, trouble," Raphael mutters. He doesn't try to hug me, but I pull him against me anyway, leaving the ghost of a kiss against his lips.
We haven't discussed what's going to happen from here on in, but my needs haven't changed. Raphael Santino is still the only man I need.
"See you soon," I say brokenly, my voice hoarse from not speaking for so long. My parents embrace me as we watch Raphael get in his car and drive away. It'll be so hard to stay away from him for a week. But I have to – my family is waiting for me to start my healing process, and while I have a long road ahead, I'm hopeful with time, I'll get better.
3 months later
Raphael came by the house every week, just as we'd agreed.
The first week was hard. I was dealing with the loss of Mercy, who stayed behind in New York, our broken friendship past the point of being mended. I still worry about her, knowing what she went through – the same thing I experienced. If it's this hard for me, I can only imagine how my former best friend is dealing with everything.
But, as the weeks went by, it got easier. I slowly started speaking more, longing for Raphael's visits. After a month, Dove and Nox agreed to let him come by twice a week, then three times. I'm doing therapy, group sessions as well as individual ones, trying to work through everything that has happened. And the whole time, I hope things will work out for Raphael and me. They have to, because my feelings have only grown stronger.
I can only imagine how hard it is for Raphael to be away from me now that everything's come to light. He must've suffered so much staying away from me. And I haven't even told him the truth about everything that happened in New York. Maybe I'm scared. Maybe it's because there's a small, dark voice inside my mind insisting he won't want me anymore once he finds out.
Today, Raphael stayed with me for hours in the garden, talking about his photography business, telling me everything I'd missed in the year we'd spent away. I silently waved him off as before climbing into bed with my phone.
I haven't touched this phone in weeks, and it still hurts that there's no message from Mercy when I power it back up. She really has given up on me.
I go directly to the sugar baby app and find TyrantDaddy, typing out a message.
I want to tell you what happened in New York. But don't be Raphael. Be TyrantDaddy. Okay?
Less than a minute later, a reply hits my inbox.
Of course. Tell me.
My lips tremble as I start explaining.
I never went to Parsons. I took a lot of drugs and got lost in it because I was so miserable I didn't see another way out. The night before you came to New York, some men came by the apartment. They hurt me and Mercy. That's when I decided to leave.
What men? What did they do to you?
They were some guys Mercy's boyfriend owed money to.
Answer my question, trouble.
You told me you'd be TyrantDaddy, not Raphael.
I'm both, Wills. Now tell me.
I hesitate with my fingers hovering over the screen. How much can I tell Raphael before he tosses me aside and realizes I'm damaged goods?
I don't even know if I can the admit the cold, hard truth to myself.
Does it matter? I type back. I just wanted you to understand why I've been this way. I feel broken.
It matters. Tell me what happened.
I close my eyes, pretending I'm just regaling a horror story that happened to one of my friends. It's easier to accept than the truth.
They came by the apartment one night when we were really out of it. Mercy was shooting up and I'd taken some pills. I blacked out. When I woke up, one of them was inside me.
I send the message, shutting my eyes and wishing I could shut down my pounding heart too. But my phone is ringing now, and I pick it up shakily, answering without saying a word.
"You don't have to speak much," Raphael says. "Just tell me if you'd recognize the guys."
"Y-Yes," I stutter hoarsely.
"Good. Do you still want to stay with Willa and Nox?"
I don't speak, contemplating my answer.
"You could stay with me instead," Raphael offers. "The way it should be. You'll still have therapy, and you'll see them as much as you want. I just want to take care of you. And those men, Wills? I'm going to fucking kill them."
Judging by the intensity of his words, he isn't fucking kidding. I find myself nodding in answer to his question, finally whispering, "Yes, I want to live with you."
"Okay," he mutters. "Start packing. I'm already on my way."
He cuts the call and I get up on shaky feet. I'm on autopilot as I start gathering things from my closet. I don't want to get too excited but there are already butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I've wanted this for a long time. I wanted to be with Raphael all along.
There's a gentle knock on the door, and Dove appears in the hallway.
"Mind if I come in?"
I motion for her to enter, surprised when I see Nox walking in behind her. They both look oddly sheepish as they sit down on my bed, exchanging troubled glances. I sit on the armchair across from them, cocking my head to the side.
"Willa, we..." Nox clears his throat, glancing at Dove. "Err, we... I mean, I... Fuck, I'm bad at this."
"Just say what we talked about, Nox," Dove whispers, patting his hand.
"We know you contacted Theo," Nox says, raising his eyes to mine. "I'm not upset or anything, I wanted to... er, apologize. For lying."
"Robin?" I whisper, and he nods.
"I did go to prison for killing him," he goes on. "I paid my price for the crime I did, and Dove forgave me."
Dove doesn't say a word, just stares at me with a placid expression.
"We understand that you don't really trust us right now," Nox goes on. "And we'll do anything to repair that. We... we don't want the boys finding out, though."
I nod. I can understand that. What would their sons think if they knew Nox was a murderer?
"We also discussed it and we think you should pursue a life with Raphael," Dove adds. "We know you two love each other, and we can't stand in the way of that."
I get up, throwing my arms around them both and enveloping them in a silent hug. We don't need words, not for this. It's clear we mean a lot to one another, and nothing's going to change that now.
"But if that prick hurts you, I'm still going to kill him," Nox throws in with a glare, making me laugh nervously. "You know. Metaphorically."
I nod just as we hear a car pulling up outside.
"Raphael," I mutter apologetically. "He called. He wants me to move in."
They nod and Dove says, "We think that's a good idea. He will help you heal; we trust him."
They walk me downstairs with my haphazardly packed luggage. I say goodbye to the boys while Dove and Nox greet Raphael outside before I join them on the lawn.
Raphael stands by his car, tall, dark, and handsome as ever. Streaks of grey run through his hair and I have no doubt I'm responsible for some of them. But in the end, none of it matters, because as long as we're together, everything's going to be okay.
I run up to him and throw my arms around him, leaning in to nuzzle against his neck.
"Daddy," I whisper softly, quiet enough for just us to hear.
He embraces me tightly, his lips lingering against the shell of my ear as he says, "Daddy's here now, trouble. No one's ever going to hurt you again."
And I believe him.
Epilogue
Theo
I sit in the library of my New York home when the butterfly flies in.
It's unlike anything I've ever seen, purple, with bright translucent wings that glitter in the sunlight.
Waiting for my call to be answered, I absentmindedly watch the butterfly land on my desk. It seems curious, but when I reach out for it, it grows frightened and attempts to flutter away. But I'm too fast for it. My fingers grab onto its wings and I bring it closer to my face, watching it struggle impassively.
It's
afraid of me. Just like everybody else.
I crush its frail body between my fingers, letting the crumpled remains fall to my desk. It's lifeless body quickly loses its struggle against the pain I've inflicted on it, and it stops struggling, the vitality it had only seconds ago leaving its corpse.
Cursing out loud, I end the call. Willa Canterbury-Miller has royally fucked me over.
For the past few months, I've gotten nothing but complaints from the apartment owners in the building where my place is. I gave her my bachelor pad in hopes of reconnecting with my father's family, but Willa let me down. I shouldn't have expected anything else, she's Parker's daughter after all. But still, this pisses me off, especially now that she didn't even pick up her phone.
I have to go there and check what's happening. It's been a year that she's been living in my place and I haven't seen her once apart from that time she came to beg me for a place to stay.
Groaning, I pull myself up from my chair, pain shooting up my leg like it always does. I run my fingers through my hair and button up my suit. Exiting the office, I take the stairs slowly, grimacing when the pain reminds me of what I'll never be able to forget – that I'm nothing but a monster.
Outside, my driver jumps to attention when he sees me coming out.
"We leaving the house today, sir?" he asks, barely concealing the surprise.
I don't leave this place. I've confined myself to the study and library and if I can help it, I never leave the house. But now, because of fucking Willa, I have to face the outside world. She'll pay for that.
"Where to?" my driver asks after helping me get in the car. I hate how fucking useless I am because of this pain.
"My old apartment in Manhattan," I mutter, and he nods, getting behind the wheel.
While we drive through the city, I stare through the windows at the ever-changing landscape of my favorite place on earth – and at the same time, my most hated location.
I traveled when I was a kid, but ever since the accident, I've condemned myself to the brownstone building where I'm safe and undisturbed. It's easier that way. Easier to avoid shitty people whom I'd rather kill than have a conversation with. My blood boils at the thought of leaving. This is all Willa’s fault.
The ride takes ages, reminding me once more just how shitty the traffic is in this place. Once we finally arrive, Woodworth helps me out of the car and I wince as I walk into the building.
"Mr. Wildfox Miller!" The doorman scurries toward me with a nervous smile. "We had no idea you were coming, I'm –"
"Don't worry about it," I grunt in response, getting in the elevator without meeting his eyes. "This won't take long."
Fucking hopefully. Because I'm not about to spend the evening here with my traitorous little bitch cousin who wrapped me right around her little finger. I'm just here to tell her she needs to get the fuck out of my place.
The elevator doors close and I exhale a breath of relief. I hate being around people, hate their questioning stares when they see me wincing, hate the trepidation that's written all over their faces as they stare into mine.
I know I look like a monster.
The scar that mars my face runs along the length of my right side. My vision in one eye is impaired, and unlike my dark brown eye, my right one is ice blue, nearly white. I look like a beast from a storybook, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
The elevator dings and I get out, wincing as I walk to the apartment where Willa has been wreaking havoc for the past year. I rap my knuckles at the door, instantly noticing the number on the door is askew. She couldn't even fix that? How fucking lazy is she?
But if I'm shocked by the appearance of the flat from outside, nothing prepares me for the sight as the door flies open.
A feral creature stands before me. Her dark hair is unruly and wild, curls framing her face. Her pupils are dilated to a painful extreme, nearly taking up all of the green of her irises. Her skin is pale, deathly pale, and she looks skinny enough to be a child. But she's a woman – underneath the dirt, grime and makeup. She's only wearing a long T-shirt, and I'm not even sure she has a pair of panties underneath it.
"What?" she barks at me ferociously.
But what shocks me more than her obvious hostility is that she doesn't recoil at the sight of me.
Since the accident, people have been treating me very fucking differently. They won't meet my gaze. They're freaked out by my scowl, by the scar, by the eye. But not this girl. She just stares at me with pure hatred, not even flinching at my beast-like appearance.
"Where the fuck is Willa?" I hiss back, matching her tone.
"Willa?" Her bottom lip trembles, making her look intensely vulnerable. It elicits an unwelcome reaction from me, one of pity, one of wanting to help this clearly lost creature. I shake my head to get the thought out. "She doesn't live here anymore."
"Then who the hell are you?"
"Mercy."
Her name feels like something between a blessing and a curse on her lips. And judging by the state of her, I'm guessing it's more of the latter. She certainly looks like she's going through something, and she seems high as fuck.
"And who the fuck are you?" she asks me. "You can't just walk in here and start demanding shit, Mr. Stranger."
"I'm the fucking guy whose apartment you're living in," I tell her coolly, risking a look over her shoulder into the interior of my place. "And judging by the state of it, Mercy, you got a lot of fucking explaining to do."
She instantly pales and I quickly realize it's worse than I first imagined. First of all, the scent of weed is flowing from inside, so potent it makes my stomach roll. And I can already see just from standing at the front door that the place is fucking trashed. What the fuck has Willa done to this apartment? And what the hell is this wild creature doing here, wrecking everything?
Mercy reacts quickly, attempting to slam the door closed on me. But I'm too fast for her, sliding my good leg between the door and its frame, wincing when she hits me with it hard.
"I'm calling the cops!" she screams like a banshee.
"And telling them what? That you're trespassing in my goddamn apartment?" I shake my head. "I don't fucking think so. Let me in."
"N-No."
She stubbornly crosses her arms and attempts to block me from entering my own place. "You can't come in right now."
"You'll forgive me if I don't take you seriously," I growl. "You're trespassing, Mercy. Now step the fuck aside so I can come inside."
She chews her bottom lip nervously, sizing me up with her eyes. She quickly comes to the realization she won't be able to hold me back physically. The girl is tiny and I tower over her. I could easily throw her over my shoulder and toss her the fuck out of here.
"Please don't come in."
Her voice is pleading now and I see she's trying a new tactic.
"Step aside."
"No."
I grunt, grabbing her by the waist while she shrieks and setting her aside as I walk into the apartment.
The first thing I notice is the smell which is even stronger inside. But there's something else. The apartment is bare, stripped of everything that was worth something.
Shocked, I walk through the rooms. Graffiti covers the once white walls, stains are everywhere, and there's a leak in the bathroom. The place is fucking threadbare, all my furniture and all my fucking stuff long gone. In the bedroom, there's a stained mattress with drug paraphernalia littering the floor.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss at the girl who's nervously following me around. "When did Willa leave? Why didn't she tell me what happened here?"
"I-I needed a place to stay," Mercy stutters nervously.
"And who the fuck are you?" I roar, glaring at her.
"I'm Willa’s best friend." She crosses her arms in front of her, instantly defensive.
"Then tell me where she is, so I can yell at her instead of you."
"She's... I don't know."
"You don't know where your b
est friend is?"
She narrows her dilated pupils at me. "She left, it's been months. We got into an argument."
"And yet you're still here," I hiss. "Causing trouble for me, turning my place into a fucking disaster. Look at this apartment, Mercy! It's goddamn wrecked."
She doesn't apologize, in fact she doesn't say a word, just stares at me with a defiant expression.
"You're going to have to pay for this," I bark at her.
"I don't have any money."
"You wrecked this place," I tell her. "You got rid of my stuff. It's going to cost me tens of thousands of dollars to restore it. What the fuck do you have to say for yourself? How are you going to repay me?"
Her eyes flash with panic before a determined look takes over. She takes a step closer, assaulting my nose with her scent. The girl is a goddamn mess. Underneath all the grime, I guess she could be pretty, but right now she's a fucking drug addict I can spot from a mile away. She runs her finger over my chest suggestively and I capture it with my hand, glaring at her as I painfully twist it.
"Ow!"
"What the fuck are you doing, Mercy?"
"Giving myself a way out," she whimpers. "Please. You can fuck me. You don't even have to pay me."
"What the hell?"
"Please," she pleads, twisting her hand away from me and sucking on the finger I hurt. The sight is actually kind of hot, if you can get past her disheveled appearance, but I continue glaring at her, nevertheless. "You can do anything you want to me. You can fuck my ass. Are you into pain?"
"What the fuck, Mercy?" I growl at her. "Are you trying to sell me your body?"
"It's got to be worth something," she mutters.
"Not the damage you've done to this place." I step closer, narrowing my eyes at her. "Plus, I fuck beautiful women. Women who take care of themselves. Women who pride themselves on their appearance. Beauties. Not you."
Her bottom lip trembles. I know I've gone too far but I can't take back what I said, even though I kind of regret it already.
"You need to get the fuck out of here," I deliver lastly. "You have a day."
"A day?" She groans, running her hands through her mess of hair. "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"
Tyrant Daddy: An Age Gap Forbidden Romance Page 17
