Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 65

< Who The F*ck Is She?

+8 Points

Who The F*ck Is She?

~Damon~

“Who is she?” she demanded, each word sharper than the last. “Tell me, Damon. Who the f**k are you

f*****g?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because my silence said more than a thousand confessions ever could.

“Oh my God,” she hissed through the phone. “You are. You f*****g are. I can hear it in your breath. You’re panting. You’re hiding. Is she there now? Is that why you’re whispering like a goddamn criminal? Is that why you won’t say her name?”

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the bathroom wall, chest tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her voice drilled into my skull, each word slicing deeper than the last, but I didn’t flinch. I deserved it. I knew that.

I’d earned every bit of the storm I was about to walk into. But that didn’t mean I was ready to let her drag me

back into the flames she once lit in my life.

“Damon, f*****g answer me,” she snapped, breath ragged now. “Who is she? What pathetic little b***h opened her legs for you while I was in f*****g rehab? Is she one of the maids? Some desperate w***e from the club? What is it, huh? You couldn’t handle being alone anymore so you found some tight little cunt to squeeze the

silence out of your house?”

I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temple like I could hold the headache in place before it exploded.

“Don’t do this,” I said quietly, my voice deep, taut, almost trembling under the weight of my restraint.

She laughed–short, cruel, full of bitter venom.

“Is that why you sent me away, Damon? So you could f**k someone else in our bed? So you could bring some cheap piece of ass into my house, walk her down my halls, let her wear your shirts and leave her panties on the floor I picked out?”

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

Because every word she said, as vile as it sounded, was wrapped in something far more dangerous than

jealousy.

It was truth.

Lyra had worn my shirts.

Lyra had left her lace panties on the rug at the edge of my bed.

Lyra had moaned my name against my pillow, had ridden my c**k in the very chair where Camilla once used to read poetry in the mornings.

And worse–infinitely worse–I hadn’t just let it happen.

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Who The F*ck Is She?

I had wanted it.

I had begged for it in the silence of my own mind.

“Oh my God,” Camilla whispered again, the realization breaking through like glass. “She’s there, isn’t she? She’s f*****g there right now. You f****d her before I called, didn’t you? That’s why you sound like that. That’s why you’re so f*****g quiet. What is she doing, Damon? Still bent over? Still dripping with you? Do you even know her name or did you just pick her up and throw her onto something I used to love?”

I’gritted my teeth and pushed away from the wall, pacing the length of the bathroom like a caged animal, the

weight of her voice digging into every inch of me.

“She’s not some w***e,” I said, my voice low, steady, but laced with something I couldn’t hide anymore. Not

even from myself.

“Oh,” Camilla replied sharply. “So she does have a name. That’s sweet. Do you whisper it while you f**k her?

Do you call her baby? Did you make her breakfast after you made her come? Did you take off your ring for her,

or are you still wearing it while you thrust into someone half my f*****g age?”

I stopped moving.

I stared at the floor.

And I let the guilt settle in fully.

Because she was right. About all of it.

Lyra was young.

Too young.

And I’d f****d her like a man possessed, like Lhad something to prove, like she was the answer to every goddamn thing I’d ever lost. I f****d her like she could erase the last ten years from my memory. Like her p***y could rewrite history. Like her moans could drown out the sound of Camilla screaming in the night from

behind locked doors.

But this wasn’t just s*x.

And that was the most dangerous part.

This wasn’t just relief or distraction or pleasure.

This was need.

This was obsession.

This was something I couldn’t name anymore without tasting her on my tongue.

“She’s in your bed, isn’t she?” Camilla whispered now, her voice hollow. Empty. “She’s curled up in your sheets

like she belongs there. You let her touch the life you promised me.”

“Stop it,” I growled, finally breaking.

“No,” she said, her voice turning, sharp again. “You don’t get to shut me down. You don’t get to f**k a w***e and lie to my face like I don’t still know you. Who is she, Damon? What does she look like? Does she call you Daddy? Do you pull her hair and make her cry and pretend she’s not just a hole you’re using to forget me?”

That broke me.

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Who The F*ck Is She?

That snapped something deep inside, something I’d been holding back since the moment I first saw Lyra standing in my hallway, barefoot, bratty, brilliant, and unaware of what she was walking into.

“She’s not a hole,” I said coldly. “She’s not a replacement. And she’s not someone I’m going to forget. You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

Camilla went silent.

Completely silent.

And then, with a voice so quiet it almost made my skin crawl, she whispered.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to.

I said nothing.

Not because I didn’t have an answer.

But because I did.

And I didn’t know how to say it.

I didn’t know how to admit that somewhere between the first time I kissed Lyra’s trembling mouth and the last time I made her scream my name while her nails carved into my back–1 had slipped. I had fallen. I had let something in that I never intended to feel again. And it wasn’t just lust.

Camilla must’ve heard the truth in my silence, because her breath hitched through the phone. Then her voice returned, low and bitter and cracking beneath the weight of betrayal.

“Wow,” she breathed, followed by a hollow laugh that chilled me straight to the bone. “You really are. You’ve fallen for her. My husband–the man who once told me he couldn’t live without me–is in love with a slut.”

I closed my eyes.

Her words sliced clean.

“I bet she looks at you with those innocent eyes like you’re some kind of f*****g hero,” she hissed, no longer pretending to be calm. “I bet she tells you she’s never felt like this before, that no one’s ever touched her like you do. I bet she makes you feel good, like you’re not some broken man with a past that reeks of rot and

failure.”

I gripped the phone tighter, the tendons in my hand flexing hard enough to cramp.

“She doesn’t know you, Damon,” Camilla continued, voice rising now. “She doesn’t know what you’re capable of. She doesn’t know what I’ve seen. What I’ve survived. You think she’ll love you when she finds out the truth? About me? About what you let me become? You think she’ll still crawl into your bed when she realizes you locked your wife away like a f*****g secret and replaced her with a warm cunt and a pretty moan?”

“Camilla! It’s enough! Don’t you f*****g blame me for your addictions”

“No, listen to me!” she screamed suddenly. “You think you’ve found something new. You think she’s going to save you. But she won’t. She’ll leave. She’ll wake up one day and realize she’s lying next to a man who ruins everything he touches. And she’ll run.”

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Who The F*ck Is She?

I said nothing. My throat was tight. My chest burned. Every word hit harder than the last.

Because deep down, I had already asked myself the same questions.

+8 Points 2

“She’ll hate you, Damon,” Camilla went on, her voice trembling now, unhinged with desperation and fury.

“The second she sees the darkness in you, she’ll hate you. The second she sees what I saw, what I still dream about, she’ll look at you with fear. With disgust. And you’ll be alone again.”

Her breath shook against the receiver.

“You can’t escape who you are. Not with her. Not with anyone. And don’t kid yourself–whatever fantasy you’re chasing with her? It’s going to end. She’s going to leave you bleeding in your own bed.”

My head dropped forward. I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye socket, fighting the urge to scream.

“You know I’m right,” she whispered now, almost gently. “You know it, Damon. You’re not in love. You’re just running. And one day, she’ll see you for what you really are.”

I didn’t know how long I stood there.

How long I let her words twist around my spine like thorns.

How long I let the guilt simmer beneath the heat of what I felt for Lyra.

But when I finally spoke, my voice was low. Measured. Clear.

“You don’t know anything about her.”

Camilla laughed again. A bitter, broken sound that made the walls feel like they were closing in.

“I don’t need to know her,” she snapped. “I know you.”

“And guess what Damon? I miss your f*****g c**k. I wanna suck it so bad. It has been ages”

I went rigid.

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