Page 47 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

It was hard to argue with the logic. His tone was too steady, his message too clean. I didn’t like it, but I understood it. The man was protecting his reputation, not venting anger. This wasn’t about rage. It was about rules. Anyone else would file a lawsuit, but in the end they would lose. The debtor would file bankruptcy.

Hayes tilted his head slightly. “You’re not dumb. I’m sure you’re sitting there wondering if there’s another way out of this. Some other solution you just haven’t considered yet.”

“There isn’t,” I said, though it came out quieter than I intended.

He raised one eyebrow, like he didn’t believe me. “There’s always a way when someone’s desperate enough. People mortgage their homes, call in favors, make promises they never imagined making. Resources come out of nowhere when enough pressure is applied.”

I said nothing, and neither did he for a moment. Then his gaze narrowed, not in anger, but in the way someone watches for a reaction they expect to find. “Your father’s not the only one with ties. There’s that CEO…Blackwell. You think he might be inclined to help? Maybe cut a check for an old friend?”

I kept my expression still.

“Your father used to brag about that partnership. Said Blackwell had a gift for building things. That he owed everything to the opportunity that came from that first sale.”

“Xander doesn’t owe us anything,” I said. “He already bought the company. He moved on.”

Hayes nodded slowly, like that answer fit whatever theory he already had. “But you know him. That’s not a question. What I’m asking is whether he’d come through.”

I glanced toward the window, giving myself something else to focus on. My heart started pounding harder, palms growing sweaty. This couldn’t be happening.

Hayes didn’t push the point. “You don’t think he’d help,” he said. “Interesting.”

I could feel the tension knotting at the base of my neck. I wanted to speak, to say something that would shut the whole thing down, but nothing came out. There was no safe version of that conversation. I didn’t know what Xander would do. And even if I did, I wasn’t about to hand him over to this.

Hayes studied me for a moment longer. Then he turned toward the dresser and picked up something small—a hairbrush. He turned it over once in his palm, then set it down again without comment.

“You live alone, right?” he asked in a voice so casual it chilled me. “Nice little apartment. Second floor. Good light. Organized.”

A quiet rush of nausea settled in my stomach. I didn’t move.

“We were careful,” he added. “Didn’t take anything. Just wanted to confirm a few things. Make sure there were no surprises.”

His eyes met mine again and he calmly stared at me. “Your vitamins were still on the counter. You keep your mail in a little wire basket by the door. Appointment card was sitting on the table, tucked halfway under a candle.”

I felt something slip in my chest. Not a panic, exactly. Just that awful drop when you realize you’re too late.

He smiled, just slightly. “Congratulations, by the way.”

I stood without thinking, heart hammering. “Stay away from me.”

“No one’s going to harm you,” he said. “We’re not interested in hurting people. We’re interested in results. But I imagine your father might think differently once he understands what’s really at stake.”

I took a step back, closer to the wall. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for anything, didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Just him being here was terrifying.

“You’re a bargaining chip, Miss Johnson,” he continued, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “You are leverage.” My throat was tight, and my limbs felt heavy, but I didn’t let him see it.

Hayes gave one final glance around the room before walking to the door. “We’ll give him a little more time,” he said. “But not much.”

He stepped through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind him. I heard the lock engage with that same clean, mechanical click I had started to hate.

I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, placing both hands on my stomach. The fabric of my shirt bunched under my palms. I pressed lightly, trying to steady my breath.

They had been in my home. In my space. They knew everything now, and I couldn’t take any of it back. They knew about the baby. They sorted through my trash…

And whatever came next, I had no idea how to stop it.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs and folding my hands tightly together. My fingers wouldn’t stop moving, tracing invisible lines across my palms like I could smooth this feeling away.

The fear wasn’t loud anymore. It had settled somewhere deeper, coiled and quiet inside my chest. But it hadn’t gone. They knew. They had been in my apartment. They had touched my things, seen my appointment card, understood what even I had barely accepted. And now they could use it—use me—in whatever way made the numbers work.

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