Page 4 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"And if I don't?"
I reach into my desk drawer and pull out my favorite letter opener—the same one I used to open a man's throat for touching what belonged to me fifteen years ago. The blade gleams in lamplight as I clean my fingernails with its point, each scrape deliberate and meaningful.
"You know what I used to do before I became respectable, don't you, son?" I roll up my left sleeve, revealing the fullscope of my ink—religious imagery mixed with death symbols, each tattoo a milestone in my journey from soldier to general in Colorado's underworld. "The bodies I buried. The families I destroyed. The men who thought blood relations would protect them from my disappointment."
His eyes track the movement of the blade, terror replacing defiance. "You wouldn't... I'm your son."
"Biology doesn't grant immunity." I set the blade down with deliberate care, the soft click echoing like a gunshot. "Your trust fund? Gone. Your college? I'll make sure you're expelled for academic dishonesty—easy enough to arrange when you've been buying papers for two years."
Color drains completely from his face. "You know about that?"
"I know everything about you, Aaron. Every weakness, every crime, every moment of cowardice." I stand slowly, moving around the desk with predatory grace. "But that's just the beginning."
I move closer, towering over him, the letter opener back in my hand. "You'll break up with her. Tonight. You'll tell her you're done, that you're too weak for her, that you can't handle her brilliance. Make it convincing, or I'll make your life a nightmare." I step closer, the blade's tip grazing the desk's edge, a soft scrape that echoes in the quiet. "Your friends? They'll scatter when I'm done. And if you dare drag Kyra into your pathetic rebellion..." I pause, letting the threat hang, voice a low snarl. "I'll make sure she suffers too. A car accident. A disappearance. You know I can make it happen."
Aaron's face is ghost-white, breathing shallow. He knows. He's heard whispers of my past—broken bones, men who crossed me and vanished. The letter opener clatters back to the desk, the sound a final warning.
"I have eyes everywhere, Aaron. Men who owe me. Men who'd do anything for a nod. You think you can hide from me? Runwith her? I'll find you. I'll find her. And when I do, I'll fuck her on the ruins of your life."
He's trembling now, eyes wide, glistening with unshed tears. "You're a monster," he whispers, but there's no fight left in him.
"I'm your father," I say, voice a cold, unyielding command. "And you'll do as I say. Break her heart. Save her from you. From us." I lean back, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. "Do it, or I'll carve her name into your very soul."
He nods, a jerky, defeated motion, hands shaking as he grips the chair. "I'll... I'll do it."
"You're insane. She'll see right through it."
"Will she?" I return to my desk, pulling out another file—psychological profiles of Kyra compiled by my surveillance team. "She's been questioning your relationship for months. Wondering if she's settling. Doubting whether you really love her or just enjoy having arm candy that makes you look serious."
I read directly from the report: "Subject observed crying after phone arguments with L. Strickland on six separate occasions. Friends report she frequently expresses frustration with subject's immaturity and lack of future planning."
"You're sick." But his voice lacks conviction.
"I'm thorough." I close the file with a soft snap. "Kyra Sinclair is brilliant, driven, and destined for greatness. She's wasting her prime years on a boy who cancels dates to get drunk with his fraternity brothers. Who flirts with other women when he thinks she's not looking. Who treats her ambitions like hobbies."
I trace the rose on my hand, feeling its raised edges beneath my skin. "You're going to set her free, Aaron. Tonight. And you're going to make her believe it's for her own good."
"And if I refuse?"
The smile that crosses my face is the same one that used to appear in nightmares of men who opposed me. "Then I'll destroy you so completely that when Kyra comes to comfort me over myson's tragic overdose, she'll be grateful for the shoulder to cry on."
The threat hangs between us, as real as the gun in my desk drawer and the bodies I've put in the ground. Aaron may be my blood, but Kyra is my obsession. And obsession always wins.
"When?" he whispers.
"Tonight. Call her in one hour. Tell her you need to see her. Then end it." I slide a piece of paper across the desk. "Here's what you're going to say. Memorize it."
He reads the script I've prepared with growing horror. It's perfectly crafted to wound her just enough to ensure she won't try to fight for the relationship, while leaving her self-esteem intact enough that she'll be receptive to comfort from the right source.
"This is evil," he whispers.
"This is love." I stand, moving to the window that overlooks the garden where I first realized I wanted her. "Real love. The kind that's willing to do whatever it takes to claim what it needs. You wouldn't understand."
"She'll never want you. The age difference alone—"
"Will make her feel protected. Cherished. Valued in ways your pathetic fumbling never could." I turn back to him, voice low with dark promise. "Kyra craves intellectual stimulation, emotional depth, and security. I can provide all three. You offer her nothing but pretty privilege and broken promises."
I return to my desk, picking up the letter opener again. "You have fifty-five minutes to prepare. Call her at exactly eight o'clock. Break her heart quickly and cleanly. Then disappear from her life completely."
