Anime Anxiety

“You think you can tame an old daddy like me?” Mr. Domenico Lombardi’s stone-like voice makes me nervous, but I’m not backing down; I know what I want. “Yes,” I added a nod to confirm it but cursed internally at my luck. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and here I am trying to tame a man old enough to be my father. It is said that the apple does not fall far from the tree. I guess I am truly Kate’s daughter. I had an internal laugh at my stupidity. He scoffed, and I responded by nodding once more while watching the darkening of the silvery gray pupils in his eyes. How come? I brush it off as his cold eyes wash over me. Domenico Lombardi’s presence makes me squirm. When I’m around him, I get the impression that I’m being judged and ignored at every turn. “How old are you?” “18” “How old is your father?” “38,” I replied truthfully. “Well, I’m 37 years old.” He stared at me; his eyes darkened again, and I became terrified. I fiddle with my nails, clipping them together as I lean back on my heels to help relieve some of the anxiety he’s causing me. “You see, I’m like a father to you, or maybe a grandfather or a great-great-grandfather. How many boyfriends have you had in your life?” “None.” He chuckled as I responded. “You see, I’ve lost count of how many ladies I’ve fucked, thousands or millions, over the centuries. You are just a little girl to me with nothing to offer; now, get lost!” “My panties made you hard!” “You think so?” “Yes,” I responded confidently. “Well, I wasn’t hard; I just have a donkey-like cock.”

"I thought you were my savior. I didn't know you were the one who set the fire." The day the debt collectors came for my family, I couldn’t even scream. My voice has always been a prisoner of my anxiety, leaving me defenseless in a world of wolves. Then came Ignatius. My brother’s best friend. A man with the face of a saint and the wealth of a king. He didn't just save me; he bought my world. He paid the debts, moved me into his palatial estate, and whispered that I was finally safe. For the first time, I felt the warmth of a "hero." I gave him my trust. I almost gave him my heart. But a saint doesn't keep cameras in your bedroom. The crushing realization hit harder than any blow from a collector: Ignatius didn't buy my debt—he created it. He paid the men who terrified my mother. He orchestrated the ruin of my brother. Every tear I shed was a calculated investment in my total dependence on him. He didn’t want a lover; he wanted a broken pet. Now, the "Saint" has dropped his mask. Ignatius thinks because I am mute, I am powerless. He thinks because I am fragile, I am his. He’s wrong. If Ignatius wants to play the Predator, I’ll find a bigger one. His father, Cane—the cold, ruthless patriarch of the empire—is the only man Ignatius fears. I’m moving from the guest room to the master suite. I’m going to tear this family apart from the inside out, one forbidden dinner at a time. Ignatius ruined my life to own me. Now, I’m going to make sure the debt he owes me costs him everything.