Chapter 03 Her new Daddy

***Olivia's POV***

The grief hadn't been a quiet thing.

One day, I was the pampered daughter of James Perez, the next, I was listening to a lawyer read a will that sounded more like a prison sentence.

I was staring at the ceiling, wondering if I could jump from the balcony without breaking my neck to escape this hell hole, when my phone vibrated.

Chandler: Dinner is ready. Come down.

Then followed by...

Chandler: Now.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. Of course, he knew my number. And he just barked orders through a screen like I was an employee he was about to fire.

I ignored it for ten minutes, just to be difficult, before the thought of him coming up here to collect me made me scramble out of bed.

When I reached the kitchen, I stopped dead. The heavy scent of garlic, rosemary, and seared steak filled the air.

Chandler was standing at the kitchen counter, his back to me. He ditched the suit jacket again, his white shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs and rolled up, exposing those forearms that I secretly... and very guiltily, found myself keep staring at.

He was plating two steaks with a precision that was almost hypnotic.

"You cooked?" I asked, my voice sounding smaller than I wanted.

"Were you expecting I would starve you here?" he said without turning around, his gravelly baritone vibrating.

He turned, holding two plates, and gestured to the island. I sat, watching him move that felt entirely too masculine for a kitchen.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, looking around the suspiciously quiet house. "The chef? What about the housemaids earlier?."

"There's no chef and the housekeepers will come once a week to deep clean," he said, sitting opposite me. "I don't like strangers loitering in my private space."

"So what, I'm just supposed to live in a ghost house with you?" I snapped, picking up my fork but not eating. "What if I wanted a midnight snack that didn't involve me burning the kitchen down?"

"Then you’ll learn to cook. Or you’ll ask me," he countered, his dark eyes lifting to mine, unyielding and cold. "Though judging by what your father had told me, you’d probably just try to order take-outs."

I frowned, not liking the fact that my Dad talks to him about me. I shouldn't be surprised, he was my Dad's bestfriend. But he's been gone from our life for too long, it was hard to think about him as someone close.

"Eat, Olivia," he commanded, his voice dropping into that low register. "And don't test my patience tonight. I’ve had a long day dealing with all this mess, and the last thing I need is a brat throwing a tantrum in my home."

"I just don't know why Dad trusted you with everything," I said, my voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "You weren't even here when he was suffering with his illness. I was."

"Your father trusted me because he knew I wouldn't be swayed by your tears. He saw what you couldn't, that you were handing your future to a boy—"

"You don't know him!" I snapped before he could continue, the anger finally overriding the weird flutter in my chest. "Drake and I have been together for three years. He’s been my entire world, Dad knew how much he meant to me."

"He knew," Chandler corrected, finally looking up. "And that is exactly why he wrote the will the way he did. He didn't dislike the boy, Olivia. He pitied the fact that his daughter couldn't see a parasite for what it was."

"He's not a parasite," I hissed, though the way Chandler said it, with such calm, devastating certainty, made a seed of doubt itch in the back of my mind.

"Break up with him."

I suddenly wanted to stab him with my fork.

"You're unbelievable," I breathed, my grip tightening on the fork. "You think you can just come into my life and act like my new f*cking Daddy?"

His jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek at my choice of words.

The air in the kitchen suddenly felt heavy, the temperature dropping as his dark eyes locked onto mine.

"Careful, Olivia," he murmured, his voice dropping into a register that made my skin prickle with a terrifying heat. "Words like that carry a weight you aren't ready to handle. If you want me to act the part, I can start right now."

For a split second, a heat flared in my skin. I shouldn’t have said that. The word 'Daddy' felt too... inappropriate, crackling with a tension inside me I wasn't ready to name.

But I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fluster. I knew he didn't mean it the way I perceived it.

I didn't reply and forced myself to look down and shove a piece of steak into my mouth just to avoid saying anything else stupid.

The food was actually incredible, which only made me angrier. I ate in a stiff, uncomfortable silence. He didn't say another word, just watched me with that terrifyingly calm focus until I finished every bite on the plate.

"Finished?" he asked, his voice smooth and cold again.

"Yes. And I’m going to bed."

"Good night, little one."

I froze at the familiar endearment he used to call me and the sudden hatred I felt for it. The thought of him still seeing me as a child made my blood boil.

I stood up, pushing my chair back with a sharp screech, and marched out of the kitchen without looking back. My legs felt like jelly until I reached the safety of my room.

I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He’s just an arrogant, controlling prick.

I told myself, clutching my pillow.

A thirty-eight-year-old dinosaur who thinks he can own me.

I reached for my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I pulled up my messages with Drake.

Me: I miss you, baby. I’m coming to see you tomorrow morning.