Lahat ng Kabanata ng Daddy, Please Make Me Yours: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

~*JUNE*~Mr. Macaulay knows.He fucking knows.He knows I was the one from that night.The realization hits me like a freight train, ripping the air from my lungs and every coherent thought from my head.How could he not? Of course he fucking knew all along.But he acted like he didn't know, watching me with those cold grey eyes, enjoying every second as I squirmed, stuttered, and made a complete fool of myself.All that time, he had been holding onto the truth like some arrogant bastard who enjoyed watching people drown in their own humiliation.I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, my brain completely empty of words.Nothing comes out.Not a single coherent thought can make it from my head to my tongue.Everything has gone from awkward to absolutely, unbearably, completely fucking awkward.Now I’m just standing here like a statue while my heart slams against my ribs hard enough for me to feel the pulse in my throat, my temples, even the tips of my fingers.A shiver races from the

~*JUNE*~Well... this is a fucking disaster.My life has gone from messy to completely, unbelievably fucked.At this point, the universe seriously needs to cut me a goddamn break.For crying out loud, I’m just a twenty-three-year-old girl trying to survive in this shitty world. Nothing more. Nothing less.Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse than it already is, the universe, in its infinite wisdom, keeps proving me wrong.Over the past week, Mr. Macaulay has been assigning me increasingly challenging work.The kind that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling and reconsidering every life choice that led me here as his secretary, as if he's trying to make me pay for something I did.And then there is Mark, generously offering me unrequested lectures on how to be "the perfect secretary for Mr. Macaulay," as if I applied for a masterclass in suffering and didn’t realize it.Yesterday was the highlight. Three hours of him talking at me. I almost achieved spiritual releas

—•TRISTAN•—My life these days feels like a fucking cycle.Wake up. Go to work. Sit through meetings. Sign contracts. Answer emails. Go home. Sleep for a few hours. Then do it all over again.A painfully monotonous existence, if I'm being honest.And for the past fortnight, it's only gotten worse.I've been buried alive in contracts, meetings, and endless bloody emails that seem to multiply every time I look away from my screen.I barely have time for anything else.No time for lunch.No time for sleep.And certainly no time to be thinking about soft honey-brown eyes or the way they looked up at me beneath the harsh overhead lights of that lift.Except that last part is a lie.A complete and utter lie.Even in the middle of this goddamn work-induced death march, I've thought about June every single fucking day.Probably every single hour, if I'm being brutally honest with myself.Which is deeply inconvenient.Ever since we got trapped in that lift and I let her know I remembered she wa

Hello, my lovely readers ❤️✨Before anything else, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for reading this book, unlocking chapters, leaving comments, and staying with me throughout this journey. Your support means more to me than words could ever express. 🥹💕I won't be updating for the next two days because my doctor has advised me to get some proper rest.Many of you may not know this, but I'm someone who puts a lot of pressure on myself. I'm a perfectionist, and I spend hours making sure every chapter is as good as I can possibly make it before posting. Sometimes I overthink every scene, every dialogue, and every emotion because I want to give you the best story I can. There's also something personal I'd like to share.I struggle with anxiety disorder. 💔Honestly, I never thought I'd say that out loud, but here I am. I'm not sharing this because I want pity or sympathy. That's the last thing I want. I'm sharing it because I want you to know that behind the screen is a real per

~*JUNE*~I've been standing outside Mr. Macaulay's office for a solid thirty minutes.Well, not just standing—more like pacing back and forth like a nervous suspect waiting to be called in and absolutely ruined in an interrogation room.My feet drag me in restless loops in front of Mr. Macaulay’s office door, while my eyes stay locked on the massive mahogany door.The polished gold nameplate bearing the name Tristan Macaulay gleams under the overhead lights, its elegant engraving somehow making the whole thing even more intimidating.Every time I try to knock, my stomach twists and my courage evaporates.Fuck. I don't think I can do this.I can't do it.I can't walk into his office and speak to him.I know exactly what will happen the second those grey eyes find mine.My knees will buckle. My throat will close up.He’ll look at me like he’s trying to claw his way into my soul—and I'm goddamn convinced that’s exactly what he’s doing. Stripping me bare with a single glance. Peeling back