All Chapters of Don't Stop, Daddy: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The storm had passed by dawn, but its echoes lingered in the air. Rainwater clung to the windows in streaks that distorted the view outside, while the house itself felt strangely heavier, as though it too had absorbed the tension of the night. The silence was oppressive, filled with the kind of weight that made every sound sharper the tick of the grandfather clock, the faint creak of floorboards, the muffled rustle of curtains in the draft.Sierra sat perched on the edge of her bed, her knees drawn up, hair still damp from the shower she had forced herself into at sunrise. She hadn’t slept. Not a single hour. The photograph Vanessa had slipped her days ago was clenched tightly in her hand.Her stomach twisted every time she looked at it. Grainy, but clear enough: Damien’s hand gripping her wrist, his gaze fixed on her like fire and steel. Proof of their closeness. Proof of betrayal. Proof of sin. Vanessa didn’t need more than this she already had them pinned against the wall.Her ches

The photograph wouldn’t stop staring at her.Sierra had folded, hidden, and shoved it into the bottom of her dresser beneath layers of clothes, but it clung to her mind like a ghost. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again: her own body, captured mid motion, Damien’s hand brushing against her wrist in a way that looked almost innocent until you noticed the way she leaned into him, the way her lips parted slightly, betraying hunger.It wasn’t just a picture. It was proof.The thought alone sent panic clawing through her chest, cold and unrelenting. Whoever had taken it hadn’t stumbled on them by accident. The angle was too precise, and the timing too damning. Someone had been watching, and someone had known where to look.Her breath hitched as she sat at her vanity, staring at her pale reflection. Her skin seemed thinner than usual, as though fear had leached the color from her. Every sound in the house the distant clink of dishes in the kitchen, the creak of footsteps in the

The days that followed blurred into one long test of endurance. Sierra moved through the house with her pulse constantly in her throat, Vanessa’s shadow pressing over her like an invisible weight. Every glance, every word, every pause carried double meaning. Vanessa had not shown the second envelope again, but the absence of it was worse than its presence. Somewhere in the house, or hidden away in some secret corner of her possession, the proof waited. Sierra felt its presence like a phantom vein running beneath the floorboards, throbbing with menace.Damien played his part with chilling precision. He still kissed Vanessa in the kitchen, still smiled at her little anecdotes, still slipped his arm around her waist in public. To anyone else, he was the picture of a devoted husband. But Sierra saw the cracks the stiffness in his smile, the faint tremor of rage in his jaw. He was fighting a war under his skin, and every time his eyes met Sierra’s across the room, the truth flickered there

The note lay on the vanity like a brand, its words scorching Sierra’s vision even after she turned away.Every game ends when someone can’t breathe.Her hands trembled as she shoved it into the drawer, as if hiding it could mute its power. But the truth clung to her like smoke Vanessa wasn’t alone in this war. Somewhere in the shadows, a faceless ally was pulling strings with her.When Damien entered the room, Sierra flinched. He stopped midstep, noticing her pale complexion and the way she pressed her hands against the wood as if holding herself upright.“What is it?” he asked.Sierra swallowed. “Another note.”He reached for it, but she shook her head. “I can’t Damien, it doesn’t stop. She’s always one step ahead. And now she has someone helping her.”His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering near his temple. “Then we drag the ally into the light. Fear only works when it’s faceless.”That evening, Sierra replayed what she had overheard at the hotel. The man’s voice was sharp and low, q

The storm had moved on, but Sierra felt it hadn’t left. The night’s thunder still echoed inside her chest, rattling her bones long after the sky had cleared. Morning light leaked through the blinds, pale and ghostly, painting stripes across the room where she sat curled on the edge of Damien’s bed. Her head rested against her knees, hair spilling forward like a curtain, hiding the tears she hadn’t yet decided to release.The envelope lay on the dresser where Damien had tossed it the night before. Its cream paper looked harmless, ordinary even, but Sierra knew better. That envelope had become a cage, invisible bars closing in with every passing hour.Damien paced the room, barefoot, shirtless, a storm in motion. He hadn’t slept, not really. Every time his body sagged toward exhaustion, his mind snapped him awake. Sierra had watched him retreat into his head, plotting, analyzing, fighting an unseen war.“Damien…” Her voice was hoarse, cracked. “We can’t ignore this anymore.”He stopped