Chapter 17 - Daddy’s Little Girl
Lily's POV
I sat in the small, windowless meeting room, Chanelle Winston’s legal pad lying between us.
"Lily, I received a call from your father.
He wants you home by tonight, but you have to agree to his terms. If you don't, you stay in here until the entire legal process works itself out. This man can pull strings better...."
"I know what he is capable of, Chanelle." I barked.
Fuck him. I would rather rot in this place than accept his help. He can fuck off. Elliott Thompson was not a good man, and he was a worse husband and father.
"He said you have to call him before he... uh, makes it happen," Chanelle said with obvious discomfort.
The phone sat on the table, heavy and black, coiled cord curled like a snake. I stared at it, my fingertips drumming the edge of my chair as I weighed my options, hating all of them.
“You don’t have to do this,” Chanelle said, though her tone carried more curiosity than concern.
“Oh, I have to,” I replied, picking up the receiver. “I just wish it didn’t feel like licking the bottom of a boot.”
Chanelle’s eyebrow lifted. “We can work through the legal process, Lily.”
“Elliot Thompson’s boot or bust,” I said with a smirk, dialing the number I’d sworn I’d never use again.
Three rings. A click.
“Lily,” my father's voice oozed through the line, smooth and deep, like he’d been expecting me all along. “I was wondering how long it would take.”
“Hello, Daddy,” I said, forcing lightness into my tone. “Miss me?”
“I miss my name not being dragged through the mud every time you self-destruct.”
I smirked. “Well, lucky for you, I’m calling to give you a chance to clean it up.”
A pause. I could almost hear him smiling. “You need my help.”
“I need my freedom.”
“And you know my help isn’t free.”
I didn’t ask what he meant; I already knew. The repayment was preloaded, the same threat he’d dangled since I was eighteen.
“You’ve got some poor bastard lined up, don’t you?” I asked.
His voice softened, which somehow made it worse. “He’s not poor. He’s a good man. Old family. Wealth. Influence. The kind of man who could give you stability… and give me an alliance I’ve been working toward for years.”
“And a baby,” I said flatly.
“That would be the natural progression, yes.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d watched my father cheat on my mother for decades, parading mistresses through our lives under the guise of “business.” He wanted me locked into the same trap, barefoot, pregnant, and smiling for the cameras while my husband took his pleasures elsewhere.
“I’m not your bargaining chip,” I said.
“You are my daughter,” he replied, his tone edged with steel. “That means you are part of my legacy. You can spit on it, or you can make something of it. Right now, you’re sitting in a cage. I’m offering you a way out.”
I stared at the scuffed floor, hating myself for hesitating. I could play Sean Macon all I wanted, but Sean couldn’t get my charges dropped. My father could.
“Fine,” I said at last. “But on my terms.”
A low chuckle came through the line. “Lily, you’ve never had terms with me.”
“Then maybe it’s time you learned I’m not sixteen anymore.”
“Yet here you are, calling me from jail,” he said, and I could hear the victory in his voice.
"Oh yes, but we need each other this time, don’t we, Daddy?" I said with a smile in my voice.
"Before we finalize this agreement, there are a few things I want you to know."
My father's voice came through clear and confident, "I already know about your legal issues. I will take care of them. You need not worry."
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s about Jim Holloway, you know, the man that you trusted to give me a job.”
"Go on," he said.
"He’s been fucking your little girl on his desk for over two years now. Was that what you had in mind, Daddy? Was that the job you wanted me to do for Jim Holloway?”
I heard a low growl from his throat before he spoke. “Is that all?”
“Nope. There’s more. I will marry whoever you choose, but you and he need to understand something. I will fuck who I want to fuck, take what I want, and live how I want. I will not be churning out babies like some factory. This has to make sense to me, too.”
My father chuckled. “Chip off the old block, aren’t you, Lily? You will be brought home tonight to meet your future husband. I will make sure your terms are understood. When we are done here, Chanelle knows what to do.”
I hung up first, gripping the receiver until my knuckles ached. I would take his help. I would even wear the engagement ring if I had to. But I’d be damned if I let him write the rest of my story.
Chanelle studied me. I could feel her eyes survey me like an exhibit. "That was… interesting," she said hesitantly.
I smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. I know exactly how to handle my father.”
What I didn’t say was that I also knew exactly how to use him.
“He said you would know what to do now,” I said, pushing the phone toward the center of the table like the matter was settled.
For the first time since we’d met, Chanelle’s expression shifted. Not into skepticism or calculation, but something softer. Pity, maybe? Good, I love pity. It's a weakness that I can work with.
“He called me after your first stint in jail,” Chanelle said quietly. “I just didn’t realize what was at stake.”
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “And now you do.”
Chanelle took a slow breath, professionalism snapping back into place like armor. “You’ll be escorted outside in a few minutes. A car is waiting for you.”
I arched a brow. “A car?”
“A limousine,” she corrected. “Your father sent it.”
Of course he did. Nothing said ownership like luxury on a leash.
She continued, her voice careful. “You’ll be taken to your father’s estate. Once you’re there, you’ll be escorted inside and expected to stay for one month. No outings. No visitors. It’s part of the agreement while your legal issues are managed.”
“Managed,” I repeated, tasting the word like something sour. “So I’m trading a cell for a cage with better drapes.”
Chanelle didn’t flinch. “You’ll have a private suite, a staff, and full amenities. It’s not a punishment, Lily. It’s a containment period.”
I smiled. “You say that like it makes a difference.”
A knock sounded at the door. Chanelle stood, smoothing her skirt, her tone all business again. “That’ll be your escort.”
Two men in dark suits entered, both large enough to block the light. One held the door open, the other waited with a faint smirk, like he already knew too much about me.
I rose slowly, savoring the sound of the chair legs scraping across the floor. “Tell my father I’m touched by the velvet treatment.”
Chanelle met my eyes. “Be careful, Lily.”
I tilted my head. “Careful is boring.”
I glanced around the hall, looking for Sean, but he was nowhere in sight.
For a second, I thought about asking Chanelle where he was. I wanted to see him one more time, to say something that wasn’t wrapped in sarcasm or defiance. Maybe even to tell him that I wanted... something. Whatever this thing between us was that kept threading itself through silence and orders.
He should have been here.
Just one look, one word, and I’d know if any of it had meant anything to him at all.
But the hallway stayed empty.
I felt the sting of it more than I wanted to. So I did what I do best. I buried it.
Straightening my spine, I forced a slow smile. “Let’s get this over with,” I said, and walked past the guards toward the exit, pretending I didn’t already regret leaving without seeing him.
The guards flanked me as we walked down the corridor. Every locked door we passed felt like punctuation on the sentence I was leaving behind.
Outside, the sunlight hit hard, too bright after weeks of filtered air and concrete walls. The limousine waited at the curb, glossy and pretentious, the kind of vehicle that announced ownership before anyone stepped inside.
The driver opened the door without looking at me. I slid across the leather seat and watched the gate close behind us.
Chicago rose in pieces outside the tinted glass. Blocks of gray and glass and noise, all moving too fast for anyone to notice they were trapped, too.
My father’s compound sat on the edge of Lincoln Park, pretending to be a mansion. Others called it grand, timeless, and elegant. I knew better.
It wasn’t a home. It was a monument to control. Every stone in its walls was paid for with silence.
As the car turned onto the long drive, I pressed my fingers to the glass, catching my reflection in the window.
The face staring back at me didn’t look like a daughter going home.
She looked like a deal being delivered.