Page 6 of Forced Bratva Hostage

He was wearing a black T-shirt over a pair of faded jeans. Dad looked better than the last time I saw him, and maybe this was a good sign; maybe he'd changed.

“Wanna come in?” I smiled widely, looking into his eyes to discreetly search for any sign of insincerity.

My keys jingled as I approached the door and opened it. I walked into my apartment, his footsteps following behind me. Taking my jacket off, I flung it over a couch in my living room as I headed to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The couch crunched beneath his weight as he sank into it.

“What would you like to eat?” I asked, opening the fridge to check what supplies I had stored in it.

“Just water will be fine,” he replied, shooting a glance in my direction.

“Are you sure?” I squinted, staring at him with knitted brows.

He flashed a wry smile. “Positive.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, pouring him a glass.

His gaze was sweeping across my cozy living room when I arrived with a glass of water. “Thank you.” He accepted it, nodding.

I took a seat on a sofa across from him, my heart racing with anticipation as I wondered what had brought him here today. “So, Dad,” I began, rubbing my palms over my lap, my gaze fixed on him, “to what do I owe this visit?”

He set the glass down on the coffee table and lifted his eyes. “I'm that terrible at parenting that my visits are now being questioned,” he teased, a faint grin playing on his lips.

“Well, you can't blame me for thinking there's an ulterior motive behind you stopping by—I mean, the last time I saw you was two years ago, which I'm still mad about, by the way,” I said with an accusing tone, laced with a hint of teasing and genuine annoyance.

“You're right,” he said, heaving a sigh. “I've been such a terrible father to such an amazing woman.” His voice, dripping with emotion, melted my heart. “I don't deserve to have you as a daughter, Wren. You're too good for me.” His gaze never left my face.

I sat there, frozen in shock, eyes slowly widening at his words.

Did he mean them? Was he being genuine?

The flutter in my chest stole my breath away, and all I could do in that moment was hope and pray that this wasn't another one of his tricks to get into my good graces.

“You've done so much for me, and that alone makes it a lot harder to ask this of you.” He sighed heavily, his gaze lingering on me.

Oh, here we go again.

My face fell, my expression softening into a gentle disappointment.

I should've known better.

I'd seen his movie before, and I knew how it always ended, yet I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt once again. And, once again, he let me down.

What was I thinking, believing he'd changed?

My eyebrows drooped, lips turning downward as he shattered my hopes of getting my father back.

“Do you have some money saved up?” he dared to ask, avoiding my eyes. “I could really use some right now, sweetheart. Your old man needs saving again.”

My heart ached, eyes misting at how shamelessly he was using me. He wouldn't bother to call, wouldn't bother to check on me, but the moment he was in trouble, he'd remember that I existed.

Sometimes, I wondered if he had any idea how much his actions were hurting me.

I sniffed, throwing my head up in an attempt to force my tears back. “I’m afraid I can't help you this time, Dad.” I looked into his eyes, disappointment flickering in their depths. “I wish I could help you, but I can't. I've used up all of my savings to pay my bills.”

His eyes, once hopeful, dulled, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of my words. His lips trembled subtly, his gaze darting away to hide his pain. “I understand.” He cleared his throat.

No matter how mad I was at him, if I had the money to spare, I'd do that without a moment of hesitation. But today, I sincerely had nothing to help with.

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