Chapter Ten
DYLAN
“Da-ee,” Minnie grumbled, thrusting a red building block in my face with a grunt. “He’p.”
I smiled down at her, the exaggerated pout and matching frown she wore were just too cute. “What do you need help with, baby girl?”
She pointed at the pile of Duplo bricks she’d been stacking, her bottom lip sticking out further as if the tower’s existence was personally offending her. “Bocks.”
“Blocks,” I corrected softly, and judging by her short nose-huff, I was lucky the block wasn’t launched at my head.
No idea where she got that attitude from.
Sighing fondly, I took the cube from her and shuffled forward, aiming to place it in the empty space near the top of the wonky structure. “Okay, Daddy will put this one—”
“No!” She flung out her legs and thrashed before reaching over to swipe the block clean out of my hand.
“Minseo, we don’t snatch, okay? It’s not nice.”
I inhaled deeply.
I hated using my “dad voice.” It made me feel like a villain, and I’d have to hold myself back from counteracting every lecture with a hug.
She was so young, exploring the world around her, experiencing all those big, overwhelming feelings for the first time and communicating them the only way she knew how.
It wasn’t fair, but she’d end up being a menace to society if I let all her tantrums slide.
She probably still would be, but I’d try my best.
Minnie made a noise that sounded like acknowledgement, but could’ve easily been a “fuck you, Dad,” and suddenly I didn’t feel so much like a dickhead.
She also seemed to forget what was bothering her, preferring to rampage through all her hard work while giggling to herself like she’d found her new favourite sport.
Total menace.
At that moment, I couldn’t muster any emotion other than relief.
Gratitude. Seeing her like this, content and carefree, was exactly how it should be.
For the first time since she was born, I was able to sit and truly appreciate her—her progress, her little quirks, even her strops—without a sense of foreboding looming over me.
Knowing she was provided for, and not having to worry every damn day if I’d be able to feed her tomorrow, let me finally shower her with my undivided attention. Which was worth its weight in gold.
The arrangement wasn’t what I’d imagined for myself, not what my parents or grandmother had wished for me, but while it had taken time to accept—to quell my hopes once again and lock away any lingering childish fantasies—the benefits far eclipsed my personal feelings.
The weeks leading up to the mating ceremony had flown by.
The preparations were a rush job, but I supposed being richer than a god with unlimited resources at your disposal allowed for lavish events to be organised in such a short span of time.
I wasn’t given much input. Didn’t want any.
The sooner this circus was over and done with, the better.
Once or twice, I had found myself yo-yoing between wishing for a delay—grasping for more time to adjust to the idea of being mated to a glorified gangster who would never respect me—and hoping they’d finalise it right fucking now because it would mean Caine couldn’t go back on his word.
The latter of the two always won out, though. A delay wouldn’t change the outcome, my future was sealed the day I’d signed on the dotted line, so why torment myself?
I leaned back, resting my weight on my hands as my gaze panned the light blue walls decorated with decals of storybook characters, and bookshelves cluttered with bedtime stories and teddies.
“Minnie’s Playroom” adorned the door on a chalkboard plaque, and her name was spelled out in colourful cubes above the single bed in the corner.
This was her space, and a lot of my focus had been taken up making sure the decor reflected it.
Which was a blessing.
Staying mostly hidden away, concentrating on a project, helped me to exercise the theory that the less I knew about the mating, the easier it was to pretend it didn’t exist, and my opinion on it faded into the background.
Also, not moping around, being idle and grieving the freedom I’d forfeited, meant I could do more for my baby girl.
It was so gratifying getting to do this for her, to see her sweet face light up like Christmas from all the new toys and crafts she now had to play with.
I might have cried in the bathroom for a bit afterwards, though that was no one’s business but my own.
“Boo” was her new favourite word. Everything had to be “boo,” so blue it was.
Not that I believed for a minute she really knew the difference between blue and yellow, but I could always repaint once she figured it out.
Caine had his henchmen empty out the spare room adjacent to mine so I could start from scratch.
It was huge, easily twice the size of my bedroom, and the perfect foundation for what I’d envisioned.
It was a fun project, and well worth the back pain from hunching over with a paintbrush just to see Minnie so elated and engaged.
She wanted to spend every minute in here, and I really didn’t blame her.
I’d given her everything I could before, and had never let her go without, but she didn’t have a space of her own in our house.
It had been on my to-do list since finding out I was pregnant.
To gut out my parents’ room and turn it into a nursery, to make the house a proper family home for the two of us, but I could never bring myself to do it.
I didn’t have the money for it anyway, especially to make it as beautiful and plush as this.
All the personal touches, and the cupboards overflowing with clothes and trinkets, would’ve been an expense I couldn’t have justified.
She’d had the necessities before, which was more than enough, but now she had a dollhouse twice the height of her, and a rideable train on tracks, which was just as amazing as it sounded.
Was it excessive? Yes. Was it essential to her development?
Not really. But having the chance to spoil her, even just occasionally, was incredibly fulfilling, and anyone who said they wouldn’t do the same in my position was lying through their teeth.
She still slept in my room at night, even though she had a cot and a single bed in here to choose from.
It had been that way from the day she was rescued and throughout the renovations.
I was more at ease knowing she was next to me, hearing her breathing and adorable little snores.
It did her no harm for now, and it seemed, as long as she had my scent nearby, she wasn’t arsed where she slept.
Not that she’d had much variation. It was my room or the playroom, and once or twice in the kitchens when she’d napped in my arms as I’d ventured down to grab a snack or coffee.
The house was huge, overwhelmingly so, and it was the reason I rarely strayed anywhere not already familiar—alone or with her.
There was no real need to, as meals would be brought up regularly and we had a ridiculously massive en suite.
Our rooms combined were like an apartment in their own right, and they had everything we could ever want—except for fresh air and direct sunlight, but Brian had offered an unintimidating solution there.
He’d shown me a door at the end of the winding hallway, which led out to an enclosed garden, assuring me there was no other access except for the one entryway.
He’d pointed out the cameras, and mentioned the walls, though innocuous looking, had barbed wire and six-inch spikes hidden under the bushels of ivy draping over the brick.
I was consoled. It was bordered with flowers and small trees, and big enough for us to run around in.
Minnie loved it—all the textures, smells, and sounds.
It was a sensory dream. There was an abundance of bugs too, which were a bonus for her.
It sated the odd yearning I had for a change of scenery, and was the extent of my adventuring.
I wasn’t a snooper by nature, and the last thing I wanted was to walk in on something I wasn’t supposed to see.
A torture chamber or a basement full of Caine’s exes, Bluebeard style.
Nah, I’d rather commit those four locations to memory until I went insane than risk more trauma.
Besides, staying within my self-imposed territory also meant a slimmer chance of bumping into Caine.
Since Minnie’s induction into his pack—two days after I’d agreed to our arrangement—we’d become housemates, for want of a better word.
Barely interacting longer than an acknowledgement, apart from the two occasions he’d called me to his office to discuss our daughter.
We kept to our separate wings of the mansion, or in Caine’s case, from what I’d gathered, his office or out on the field—wherever it was he gallivanted to when he left.
Even when we did engage, it was perfunctory at best, a jibing match at worst. He was preoccupied with whatever it took to run his empire, while organising the ceremony and figuring out how to quash the whole scheme.
I was content with that. It suited me, having a clear view of what my new life would entail from day dot, so there was no room for uncertainty.
This was never going to be a “happy family” situation, and I’d come to terms with it, shelving any impression I might’ve had of it being different.