Breed Me, Daddy Alph Chapter 138

Chapter 138: Chapter 138

Damon

I looked down.

Her hand was there.

Flat against .

And that was it.

I turned, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her hand away from

like it was poison.

"Get your hands off ," I growled, my voice low, firm, and shaking with rage. "Don’t touch . Ever again. Do you understand ?"

Camilla stepped back. Her eyes widened, shocked. Not because she was hurt, but because she was realizing—maybe for the first ti—that whatever piece of

she thought still existed was gone.

She stared at

like I’d just slapped her across the face.

"You really hate

now," she whispered.

"I don’t hate you," I said, because hate would an I still cared enough to feel sothing. "But I don’t belong to you. Not anymore."

Her mouth parted like she was about to speak again, but that’s when Tasha’s voice cut through the silence.

"Dad!"

She stepped forward from the archway, her arms crossed, her expression panicked.

"Why are you treating her like this?" she asked, her voice trembling with that sa emotional blindness teenagers always had. "She’s not the sa person as she was two years ago. She’s clean now! You should be happy that she’s back!"

My head turned slowly, and I stared at her with every ounce of restraint I had left.

"Tasha," I said, and my voice dropped to that dangerous quiet I only used when I wanted soone to listen to , not argue. "Don’t ddle when adults are talking. Go to your room. Now."

She blinked.

Took a breath like she wanted to challenge . Like she thought I would bend if she just looked sad enough.

"But, Dad—"

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t need to.

"I said now," I repeated, my tone dropping further, thick with warning. "Do not make

repeat myself."

She froze. Swallowed. Then backed away without another word, disappearing down the hallway with tears in her eyes and confusion on her face.

When Tasha was gone, I turned back to Camilla.

She hadn’t moved.

She was still standing there in that too-perfect dress, her arms wrapped around herself like she couldn’t believe I didn’t fall at her feet the second she walked in.

"I’m not going to lie to you," I said, slowly walking toward her. "I am glad you’re clean. I am. I prayed for it. I begged God for it. But you don’t get to walk in here and pretend like the world froze while you were gone. You don’t get to touch . You don’t get to talk to

like nothing happened. Because everything happened, Camilla."

She opened her mouth, but I didn’t give her the chance to speak.

"You left. I’m the one who held our daughter while she cried. I’m the one who sat by the phone every day wondering if you were still breathing. I’m the one who walked into your bathroom and found your body collapsed on the floor surrounded by empty pill bottles. I’m the one who drove you to that clinic and signed the fucking forms to admit you. And I did it out of love. I did it because I couldn’t bear to bury you. But that doesn’t an I waited for you."

Her shoulders were trembling now, and I could see the way her lip shook, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Because Lyra was upstairs, broken. Crying. Probably thinking I used her. Probably wondering if she was just so replacent for a woman I once loved. And the longer I stayed down here, the more damage I knew I was letting happen.

"I moved on," I said finally. "I found sothing good. Sothing real"

Camilla was silent now.

Tears slid down her cheeks, but I didn’t feel satisfaction. I didn’t feel vindicated.

I felt empty.

Tired.

Done.

"I hope you find what you’re looking for," I said softly. "But whatever it is, you’re not going to find it here."

But Camilla didn’t move.

She didn’t cry harder.

She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she stood there like a woman who still believed she had a chance. And when she spoke, her voice was low, pleading, soaked in delusion that made the back of my neck tighten.

"I’m not going anywhere, Damon," she whispered. "I want you. I still want you. I missed you every second I was gone."

She took a step forward.

And then another.

And before I could speak, her hands were at her chest. Fingers sliding over the delicate buttons of her white blouse.

One.

Two.

Three undone.

Fuck.

Her shirt fell open slightly, just enough for her breasts to spill forward—perfectly pushed up, nearly bare, like she planned it all. Her bra was sheer. Lacy. The kind she used to wear when she wanted to be forgiven with sex.

Her nipples were visible through the fabric. Her breathing was soft and shallow, her lips parted, and her gaze locked onto mine like she thought showing her body would erase everything.

Fucking bitch. It didn’t.

All it did was make

see red.

"Don’t you fucking dare do that, Camilla," I snapped, and my voice bood across the room like a threat wrapped in steel. "Do not mistake my self-control for invitation. I won’t lay my hands on you because I don’t hit won, but don’t fucking push . I swear to God—back up."

She froze.

Finally.

But her lips were still trembling, and her shirt still hung open like bait, like she didn’t fully believe I ant it.

"There is nothing for us," I said again, slower now, each word heavier than the last. "Avoid , Camilla. Hear

very clearly. There is. Nothing. For. Us."

I didn’t wait for a reply.

I didn’t want one.

I didn’t care what tears she shed or what gas she tried to play next.

Because Lyra was upstairs, hurting and crying.

And it was my fault.