All Chapters of Daddy's secret Obsession: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

114 Chapters

Chapter 71: Never drunk the antidote

JessyJeffrey, who hadn't moved or spoken, finally detached himself from the wall. He walked past Mark without looking at him, his entire body radiating dark hostility. He was furious, not just at Ben, but at me for forcing the issue. The university quad was a riot of green grass, bright sun, and happy, naive students. It was the antidote in pure form. We walked across the manicured lawn. Ben was on my left, cheerful, pointing out the library and the common areas. Jeffrey was on my right, silent, a looming shadow of violence."So, Jessalyn, what are you planning to study?" Ben asked, genuinely interested. "I'm pre-med, but I spend most of my time on the rowing team." "English literature," I said. The words tasted dusty and irrelevant. "Cool. Big plans?" "No," I replied, honestly. "Just filling a requirement." Jeffrey let out a soft, contemptuous sound—a breath of disbelief—that was instantly masked by the crunch of his shoe on the gravel path. Ben, oblivious, turned to

Chapter 72: The smell of soap and Sin

JessyMark started the car again, but the measured control was gone. He drove fast, aggressively, his earlier concern for public appearance incinerated by the need to get me back to the cage.When we pulled into the drive, the house looked massive and pristine—a perfect façade hiding a raw, bleeding interior. The gardener, who had been trimming the boxwood hedges earlier, was now near the front portico, gathering up stray clippings."Wait here," Mark commanded, his voice hoarse. He didn't look at either of us.He got out first, adjusting his suit jacket and tie, instantly snapping the public persona back into place. He walked over to the gardener, spoke a few quick words about the sprinkler system, and checked his phone—a picture of respectable distraction. He was buying us a moment."We reek," Jeffrey whispered, his breath still hot against my neck, his arms still loosely tangled around my shoulders from the back seat. "You need to fix yourself before you walk in there."He was right

Chapter 73:The distance of Choice

JESSYI sat on the edge of the guest room bed. It was soft, cool, and aggressively clean. It smelled like lavender and regret. It smelled nothing like Mark or Jeffrey.Mark had stripped the room of any personality. There were no books, no photographs, no evidence that I had spent the last seven years destroying myself within these walls. It was a blank slate, the perfect setting for the "normal" life I was supposed to be living.I ran my hand across the pristine duvet. The distance from this bed to the master suite felt vast—a mile of polished wood and silence. Every night, I would have to make an intentional, sober choice to traverse that distance and enter the fire.Jeffrey was gone. Mark had driven him back to his apartment, ensuring the separation was complete. The house was quiet, the silence punctuated only by the distant clatter of Mrs. Henderson setting silver in the dining room.I stood and walked to the door. I placed my ear against the wood, listening for Mark. Nothing. He

Chapter 74:Price of the stain

JESSYHis hands, which had been so careful and controlled earlier in the day, were now brutal. They grabbed my hips, pulling me forward and up until my thighs slammed against his, the violence of the movement knocking the breath from my lungs.Mark didn't kiss me again. He didn't need to. He crushed me against the rigid line of his arousal, and the sheer possessive force was the only conversation necessary."You went outside," he grated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that resonated deep in my chest. "You went to him.""We are us, Mark," I countered, throwing my head back, inviting the punishment, the reclaiming. "You don't get to choose who I need to survive."His answer was a savage, open-mouthed assault on my throat. Not a kiss, but a claim, meant to hurt and mark. I felt the familiar shock of pleasure and pain, the immediate, dizzying release of control.He backed me against the window frame, the glass cool against my spine, the city lights blurred far below. He ripped the whit

Chapter 75:The shame was private

JESSY I lay in the guest room bed, staring at the ceiling, the pristine scent of lavender detergent mocking the smell of sex and desperation that was still faintly caught in my hair. I didn’t dare touch my neck; I knew the fresh marks were already darkening beneath the skin, a private, vibrant signature of Mark’s victory. The clock on the bedside table read 7:45 a.m. In fifteen minutes, Mrs. Henderson, the hawk-eyed embodiment of normalcy, would begin her circuit, and I had to be perfect. The lie required perfect rest. I heard the distant, familiar whir of the vacuum cleaner starting downstairs. Mark was gone—already downstairs, I assumed, performing the role of the busy, professional guardian who had no knowledge of the chaos upstairs, perhaps even politely directing the staff away from the freshly stained section of his master rug. Our complicity now extended to silent, domestic damage control. The anxiety was different today. Yesterday, it had been anticipation, a reckless thri

Chapter 76:The fire was still burning

I walked back up the stairs, the lie trailing behind me like the expensive perfume I didn't wear. Mrs. Henderson was now attacking the carpet in the master suite with a handheld steamer. She gave me a polite, distracted smile as I passed."Have a lovely day at your tutoring, Jessalyn," she said, her voice muffled slightly by the drone of the machine."You too, Mrs. Henderson," I replied, the false pleasantness a smooth, practiced curve on my lips.I entered the guest room and closed the door. The steam from the quickly-doused shower was dissipating, and the room was settling back into its pristine state. I sat on the edge of the bed, the master key card warm where I had pressed it into the pocket of my khakis. It was a stupid, risky move, keeping it on me. Mark hadn't checked. He hadn't needed to. My willingness to return, my own desperation, was the real lock on his door.My phone buzzed again, a frantic little vibration against the pillow.Jeffrey: You sound like a hostage. What i

Chapter 77:Alley

The old Ford smelled exactly like its age—dust, old vinyl, and a faint, lingering odor of forgotten gasoline. It was the car Jeffrey had used when they were fifteen, a deliberately unremarkable vehicle Mark never registered or remembered. It was the perfect escape pod, precisely because it wasn't an escape at all.I navigated the back streets of the wealthy neighborhood, the massive, silent houses watching me pass. Every turn away from Mark’s property was a tiny, temporary win.The old bookstore on Grove Street was long closed, its windows boarded up, casting a long, skeletal shadow over the deserted alleyway beside it. It was 5:30 p.m. The last of the weak winter sun was bleeding out of the sky, leaving the air damp and cold.I pulled the Ford into the mouth of the alley and killed the engine. The sudden silence was absolute. I kept my hands on the steering wheel, my chest tight. This meeting was necessary, but dangerous. It was an act of defiance, not love. It was damage control.A

Chapter 78:The performance

I stood up, pushing the desk chair neatly under the table—another small act of visible diligence. The house was settling into the controlled silence of the evening, a silence that felt heavier now, charged with the knowledge of Jeffrey's secret mission and the fresh violation of the afternoon.The front door opened and closed with the substantial thud of a heavy, well-maintained door. Mark was home.I waited until I heard his footsteps ascending the grand central staircase, the sound deliberate and unhurried. He was giving me time, ensuring I knew he was coming, allowing the anticipation—or dread—to build.I walked to the door and opened it just as he reached the landing. He stopped, his gaze sweeping over me. He had shed his suit jacket and tie; his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a sliver of taut muscle beneath the expensive cotton. The successful businessman was dissolving back into the predator."Jessalyn," he murmured, his voice low, a deep current that seemed to byp

Chapter 79:The confiscated confession

JessyI lay on the thick, plush carpet of the master suite, the cool, humiliating shock of the floor against my skin. Mark stood over me, no longer a lover, but an executioner, holding the small digital camera;my failed weapon—like a trophy. The single lamp cast his shadow long and menacingly across the opulent room."You have one hour, Jessalyn," he repeated, his voice dangerously even. "One hour to retrieve what you stole. The documents or the footage. You choose the ruin."He tossed my khakis and camisole onto the floor beside me. The clothing felt heavy, inadequate, a poor disguise for the treachery I had just attempted.I pushed myself up, scrambling to cover my body, my hands trembling. The shame was immediate and overwhelming, but beneath it, a cold, hard ember of hatred began to glow. He hadn't just defeated me; he had humiliated me with the truth, turning my desperation against me."You won't use that," I whispered, finding my voice—a low, raspy sound, raw from the demands of

Chapter 80:The intruder

The apartment was quiet, unnaturally quiet. Even the hum of the city seemed to fade behind the walls of the penthouse. Mark slept like a conqueror, chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. Every inch of him radiated dominance, a silent, unshakable assertion that he owned this space, this life… me. I lay on the edge of the bed, every bruise from the night before throbbing in sharp pulses. My body ached, every movement reminded me of his touch—but it wasn’t just pain. It was clarity. For the first time in months, my mind felt razor-sharp. I had made a choice last night. The files were gone. Jeffrey had the proof. And Mark didn’t know it yet. A faint metallic click cut through the stillness. My stomach sank. The sound came from the balcony. Mark’s door stood slightly open, letting a sliver of light spill across the floor. I didn’t move. I barely dared to breathe. Then came the soft scrape of a shoe against stone. Someone was here. Not Jeffrey—he would have used a code.

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