Mile High Daddy: Chapter 6

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is how soft the sheets feel against my skin, cool and impossibly luxurious. The second thing I notice is the sunlight spilling through the curtains.

I pull on my clothes, my hands trembling slightly as I try to smooth out the wrinkles. The memory of last night lingers in every part of me, leaving a flush on my skin that I can’t seem to shake. But there’s no sign of Mikhail.

The suite feels eerily quiet as I step out of the bedroom.

I make my way toward the small kitchenette, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the sleek faucet. The coolness of the glass in my hand is grounding, and I take a small sip, trying to steady myself.

That’s when I see him.

My heart stops.

“Hello, Lila,” a familiar voice says, calm and smooth.

The glass slips from my hand, shattering against the marble floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and I stand there frozen, staring at the man sitting on the couch.

“Dad?” I whisper, the word catching in my throat.

He looks older than I remember, but only slightly. The same sharp features, the same piercing gaze that always made me feel like he could see right through me. He’s dressed in a dark suit, his posture relaxed but exuding authority. And he’s not alone.

Two men flank him, both wearing similar suits, their expressions unreadable but menacing. They sit silently, their presence a silent warning.

“Careful,” my dad says, nodding toward the broken glass. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

I can’t speak, can’t move. My feet feel glued to the floor as I stare at him, my mind reeling. I haven’t seen him in years. Not since the divorce. Not since my mom packed us up and left, taking me as far away from him as she could.

And now he’s here? Why?

“Hi, Dad,” I manage, my voice shaky and small.

He studies me, his expression unreadable, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—approval? Relief? I can’t tell.

“You look well,” he says finally, his tone almost casual.

I glance at the two men beside him, their silence making the room feel suffocating. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice stronger now.

He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “I came to see you.”

I blink, my stomach tightening. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze shifting to the shattered glass at my feet. One of the men stands, moving to clean it up without a word. The gesture is efficient, almost too rehearsed, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“I’ve missed you,” my dad says, his voice softer now, but it doesn’t match the tension radiating from him.

I laugh, the sound bitter and involuntary. “Missed me? You didn’t care enough to check in for years, and now you’re sitting here like it’s nothing?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think I see guilt flash across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by that cool, unshakable demeanor I remember too well.

“I’ve been busy,” he says simply.

I scoff. “Right. Busy. With what exactly? Shady business deals?”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. He never does. I don’t know the full details, but I know enough. I’ve heard the whispers, seen the glimpses growing up—the men in suits, the thick tension whenever he was on the phone, the stacks of cash that never seemed to run out. My father isn’t just dangerous; he’s powerful. And that power has always terrified me.

“What do you want?” I ask again, crossing my arms as I try to keep my voice steady.

He stands, his presence immediately dominating the room. “It’s not what I want, Lila. It’s about what’s best for you.”

“Best for me?” I repeat, incredulous. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me anymore.”

He steps closer, his expression softening just slightly, though his voice remains firm. “I’m still your father, Lila. Whether you like it or not.”

I take a step back, my chest tightening as a hundred questions race through my mind. Why is he here? What does he really want? And most importantly, where is Mikhail?

“What are you doing in my hotel room?” I ask.

Dad doesn’t answer right away. He studies me as if he’s trying to decide how much to say.

“And where’s Mikhail?” I add, my stomach twisting as I look around the room, desperate for some kind of answer.

The men beside him remain silent, their imposing presence like shadows creeping closer. I force myself to meet my father’s gaze, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to keep his composure. “It wasn’t his place to bring you here,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with an edge I recognize all too well. “He should have known better.”

The words hit me like a punch, and my heart sinks. He knows Mikhail.

“But, nothing to be done now,” he continues, his tone colder. “He’s done his job.”

“His…job?” I repeat, my chest tightening. “You know Mikhail?”

Dad’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that unreadable mask he always wears.

“You don’t understand, Lila,” he says, his tone softer now, like he’s trying to placate me.

I shake my head, the room spinning around me. “No, I don’t understand. What the hell is going on? Why are you here? Why are they here?” I nod toward the two men, who remain silent but watchful.

“Lila,” he says, stepping closer. “Calm down⁠—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I snap, panic rising in my chest. “First I wake up and Mikhail’s gone, and now you’re here, acting like…like this is normal!”

Dad’s expression hardens, and he takes another step closer, his tone lowering. “You’ve stepped into a world you don’t fully understand yet. But trust me, everything I’ve done has been for your benefit.”

“My benefit?” I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and raw. “You disappear from my life for years, and now you’re in my hotel room talking about what’s best for me? Spare me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his calm demeanor slipping. “Lila, you don’t know what’s at stake here.”

“And whose fault is that?” I shoot back.

The tension in the room is suffocating, my pulse pounding in my ears as I try to piece together the fragments of what’s happening.

He straightens, clasping his hands in front of him like this is some kind of business meeting.

“I’ve arranged your marriage,” he says, like a judge handing down a verdict.

“Excuse me?” I say, my brows furrowed. I must have misheard him.

“You heard me.”

The room tilts. For a moment, I can’t breathe.

“No. No. No. No,” I say. “You can’t be serious.” I stagger back and grip the counter for support. My knees feel like they might give out.

His expression doesn’t waver. “I am.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head furiously. “No, this isn’t the eighteen hundreds! You don’t get to arrange my marriage!”

“This isn’t up for debate, Lila,” he replies, his voice steady but cold. “It’s done.”

“Done?” I echo, my voice rising. My hands grip the counter tighter, as if it might ground me, but nothing feels real anymore. “You think you can just waltz into my life after years of silence and dictate who I marry? Are you insane?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”

“Necessary?” I laugh bitterly, though it sounds more like a sob. “For who? Certainly not for me!”

“You don’t understand⁠—”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand!” I snap, cutting him off. “Because this is insane!”

He steps closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its steel. “You’re my daughter, Lila. This is about protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” I scoff, my chest heaving. “By selling me off like some kind of pawn? Who even is this guy? Some…business associate of yours?”

Dad doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking to the two men beside him. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until finally he says, “It doesn’t matter who he is. What matters is that he can keep you safe.”

I freeze, his words hitting me like a slap. “Safe?” I repeat, my voice quieter now. “What are you talking about?”

His face softens just slightly, but there’s still an edge to his expression. “You’ve been out of my world for a long time, Lila. I’ve let you live your life, let you think you were free from all of this. But things have changed. There are threats—ones you don’t even know exist. This arrangement ensures your safety.”

And then it hits me, the realization like ice in my veins. “This has to do with your…business, doesn’t it?”

He doesn’t deny it.

My stomach churns, and I feel like I might be sick. “I can’t believe this,” I whisper. “You dragged me into whatever mess you’ve made, and now you’re using me to clean it up?”

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to make me flinch. “You’re my daughter, and you will do as you’re told.”

“No,” I say, my voice trembling but firm. “I won’t.”

For a moment, his expression falters, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he’s always worn.

“You don’t have a choice, Lila,” he says quietly, but the words cut deep. “It’s already been decided.”

My chest tightens, panic clawing at my throat. I push away from the counter, stumbling toward the door. My only thought is to get out.

“Lila,” Dad calls after me, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable warning.

I don’t stop. My fingers fumble for the handle, gripping it tightly. But before I can pull the door open, one of his men steps in front of me.

“Move,” I say, my voice shaking but loud enough to fill the silence.

The man doesn’t budge. He’s massive, his broad shoulders blocking the doorway like a human wall. His expression is cold, unreadable, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Lila,” Dad says again, his tone sharper this time. “Sit down.”

I whirl around to face him, my heart pounding in my chest. “No! You can’t keep me here!”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says, his voice low and measured.

“This is kidnapping!” I yell, my voice rising with the desperation that’s starting to consume me.

Dad sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” I laugh bitterly, my fists clenching at my sides. “You’re trying to force me into a marriage I didn’t agree to, and I’m dramatic?”

I reach for my phone in my pocket, my hands trembling as I press the power button. Nothing. The screen stays black, and the sinking realization hits me like a punch. My phone’s dead.

Of course it’s dead.

I can’t call Mom. Can’t call anyone.

I glance around the room, my mind racing for an escape plan, but it’s hopeless. The two men are like statues, and the one blocking the door hasn’t moved an inch.

“You’ve been on your own for too long, Lila,” Dad says, his voice softer now but no less chilling. “It’s time you understood the reality of the world you come from. You’re not just anyone. You’re my daughter.”

“That’s not an excuse to ruin my life,” I snap. “Let me leave.” I force the words out despite the lump in my throat.

Dad doesn’t move from where he stands, his arms crossed over his chest. “Where would you go, Lila? Your phone is dead. You don’t have any way to reach anyone. And even if you did, they wouldn’t be able to help you.”

His words feel like a slap, and I glare at him, anger momentarily overtaking the panic. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“I don’t think, Lila. I know,” he replies smoothly. “I know what you need, even if you don’t.”

My nails dig into my palms as I fight back the tears threatening to spill over. I’ve felt powerless before, but not like this.

“You can’t keep me here forever,” I say, my voice cracking but full of defiance.

“I won’t need to,” he replies, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Once you’ve calmed down, you’ll see reason. This arrangement—it’s for your own good.”

“Stop saying that!” I shout, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me! You don’t get to decide anything for me!”

Dad’s expression hardens, and the room falls into a tense silence. The two men behind him shift slightly, their postures still relaxed but ready, like they’re waiting for a signal.

I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to think. Running isn’t an option—not now. But I can’t let him win.

“I don’t care what you think is good for me,” I say, my voice quieter now but steady. “I’m not going along with this. You can’t make me.”

Dad steps closer, his voice dropping low, almost like a warning. “You’re underestimating the situation, Lila. This isn’t just about you. There are other people involved. People who won’t take no for an answer.”

The next few days pass in a surreal, suffocating haze. My life as I knew it has ceased to exist, replaced by a whirlwind of decisions I had no part in making. Designers flit in and out of the suite, their measuring tapes and fabric swatches invading every corner.

I sit stiffly as they fuss over me, their hands adjusting and pinning and perfecting. My protests fall on deaf ears, my refusals met with polite smiles and phrases like “It’s for the best, Miss Lila.”

I hate all of it.

I’m uncooperative at every turn, crossing my arms, refusing to try on certain dresses, snapping at anyone who dares suggest I “relax.” But it doesn’t matter. They continue as if I’m some unruly child throwing a tantrum, their efficiency relentless.

I feel like I’m drowning.

The suite, once luxurious and awe-inspiring, has become a gilded cage. The windows are a taunt, offering a view of a world I can no longer reach. My phone remains dead—conveniently, none of the staff seems able to find me a charger. Even if they did, I know the calls would be monitored, the walls closing in even further.

And then there’s him.

Mikhail.

The thought of him sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. How could he do this? How could he let me believe, even for a moment, that he cared? That I was more than just a pawn in whatever game he and my father are playing?

I hate him.

Or at least, I want to.

But when the suite is quiet, and the whirlwind of dresses and fittings and arrangements finally settles, I find myself thinking of him. His gray eyes, the way they burned into me with an intensity that made my heart race. The way he touched me, like I was something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go.

It doesn’t make sense. How can I miss someone I’m supposed to hate? How can I feel this ache, this hollow, gnawing emptiness, when I know he betrayed me?

I close my eyes, leaning back against the couch as another designer lays out a series of veils. My fingers curl into fists, my chest tightening with frustration and something else—something I can’t name.

“Miss Lila, this one would suit your complexion beautifully,” the designer says, holding up a piece of lace.

I ignore her, turning my head toward the window, my throat burning with unshed tears.

Because no matter how much I try to push him out of my mind, no matter how much I tell myself he doesn’t deserve another second of my thoughts, the truth remains:

I miss him.

And it’s tearing me apart.