All Chapters of Don't Stop, Daddy: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The house had become a stage, and Vanessa its director.Every hallway felt like it had been rearranged with intention, every portrait staring harder, every lamp turned just so to cast shadows in corners Sierra hadn’t noticed before. It was suffocating, the way her mother’s presence had grown heavier in the air. Vanessa was no longer a mother simply watching her daughter, she was a predator circling her prey.It had been two days since the parlor game, the trap Vanessa had set with her questions about lies and family. Two days since Sierra’s tongue twisted into careful words, words that saved her in the moment. She had expected relief, but instead she found herself raw with paranoia.Damien had rewarded her deception with bruises and ropes that night, whispering against her ear how flawlessly she had lied, how perfectly she had played her role. But she had heard something beneath his praise, a tremor in his voice that was more than lust. Fear. The kind of fear only a man with something

The clinking of silverware was the loudest sound at breakfast. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off porcelain teacups and polished spoons. Sierra sat rigid, her fingers curled around her napkin until it was wrinkled. The food before her sliced melon, warm croissants, and berries glowing like jewels was untouched.Across the table, Vanessa poured tea with a grace that could have belonged to a queen. She was radiant in pale blue, her diamonds catching light with every movement. Her smile was soft, warm, almost tender. It was the smile Sierra had grown up with the smile that had once meant safety, love, home.Now it felt like a mask.Damien arrived late, his jacket folded over his arm, tie loosened at his throat. He looked perfectly at ease, but Sierra had learned to read the subtle signs, the faint clench in his jaw, the measured weight of his voice when he finally said, “You wanted us together this morning?”“Yes.” Vanessa’s reply was smooth, her eyes glowing as though

The morning after the storm dawned gray and heavy, the mansion wrapped in mist as though the world itself had been smothered under a shroud. Sierra woke to the hush of rain dripping from the eaves, her body sore, her skin still marked with Damien’s possession.For a moment she lay still, tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of smoke and him, her mind caught between the dreamlike haze of last night and the sharp dread of what came next. She remembered Vanessa’s eyes, cold and shining, her glass untouched.The memory curdled her stomach.She sat up, tugging the sheets around her, her gaze drawn to the door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could enter. She could enter.A knock startled her so violently she bit back a cry.“Sierra?” It was Mrs. Alden, the housekeeper. Her voice was low, careful. “Your mother requests you join her for breakfast.”Her mother. Not Vanessa.The phrasing wasn’t casual. It was deliberate.Sierra forced her hands to stop trembling long enough to dress.The breakfast

The mansion no longer felt like a home. It felt like a stage. Every corridor, every polished floor, every set of watching eyes belonged to Vanessa now.Sierra felt it the moment she stepped from her bedroom that morning. Mrs. Alden, the housekeeper, was dusting the banister, her gaze sliding over Sierra with unusual sharpness. The butler paused longer than necessary when taking her breakfast plate. The maids whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear.And through it all, Vanessa floated like a queen surveying her court, calm, graceful, untouchable. She didn’t need to accuse Sierra directly. She only had to let suspicion bloom in the silence, and the staff would do the rest.By midday, Sierra’s nerves were fraying. She caught sight of Damien in the corridor, his jaw tight, his eyes stormy. He waited until the hall was clear before pulling her into the shadow of an alcove.“She’s turning them,” he muttered, his grip firm on her wrist. “Every one of them. She’ll use their whispers to

The morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, washing the dining room in a deceptive calm. The clink of silverware against the chair , carried a rhythm that grated against Sierra’s ears. Vanessa sat at the head of the table as if she were conducting an orchestra, her every glance, every pause, every deliberate sip of coffee a calculated move.Sierra forced a bite of toast past the tightness in her throat. Once, breakfast had been easy, a time of laughter, of harmless chatter about college schedules or Damien’s business trips. Now, the silence between every word felt like barbed wire stretched across the table.Vanessa’s smile was deceptively soft as she set her cup down. “You’ve been quiet, Sierra. Are the city nights tiring you already?”Sierra’s stomach clenched. “Just adjusting,” she murmured, reaching for her water.Damien, seated beside Sierra, shifted ever so slightly, his hand brushing against hers under the table. The touch was fleeting but grounding. He knew. He could se