Page 17 of Daddy's Sinner

Guide them. Teach them.The words settle over me like a shroud.How can I lead them when I’m barely holding on myself?

“Yes, Prophet,” I reply, my voice steady, even as a sense of dread coils in the pit of my stomach.There’s no escape from this, no way out. This is my life now—a life of obedience, of submission, of endless duties in the name of God.

“And Gabriel,” the Prophet continues, turning to his second, “will assist you. He will be there to ensure everything runs smoothly. The maidens must be ready, their faith unwavering. We are nearing a time of great change, and we cannot afford any weakness.”

Gabriel steps forward, his expression cold, detached and still fucking handsome as ever. “I will ensure it, Prophet,” he says, his voice as emotionless as his beautiful face.

I nod, my eyes flicking between the two men.There’s no room for weakness here. Not in them, and certainly not in me.

“Is there anything else, Prophet?” I ask, hoping to be dismissed before they can ask anything more of me.

He studies me for a moment, as if searching for something, then finally nods. “Go now, Dove. Prepare yourself. We’ll need you strong for what’s to come.”

I bow my head, a gesture of submission, then turn and leave the room, my mind racing.What new trials lie ahead? What more will they demand of me in the name of faith?

As I walk back to my room, the thought of the stranger at the bookstore drifts back into my mind.A distraction, perhaps. A glimpse of something beyond this life. But what does it matter?Here, in the Eden Church, mypath is already laid out before me, every step ordained by the Prophet, by the so-called will of God.

And I will walk it, as I always have.

Back in the safety of my room, I shrug off the white robe, letting it fall to my feet as I make my way to the adjoining bathroom. The cool tiles feel good against my skin as I turn on the taps, running a bath. I add a few drops of lavender oil and some Celtic Sea salt, and the familiar scents fill the room. A few bubbles too—might as well indulge a little.

While the tub fills, I move to my hidden library, the small alcove where I keep my most sinful reads. The dark and twisted ones that the Prophet would call filth.Hypocrite.I can’t help but think of all the things he does behind closed doors, all while preaching purity and devotion.

My current book is particularly scandalous—a story about a cult, where the main characters are siblings.What can I say? I’ve grown accustomed to sinful, taboo relationships.There’s something thrilling about the forbidden, something that makes my pulse quicken and my breath catch. It could be that the trauma of years being used as my father's whore really does a number on someone. With the book secured in my hand, I return to the bathroom just as the tub reaches the perfect level. I dip my feet in first, the warmth seeping into my skin, and slowly lower myself into the water. A sigh escapes me.Fuck, this feels good.I rest my head on the inflatable pillow—I’m not sure what else to call it—and open my book, picking up right where I left off.

Chapter 40. The siblings are about to consummate their forbidden marriage. My heart races as I read, the tension between them palpable.There’s something about crossing those lines, about stepping into the darkness, that’s irresistible.It’s wrong, I know that, but at this moment, I don’t care. All that matters is the way the words on the page make me feel—alive, rebellious, sinful.

Would the Prophet ever allow me to feel something like this?Of course not. His blessings are cold, calculated, and devoid of passion.Everything is a duty, a responsibility, a performance.But in this book, in these forbidden pages, there’s something real, something raw.

I lose myself in the story, the water growing cooler as time passes, but I hardly notice. My fingers turn the pages, my eyes devour the words, and my mind races with thoughts of what it would be like to feel such desire, to be wanted in a way that’s beyond duty and obligation. I guess the Prophet does want me, but I don't want him. There was a time I wanted Gabriel but that's long gone.

Just as the siblings in the story are about to give in to their twisted desires, a noise pulls me from my reverie. The door to my room creaks open, and my heart jumps into my throat. I quickly hide the book under a towel, sinking deeper into the water as Gabriel steps into the bathroom.

“Gabriel,” I say, my voice trembling.What the hell is he doing here?

His eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint in them that I’ve seen before. It’s unsettling, dangerous and full of hunger. “The Prophet is away,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “And I thought I’d pay you a visit, Dove.”

What does he want?My mind races, searching for answers, but the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. Ironically that same hunger used to be my salvation. But he turned me down to marry the woman that walked out on him. He turned me down and offered me to the Prophet instead. I was just a whore for him to use. He steps closer, and I instinctively pull my knees to my chest, trying to cover myself with the bubbles.

Gabriel’s eyes never leave mine, a predatory gleam in them as he speaks. “I’ve been watching you,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “The way you serve the Prophet, the way you fulfill your duties.” He crouches beside the tub, his hand trailing along the edge of the porcelain, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re so obedient, so devoted. But there’s more you need to learn, Marisol. You need to understand more about your role.”

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. What is he talking about? I try to keep my voice steady as I reply, “I serve the Prophet as I’m commanded.”

His gaze darkens, and he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, the scent of him familiar in a way that makes my stomach churn. “And one day,” he whispers, “you will serve me. You will be mine.”

A chill runs down my spine, memories flooding back—memories I’ve tried to bury deep.Serve him?The implications of his words crash over me like a wave, but what terrifies me more is the knowledge that I’ve been here before. This isn’t a new threat; it’s an old promise resurfacing, one that I had naively thought was behind me.

“Gabriel, I—”

“Hush,” he interrupts, his finger pressing against my lips. “Don’t speak. Just listen.”

He stands, his presence towering over me, just as it did in those secret meetings we once shared. Back then, I was drawn to him, to his words, to the darkness that surrounded him. But that was before he traded me to the Prophet, before he used me as a pawn in his twisted game for power. When my mother was alive, I was set to marry him but then he turned around and married another, leaving me to the wind. Then my mother died, and well, I became the Prophet’s.“Proverbs 31:10,” he murmurs, quoting scripture as if it justifies everything. “‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.’”

I swallow hard, my throat dry.What does he mean by that?But I know. I’ve always known. He didn’t just trade me for power; he kept a claim on me, a twisted bond that he intended to cash in when the time was right.

“You will learn to please me,” he continues, his eyes narrowing with cruel intent. “Just as you pleased me before and just as you now please the Prophet. You were made for this, Sol. You were always mine first.”

No, no, no.My thoughts are a tangled mess, fear and revulsion intertwining with a sickening sense of familiarity.This isn’t right. This can’t be happening again.But deep down, a part of me knows it never really stopped.

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