Matched With My Incubus Dad

“Mom, stop talking nonsense,” I said. “If Dad hears this, his pure-love, romance brain is going to jump off a building.”

I thought my mom was just making things up and didn’t believe her for a second.

However, on the other end of the line, her tone was unusually serious and with a hint of regret.

“I’m not making things up. Honestly, what’s wrong with you? How did you not inherit even a little of your mom’s lust for good-looking men?”

Actually, I did inherit it. However, inheritance was evenly split. While I got my mom’s attraction to men, I also got my dad’s honest, pure-love personality.

My dad became the ultimate hopeless romantic don. Outside, he’s powerful. At home, though, he’s a good man who obediently washes his beautiful wife’s feet.

So I grew up into an honest pervert.

I lusted for men. However, the moment I saw one, I couldn’t say a single word.

Just like my dad, I’ve lived honestly and barely dated.

Still, my drawer is full of toys, and I’ve paid for VIP memberships on certain websites.

I really couldn’t understand it. Could it be… that I was actually picked up from a trash bin?

“Mom, can you explain this properly? What do you mean, ‘he might be my dad’? I’m only twenty. I’m not ready for this kind of childhood trauma!”

My mom was vague.

“I sent you his contact on WhatsApp. Add him, meet once, and you’ll understand.”

My heart jumped. I got even more nervous.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to. I’m not adding him.”

“I already sent it,” she said. “Just treat it as helping me ask about what happened back then. Have a proper chat!”

I was close to breaking down.

Mom always looked gentle and virtuous. I never imagined her youth had been this exciting.

Of course, as her biological daughter, I knew a little. All of it came from my dad crying while drunk, talking about how hard it was to win her over.

“If I hadn’t been chosen as the new don in the middle of a shootout, there’s no way I could’ve married your mom!

“Sigh, if a man wants to marry the woman he loves, he needs power and status to protect her. If not… then at least be reliable, like me.”

Looking back, being a hopeless romantic really was miserable.

Dad might’ve ended up taking responsibility for someone else’s kid.

My temples throbbed as emotions tangled together in my head.

Then my phone buzzed.

My boss had sent me several messages while I was on the phone with my mom, urging me to send over the new proposal.

Thankfully, it wasn’t that older man.

I actually felt relieved.

Dad never wanted me to inherit his career. He just wanted to protect me quietly and let me live an ordinary girl’s life.

Because of that protection, I’ve barely had any contact with men.

Since I was a child, any male classmate who showed even a little interest in me would be chased down by my dad’s men. The next time they saw me, they’d only beg for mercy.

When I was younger and first started having feelings, I once tried flirting with an upperclassman.

We were on a Ferris wheel, and I was about to make a romantic confession.

He held my hand, his face bright red.

Then the amusement park was suddenly sealed off. The Ferris wheel was controlled. From the top, we watched the crowd scatter below as if a terrorist attack had happened. We thought we were going to die.

As the Ferris wheel slowly stopped, men in black aimed their guns at us.

“Hey, kid, leave your phone, hand over the girl next to you, and get lost.”

I looked helplessly at my senior and closed my eyes, praying he would step forward to protect me.

Instead, he dropped his phone and ran without hesitation.

When I opened my eyes again, all that remained was a wall of black.

At that moment, my dad casually walked out of the crowd and spoke to me, who had carefully dressed up.

“Hallie, men are no good. Why don’t you ever listen to your dad? Do you really need a live demonstration?”

He opened the senior’s phone, tapped a few times, then tossed it to me.

“Look.”

Inside were chat records with more than ten junior girls. Every day, good morning and good night messages. He’d even given each of them a nickname.

Mine read: Big Boobs No Brains (Meet on Sunday).

I was heartbroken.

After that, Dad became even stricter. He forbade me from having any contact with boys my age.

His single-track brain completely ignored the idea that things can backfire when pushed too far.

…

I really wanted a man.

Hallie Parker, you’re seriously sexually repressed.