Chapter 169 - ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT

Chapter 169: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT

ANGEL

To say I regretted it would be an understatement. The guilt of seeing Daddy’s face had made me do it—I’d been afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes.

My biggest fear at that moment was for him to look at me and see Damien’s fingerprints all over his little girl.

So I’d tried to end it.

But Daddy had saved me not just from Damien, but from myself as well.

And now I was stuck in this hospital bed with stitches in my palm and a father who watched me like I might shatter at any moment—or worse, like I might try to finish what I started.

I wouldn’t. But I understood why he worried.

There was something else, too. Something neither of us had mentioned. It had been hanging between us like smoke, invisible but choking from the moment I woke up.

The baby.

Damien’s baby.

Daddy hadn’t said a single word about it. Not when he held me. Not when he fed me. Not when he brushed my hair or watched me sleep.

He acted like it didn’t exist.

And that terrified me more than if he’d raged about it.

Because Damien’s words kept echoing in my head. That conversation we’d had, back when I was still his.

He’d said Daddy wouldn’t want me anymore, not with his child growing inside of me.

His words were; ’Daddy might take me back at first—out of guilt. But eventually, he’ll start to resent me. Both of us.’

Right now, watching Vincenzo’s blank expression every time his eyes drifted to my stomach, I wondered if Damien had been right.

What if Daddy’s gentle touch and soft word was just an act, a kindness before the inevitable rejection?

I was too afraid to ask.

Too afraid to hear the answer.

This afternoon, Daddy sat beside me on the bed, a tray balanced on his lap. He’d ordered my now favorite—pasta with cream sauce.

I watched as he cut the pasta into smaller pieces, he twirled it around the fork before lifting it to my lips.

"Eat," he said.

I opened my mouth and let him feed me. The pasta was rich and warm.

His dark eyes watched every movement of my throat as I swallowed.

I was surprised that I had such a huge appetite considering everything that had happened within the last seven days. But my body was healing, and the baby needed nutrients, and Daddy seemed determined to make sure I ate every bite.

"More," he said, already lifting another forkful.

I ate. Bite after bite, because Daddy wanted me to. And also because the approval in his dark eyes when I obeyed made something warm bloom in my chest. Most importantly, being good for Daddy was easier than thinking about everything else.

Easier than wondering if he hated the thing growing inside me.

"Good girl," he murmured when I finished half the plate.

I glowed under the praise, letting it fill the hollow spaces where my doubts lived.

He set the tray aside and reached for a glass of water, holding it to my lips so I could drink. His hand cupped the back of my head, tilting it gently, controlling even this.

I could have held the glass myself. With my good hand, at least.

But he wouldn’t let me.

And I didn’t want him to.

After eating, I reached for my phone on the bedside table.

It was a simple movement. And yet again, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to do that.

My injured hand screamed in protest the moment I tried to grip anything. I gasped, dropping the phone before I’d even lifted it. It clattered against the table, spinning away from my reach.

"Angel."

Daddy’s voice cut through the air.

I froze guiltily.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t even need to. Daddy’s presence alone was enough to pin me in place.

"What did I tell you about using that hand?"

I swallowed. "Not to. Sorry, I forgot."

"Look at me."

I did.

I met those dark eyes that held concern and a love so consuming.

"I told you to let me do everything," he said quietly. "I told you I would take care of you. You don’t need to lift a finger. Your only job is to heal. Did I not make myself clear?"

"You did. I’m sorry. I just—" My shoulders slumped dejectedly. "I just needed a distraction. I feel like I’m going crazy just staring at the walls. I can’t even pick up my own phone without—"

"You will do exactly as I say until I decide you’re ready to do otherwise." His voice brooked no argument. "Understood?"

I pouted slightly.

"Yes, Daddy."

His expression softened, the storm in his eyes calmed, just slightly.

He picked up the phone himself, and placed it in my uninjured hand. His fingers wrapped around mine for a moment.

"You could have asked me," he said quietly. "That’s all you had to do. Ask."

"I know. I’m sorry."

"Stop apologizing." He settled back into the chair beside my bed, "Just ask. Whatever you need, whatever you want—you ask me. I’ll give you everything, Angel."

I nodded, my gaze lingering on his.

He was so handsome. I’d forgotten that, somehow. Forgotten how the sharp lines of his jaw softened when he looked at me. How his dark eyes could hold so much—fury and tenderness all tangled together.

I didn’t look at the phone, realizing I didn’t want the distraction anymore.

I just wanted him. To look at him like this. To memorize the way the afternoon light caught his profile.

"What?" he asked, a furrow forming between his brows. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." He trailed off, something uncertain flickering in his expression. "I don’t know. Like you’re trying to figure something out."

"Maybe I am."

"And? What have you figured out?"

That I missed you. That I love you. That I’m terrified you’re going to look at this baby and see Damien’s face and hate me for it.

I didn’t say any of that.

Even as I let his concerned warmth seep into my bones, Damien’s words circled in my head like vultures.

’ He’ll start to resent you. Both of you.’

I looked away from Daddy’s face. He frowned slightly, I closed my eyes before he could say anything.

Ever since I woke up, he’d been treating me like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

But Daddy had always been good at hiding what he felt.

And I was too afraid to ask what was really going on behind that mask.