Page 1 of Stealing Daddy's Heart

Prologue

Skylar

4 Years Ago (Age 18)

The ballroom glowswith chandeliers and laughter, ladies in sparkling gowns and gentlemen in crisp tuxedos. Yet none of it feels real. After so many years at boarding school, this isn't home anymore.

It hasn’t been my home since Mom passed. Vanessa tries hard, but I miss the easy warmth that used to fill these rooms.

“Skylar, darling,” my stepmother coos, her hand gentle on my arm as she steers me toward yet another potential match.

I smile, not wanting to be rude as he introduces himself—James, maybe, or Jason? All of these guys seem the same: nice enough, polished, but nothing beneath the surface that feels real.

“Nice to meet you,” comes out automatically.

I barely register when James-or-Jason explains something about his university. Vanessa is watching, hopeful and expectant, but all I want to do is leave.

I pick up a canape from a tray, hoping it’ll at least give me a reason not to talk. But as soon as I take a bite, something sharp pinches against the tight bodice of my dress, the offending piece slipping somewhere extremely uncomfortable. Great. Just what I needed.

I glance around for an escape route. The line for the restroom is as long as Vanessa’s list of eligible bachelors, so that’s out of the question. But there, across the room, I spot the door to my father’s library—a quiet, hidden haven away from the chaos. Perfect.

“I, um, need to freshen up,” I mumble, already stepping back from the conversation.

I push through the crowd, the canape still causing havoc. Reaching the library, I slide inside and close the door with a firm click. The party’s noise fades, replaced by blessed silence. I lean against the cool wood, catching my breath.

I've escaped the suffocating expectations out there, but now what? I'm not a child anymore, but I'm not sure I know how to be an adult either.

First things first. I need to get this damn canape out of my dress before it drives me insane. I hurriedly cross to the far corner, where the shadows are deepest, glance around the empty room, and shove my hand down the front of my dress to fish out the offending item.

I twist and arch to create even a millimeter of space between my skin and the steel boning inside the corset.

This isn't underwear. It's an instrument of torture.

“Come on, you little bastard.” A deep, amused voice startles me.

“There must be easier ways to do whatever it is you're doing. But damn, girl. That mouth on you could make a sailor blush.”

I freeze, my hand still halfway down the front of my dress, and look up in shock. Garrett Hayes, Dad's best friend and business partner is sitting comfortably on one of the leather couches, with a glass of scotch resting casually in his hand.

How did I miss him? His presence fills the room, commanding attention even in silence.

“Well, if I'd known you were in here, I would've asked for help sooner,” I shoot back, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

I turn away, fish out the crumbled canapé, and hold it up like a trophy. Smoothing my dress, I flick the mess into the trash and dust off my hands. Done.

Garrett chuckles, taking a slow sip of his scotch before setting the glass down on the side table. “I'm not sure that would've been appropriate. But I'm sure you could've convinced me.”

My breath catches, the double entendre hanging in the air between us like a secret challenge. This is a man I've known since childhood, yet tonight, in the soft glow of the library lamps, he seems entirely new.

Damn, he looks good in that suit.

I might be out of my depth, but I’m not a kid anymore. It’s time to see if he notices the difference.

“Well, if you're offering,” I say, giving him a smile that’s just a little bolder as I walk toward him.

Garrett watches me, his face unreadable, though there’s a flicker in his eyes of something unrecognizable. Amusement? Curiosity? Whatever it is spurs me forward.

I stop a foot away from him, feeling the warmth of his presence and smelling the heady scent of his cologne.

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