All Chapters of Daddies Taste Better : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

She took in my flushed face, my bare feet, and the washing machine already running. “I was just coming to check on you. Everything all right?”I forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… laundry. The sheets needed washing.”She glanced at the machine, then back at me. “Those were changed two days ago.”“I know. I… spilled something… I guess. Didn’t want to bother you with it.”She studied me for a long moment, then nodded.“I’ll take care of it,” she told me. “No need for you to worry.”She stepped past me, opened the washer mid-cycle (something I’d never seen her do), pulled the wet sheet out, inspected the stain with a practiced eye, then carried it to the utility sink in the corner. She ran cold water over it, rubbing gently with a bar of stain soap she kept under the sink. The stain began to fade almost immediately—slowly, stubbornly, but it faded.I stood in the doorway watching her work, arms wrapped around myself.“Mrs. Harlan?” I said quietly.She didn’t look up. “Yes, dear?”“I think it'

The next day dawned gray. I’d barely slept—three hours, maybe four—before the alarm cut through the haze at six sharp. Thea had stirred when I slipped out of bed, murmuring something soft and incoherent, her hand reaching across the empty space I’d left behind. I’d kissed her temple, told her to go back to sleep, and left her curled under the duvet. She looked peaceful in a way that made my chest ache, and I hated leaving her like that, but work didn’t pause for sentiment.By eight I was at the private elevator depositing me straight into the executive floor where the air always smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink. My office was exactly as I’d left it with Nero’s heated perch by the window.A slim black folder waited on my blotter, labeled simply “Update – N.” I sat, opened it without ceremony, and felt the familiar cold settle deeper into my bones.Ronan’s or Reyes or whatever name he was going with left a preliminary report. It was photos, grainy surveillance shots with No

The wind sliced across my face as I stepped out of the narrow doorway, carrying the faint burnt-sugar smell of the coffee shop’s pastries and the sharper bite of diesel from passing taxis. I tossed the paper cup into the nearest bin without a second thought and turned my collar higher against the chill. My pulse hadn’t quite settled with Amelia Vasquez’s parting words kept looping in the back of my skull like a bad track on repeat. I walked the two blocks back to the Range Rover at a measured pace, forcing my stride to stay even and unhurried because no one likes to look like they’re running from something, especially not when the something might be their own assistant of fifteen years or their own disappointing son. The city moved around me in its usual indifferent rush—suits on phones, delivery bikes weaving through pedestrians, a street musician coaxing half-hearted jazz from a battered saxophone—but none of it registered. My mind was still inside Noah’s place, still turning ov

I clenched my hands again. “I feel like I don’t even know her anymore.” Dr. Harlan stayed quiet, giving the words space to breathe. The clock ticked on, steady and indifferent. I stared at the floor, tracing the faint pattern in the carpet with my eyes, trying to find some order in the chaos spinning inside my head. “And the other part?” he asked softly. I looked up. “What?” “You said you felt torn in half.” “Oh.” I let out a small, soft chuckle. “The other part wants to cut Amelia off. Just… stop answering her texts, stop letting her crash at my place when she’s too drunk or too broke or too bruised to go home. Stop being the one who always picks up the pieces. Then go to Thea, and apologize for all the mess even if she decides she doesn’t want me around anymore.” He nodded slowly, reaching for the travel mug on the small side table next to his chair. Steam curled up from the lid as he lifted it to his lips. “That sounds like two very different impulses. One protective, one pun

I shifted my weight, suddenly very interested in the zipper on my bag. This was ridiculous. He was my therapist. Forty-five. Divorced. Handsome, yes, but still the person I paid to help me untangle my mess. Not someone I was supposed to notice in that way. Sarah finished whatever she was saying and Dr. Harlan nodded, giving her a gentle “We’ll talk more about that next week,” and she beamed like he’d handed her the moon.“See you Wednesday,” she said, voice bright.“Wednesday,” he confirmed.She walked back to her SUV with a little extra sway, glancing over her shoulder once. He waved, then turned to me. “Sorry about that. Client check-in.”“No problem,” I told him, hoping my voice sounded normal. “She seems… enthusiastic.”He laughed softly. “She’s making good progress. That’s what matters.”Right. Progress. Not the way she looked at him like he hung the stars.We reached my car.I unlocked it, and tossed my bag onto the passenger seat.“Well,” I breathed out, turning back to hi