Page 110 of Ruthless Serenade
My eyes snap from the computer screen, irritation surging through my veins. I’ve been running on caffeine and anticipation since Mindy told me about her conversation with Sharon last night. My daughter finally knows the truth.
She knows you’re her dad, mudak!
The thought sets my heart on fire in a way no victory ever has. Like some goddamn teenager, I spent the night staring at the ceiling, my mind fantasizing about the moment Sharon starts talking to me. By 4 AM, I’d had enough. I climbed out of bed and retreated to my office. Two cups of black coffee later, I’m buried in work, desperately trying to distract myself from my racing mind.
Another knock. Who the fuck has the balls to show up at my door at 7 AM without announcement? Pavel, maybe? But even he knows better, and neither my assistant nor security has called to announce anyone.
"Enter," I bark. My hand slides beneath the desk, finding the cold steel of my pistol. Old habits die hard.
But when the door creaks open, every violent instinct in my body melts away. There, like a vision, stands my baby girl. Sharon lingers in the doorway, shifting her weight from one footto the other like a dancer, her small fingers worrying the hem of her skirt. The sight of my daughter makes my chest ache in places I thought had turned to stone years ago.
"Hey," I soften my voice, offering her a smile. "Wanna come in?"
Sharon stays silent. Her big blue eyes study my face like she’s trying to map out our shared blood in my features. The silence stretches between us, fragile as spider silk.
"Don’t worry, I don’t bite," I encourage, desperately trying to coax words from her lips.
Sharon takes one tentative step forward, then another, before finally sinking into the leather couch beside my desk. The way she stares at me fills my office with a warmth no amount of morning sun could match.
"Have you come to hang out with me?" I turn towards her, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. "How did you sleep last night?" Each word I speak is carefully measured, like handling delicate explosives. Still, nothing but silence fills the space between us.
"Don’t want to talk to me yet?" I prod gently, trying not to sound hurt. I’m used to commanding respect with a single look, yet here I am, completely powerless before my daughter’s silence.
Barely noticeably, she shakes her head.
"It’s okay, Sharon. We can just hang out here together." The words come out rougher than intended, scraping past the emotion lodged in my chest.
I force myself to face my laptop again, pretending to work while my peripheral vision catalogs her every movement. Maybe if she doesn’t feel the weight of my attention, she’ll find her voice.
My mind is consumed by thoughts about her. She knows I’m her father. She chose to come here. Even this silence is progress, but fuck if it doesn’t test every ounce of patience I’ve earned in this life. My heart feels ready to burst from my chest just having her here, this small miracle perched on my leather couch.
Then, something incredible happens. She rises to her feet, turning to face me with a determination that reminds me of her mother’s.
"How did you come down from the sky?" Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret.
The question hits me like a fucking bullet to the chest. I suddenly find myself struggling for air, my lungs refusing to work. One single question and I’m undone.
"What do you mean?" I ask. It’s pathetic, but it’s all that comes out.
"Mommy said you were with the angels. And they live in the sky," she clarifies, her innocent logic piercing a hole through me.
Everything suddenly clicks into place and my heart splinters like fucking glass. Mindy believed I was gone. She told our daughter I was with the angels - a gentle way to explain an absence she thought would be permanent.
"Come here, Sharon," I say softly, patting the chair beside me. "Let me explain."
She hesitates, weighing her options like a tiny strategist, before leaving the couch to settle next to me. Those big blue eyes look up at me with such pure curiosity that my heart liquefies in my chest.
"Your mom..." I begin, treading carefully like I’m walking on a minefield, searching for words a child’s mind can grasp. "She didn’t know where I was for a while. She thought I might not be coming back, like people who go to heaven."
"Mommy thought you’d stay with the angels for good?"
I swallow hard, guilt clawing at my throat like a rabid beast. Seven years. I let Mindy believe I was dead for seven fucking years. "I think so. That’s why she told you that."
Sharon’s face scrunches up as she processes this information. "But have youbeenwith the angels?"
Blyad.
Talk about being backed into a corner. How the fuck do I answer that?
