Novel & Cerita Dear Daughter Book

'Dear Father, By the time, you are reading this, I would have been gone. Don't worry about me and don't come here to try and get me, it's too dangerous. I am sorry for bringing shame to you, it was never my intention to do so. Please try to live your life stress free and worry free. Don't get into a fight with Jax, it's not worth it. Take care of yourself, I love you so much and I really hope I get to see you again. Your loving daughter

“The ancient texts are clear on what it takes to make a successful match, your majesty.” The Immaculate Mother begins. “As you have seen with your very own match, the Goddess smiles upon you and the strength of your line.” She snaps her fingers. Phoebe strides toward the table, she seems to float across the floor, her robe giving the illusion. She reaches within its invisible folds and retrieves a small book, bound in leather and well worn. Gold letters are neatly stamped on the cover— The Order Of The Kingdom Of The Moon. The Immaculate Mother quickly flips through the well worn pages.

Even though I know they are not the same person, their physical appearance, it’s the same. As I turned around to check the small shelf, I noticed many of Serafim’s favorite books she once read. As I go about checking, I find a small book that caught my attention. I don’t remember ever seeing this book in her room. The old small book was dusty, blowing some dust away and opening to check it. I found an inscription that said. “For my daughter, Serafim, I Hope this book helps you learn a lot and prepare you for what’s ahead. I will always love you, mom.”

The Moretti Don who never bowed to anyone, the father who had always been so stern and unfeeling. "Let him in," I finally said. He raised me. I couldn't be completely heartless. Ten minutes later, a soaked Don Moretti was brought to my office. "Alessia..." his voice was broken. "My daughter..." "I am not your daughter." I kept my back to him, staring out the window. "Your daughter is dead. She died in that cell." "No, you're alive! I know I was wrong, but you are my blood..." "I am Alessia O'Connell." I turned, my eyes devoid of warmth. "And you are my enemy."

What more did she want from me? My father, Brian Larson, sat by the side of the bed and sighed. "We spoiled her too much. I knew we shouldn't have kept her from the beginning. The fortune teller said that only Summer would bring us luck and that Sienna would only cause us misfortunes. If we had abandoned or killed her when she was born, things would've been much easier. My father's expression was so murderous that I truly believed that if I were there next to him, he would have choked me to death.

My daughter, Lyra Dwyer, was the one who told me about Kael Dwyer's betrayal. She was only five years old, having just completed her pup initiation ceremony. That day, she came back and walked straight up to me. "Mom, Dad's wolf has been tainted by another she-wolf." I was polishing the ritual silverware; my hand paused for a heartbeat before I continued, "Don't talk nonsense, Lyra." "I'm not." She climbed onto the high stool, swinging her legs. "I saw him at the market outside the territory today. He was holding hands with a she-wolf. She had long black hair and was wearing a moon-white dress."

"I'm fine ma. When did you return from your trip?" "A few days ago. Is my daughter in?" "Yes she is" "Okay" I left him and went straight to the door. I rang the doorbell and waited for someone to open "Who is it?" "It's me, Gloria" "Oh! Mom"said Madison She opened the door and gave me a hug "Welcome mum, please have a seat" I sat down and she told Nelly to serve me a glass of water but I declined "Mom, how is Dad?" "He is fine. You know his always busy with work. What of your fiancé? Where is he?"

"Don't tell anyone. Especially not Celia." If you mess with Don DeLuca's daughter, you're finished. After saying that, I hung up. The heavy encrypted phone slipped from my hand and sank silently into the expensive silk sheets. At that moment, the noise outside flooded back into my senses — not just the music, but men's rough laughter, the sound of leather rubbing, and the crisp clinking of glasses. Tonight was Celia's birthday. The girl I once begged my father to adopt, the one I defended and called "sister."

I told her we would be home in seven days, and that she should bring Hunter back home first. A man with what Hunter had picked up at the hotel would pass it to Vera within a week. I waited. The PI sent more photos of Vera and Hunter in bed. I gritted through the disgust and saved every frame. I opened a streaming account and went live. Because of Vera's New Year's Day broadcast, my face already had attention. The chat flooded in, full of insults. I let it run for ten seconds. Then I started telling the story. "My five-year-old daughter has been physically abused by her own mother. Here's the medical record."

I came hard, shaking, squirting down his cock. He filled me again. Then took me to bed. Held me close. Stroked my hair. “You will tell your father the debt is paid. You will smile at family dinners. You will be the perfect daughter.” His hand on my belly. “But you will be my perfect whore.” The next weeks were a blur of luxury and surrender. Dad’s company stabilized—miraculously. New contracts. Bank off his back. Mom was happier than ever. I came home less.