Daddy's Secret Obsession

JESSY

I burst out of the café, my heart pounding like a war drum, each beat amplifying the sting of betrayal that blazed within me. How could he do this? After all the promises, the sweet nothings whispered in the dark about waiting, about building something real without rushing into the physical.

"I love you for who you are, Jessy," he'd said, his eyes brimming with sincerity-how could I have believed him? But today, over a half-finished latte and a crumbling muffin, he shattered it all. "You don't respond to my touches," he spat, frustration dripping from his voice. "It's like you're some kind of... Mother Virgin Mary. I can't do this anymore." Mother Virgin Mary?! Those words hit me like a slap, reducing me to a cold stereotype. I wasn't unresponsive; I just... didn't feel it. Not with him.

At eighteen, I'd never felt that spark everyone raved about, that electric pull that ignited the skin and stole your breath. Maybe I was broken, or maybe he was just wrong for me. Tears blurred my vision as I rushed down the street, the city lights flickering above like mocking stars. Memories of my life after the accident flooded my mind. My parents-gone in an instant, victims of a tragic car crash that left me and my younger "mom" reeling. Wait, not my younger mom; she was my mom's sister, who stepped in as my guardian and insisted I call her Mom.

Vibrant and full of life, she was only in her late thirties, but we were both shattered. She often spoke of the uncle I'd never met-the one quietly supporting us from the shadows, funding our lives without ever showing his face. "He's family, Jessy," she'd say with a knowing smile. "Rich as sin, but private. One day, you'll meet him." Now, I was the breadwinner, juggling college classes and a part-time job at a bookstore to make ends meet. It wasn't much, but it kept us afloat. Our home-a sprawling mansion on the city's outskirts-was proof of his wealth, with marble floors, soaring ceilings, and rooms echoing with emptiness.

I often pondered about this phantom benefactor. Who was he? Why the secrecy? But tonight, anger and heartbreak drowned out those questions, buried beneath the weight of my ex's cruel words. By the time I reached home, my feet ached, and exhaustion clawed at me. I fumbled with my keys, pushing the heavy oak door open with a creak that seemed deafening in the stillness.

The foyer was dimly lit by a distant lamp, but I didn't bother turning on more lights. I was too drained to climb the grand staircase to my room upstairs. Instead, I headed straight for the cozy sitting area-a crash spot with a plush couch and enough privacy to unwind without bothering Mom.

I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking shut, sealing me in darkness. The room was pitch black, curtains drawn tight against the outside world. I let out a shaky