All Chapters of Let Me Go Daddy, I Am Engaged To Your Son!: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Iris’s POV Victor's office was on the thirty-fourth floor of a building that bore his name. I had been there once before, months ago, when Marcus had given me a tour of the family empire and I had nodded along like a good fiancée, pretending to be impressed by the corner views and the original art and the way everyone seemed to hold their breath when Victor walked past. I hadn't known then what I know now. I hadn't known that the man behind the mahogany desk would become the axis my entire world tilted around. Today I walked through the glass lobby with my heels clicking against the marble and my expression arranged into something resembling confidence. The receptionist recognized me and waved me through without question. Why wouldn't she? I was Marcus Hale's wife. I belonged here. The elevator ride took approximately forty years. I counted the floors as they lit up, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remember the speech I had rehearsed in the car. Victor, we need to be mo

Victor's POVThe silence from her end had stretched from days into weeks, and I had stopped counting the number of times I had picked up my phone only to set it down again. I was not a man who chased and I had never needed to. The women in my life had always come willingly, eager for the attention of a man with my resources and my reputation. They wanted the dinners, the gifts, the brief but intense affair that ended cleanly when I lost interest. I lost interest quickly. I always had.Iris was the exception to every rule I had ever made for myself.The book sat on my desk, its cover facing me like an accusation. I had read it four times now. The first time I had been too furious to absorb anything beyond the fact that she had taken our private moments and bound them between covers for anyone with fifteen dollars to consume. The second time I had read more carefully, and what I found disturbed me in ways I hadn't anticipated. She hadn't just written about the affair. She had written a

Iris's POVWe didn't make it to the bed. We barely made it past the door before his hands were in my hair and my back was against the wall and his mouth was on my throat with that familiar, devastating pressure that always made me forget where I was and who I was supposed to be. The weeks of silence, the weeks of running, the weeks of telling myself I was done with him dissolved into nothing as he lifted me off the floor and carried me toward the bedroom with the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the distant hum of traffic that felt like it belonged to another world entirely."You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he said against my collarbone, his voice rough around the edges."I have some idea. You bought my publisher just to get near me. That's not a subtle gesture.""I wasn't trying to be subtle. I was trying to get your attention.""You have it." I pulled him down to me, my fingers threading through his hair, my body arching toward him w

Iris's POV I didn't sleep after I hung up with Victor. I lay on top of the covers still wearing my clothes from the night before, the photograph propped against the lamp on the nightstand where I couldn't escape it. Every time I closed my eyes I saw it again. My face caught in the morning light. The revolving door. The wrinkled dress that told the whole story without a single word. The blackmailer had given me twenty-four hours, and I had already burned through four of them doing nothing except staring at the ceiling and replaying every mistake that had led me to this moment. I had no idea how much money they wanted. I had no idea if they would actually go through with the threat. I had no idea if Victor was the solution to this problem or just another version of it wearing a different face. I kept thinking about Maya. About the way she looked at me in that coffee shop months ago, hollowed out and exhausted, telling me Victor had threatened to destroy her family if she didn't kee

Marcus's POV The house had never felt this empty before Iris started leaving. I noticed it first about a month after the wedding, when she flew to New York for some publishing thing and I came home to a dark kitchen and a sink full of dishes I hadn't dirtied. The silence wasn't the peaceful kind, the kind that settles over a house after a long day when all you want is a cold drink and a quiet room. It was the heavy kind, the kind that made you listen for sounds that weren't there. Footsteps on the stairs. The hum of her laptop from the study. The way she used to talk to herself while she cooked, narrating her own recipes like she was hosting a cooking show for an audience of one. She had been gone three days this time, and the house had started to feel less like a home and more like a museum of our marriage. Her books on the shelves. Her half-finished cups of tea on the counters, left behind in her rush to catch another flight. Her perfume still lingering in the bedroom, fading a