Sugar baby to my Father’s Alpha のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 5

"Sol! Table four needs a server," the manager barked. "And don't look him in the eye."Solange nodded and quickly hurried down the corridor to the VIP lounge of the Sapphire Heights, wrinkling her nose at the smell of expensive cigars and the heavy, humid scent of a desert storm rolling over the Vegas Strip.She was here to help her best friend cover his shift so he could go see his father when they’d shoved her into a uniform three sizes too small that made her feel like a piece of meat.Solange ducked into the staff restroom, her fingers trembling as she pulled the small vial from her apron pocket. It was a habit born of grief and a survival instinct she didn't quite understand.“Spray it every six hours, Sol,” her godmother’s voice echoed in her mind. “In the brothel, in the orphanage, it doesn’t matter. It keeps the bad men away.”Her godmother was dead, but the lifetime supply of the pungent, herbal mist kept arriving like clockwork, funded by a lawyer Solange had never met. It w

Solange woke slowly, her body aching in all the ways that made her heart flutter and a strange humming in her chest. Her head was foggy, but she felt a calm she had never known, like she was connected to something that had been missing all her life. She felt… claimed, as if the night had somehow given her a small taste of home.She pushed herself up, careful not to wake Alistair, and padded to the bathroom. As steam filled the small space, she let the water run over her shoulders, breasts, and arms, enjoying the scent of soap mingling with the faint perfume of sandalwood that still clung to her. Her hands started tracing the places his had touched, wondering how one man could leave marks that weren’t only visible but also imprinted themselves on her soul.Her hand drifted down her body, following the path his fingers had taken as she remembered the weight of his hand around her neck, her humming with a current that wouldn’t fade.Growing up in the brothels, she should have been terrif

Solange felt a literal snap in the center of her chest as she stared at the heavy oak doors. It wasn’t the metaphoric ache of a breakup. It was a white-hot blade of agony carved through her ribs, twisting around her heart and pulling tight.She tried to scream, but the air in her lungs had turned to lead. “What did he do to me?” she thought in panic.Her mind, fueled by years of hearing horror stories in the brothels and the back alleys of the city, went to the darkest place possible. She had heard of men like Alistair Vance: predators who hunted the invisible and the unwanted. Sadists who used girls like her for a single night of twisted pleasure before discarding them in ways that ensured they could never tell the tale.He poisoned me. The thought pulsed in her brain. He drugged me. He’s a serial killer, and I was just the latest fool.That had to be it because no “no” from a man, no matter how handsome or powerful, should make a heart feel like it was being fed into a meat grinder.