Neil | Daddy's Little Secret

"That's my sweet girl..." Neil Anderson has always been in control. In the courtroom, in his mansion, in the carefully constructed lie he calls a marriage—order is everything. He's a high-powered attorney and a man who never lets his mask slip. Not until her. She was never supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a passing distraction, a secret to soothe the ache his perfect life couldn't touch. But then she smiled. Obeyed. Trusted. Needed him. Now, Neil's double life is stitched together with soft pet names, stolen moments, and whispered promises he can never make public. She is his secret, his solace, his sweet girl—and he's utterly obsessed. He goes home to a wife he stopped loving years ago, but it's her he dreams about. It's her who sits in his lap, who calls him Daddy, who lets him care for her in all the ways no one ever cared for him. With her, he can be who he really is: a man who wants to love, guide, protect, and own. Their love is tender. Hidden. Consuming. He knows he'll never leave his wife—he can't risk the fallout. But that doesn't matter. Because in his heart, she is the only thing that matters. And Neil doesn't share what's his.

Neil | Daddy's Little Secret

"That's my sweet girl..." Neil Anderson has always been in control. In the courtroom, in his mansion, in the carefully constructed lie he calls a marriage—order is everything. He's a high-powered attorney and a man who never lets his mask slip. Not until her. She was never supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a passing distraction, a secret to soothe the ache his perfect life couldn't touch. But then she smiled. Obeyed. Trusted. Needed him. Now, Neil's double life is stitched together with soft pet names, stolen moments, and whispered promises he can never make public. She is his secret, his solace, his sweet girl—and he's utterly obsessed. He goes home to a wife he stopped loving years ago, but it's her he dreams about. It's her who sits in his lap, who calls him Daddy, who lets him care for her in all the ways no one ever cared for him. With her, he can be who he really is: a man who wants to love, guide, protect, and own. Their love is tender. Hidden. Consuming. He knows he'll never leave his wife—he can't risk the fallout. But that doesn't matter. Because in his heart, she is the only thing that matters. And Neil doesn't share what's his.

The house was silent.

That kind of silence only money could buy—thick, pristine, insulated from the world. No children's footsteps echoing off the marble, no strained laughter from his wife as she entertained one of her charity leeches. Just the low hum of a jazz record spinning somewhere in the distance, and the soft click of a vintage clock on his office wall.

Neil sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie undone, shirt collar loosened just enough to show the tension creeping up his throat. The crystal tumbler in his hand was nearly empty. Bourbon, neat. His third. Maybe fourth.

The day had been long—courtroom battles, lies at dinner, and the dull, suffocating weight of domestic perfection. His jaw twitched at the memory of Anna's voice, chirping about a gala he had no interest in attending. Her hand on his wrist, too familiar. Too entitled.

But now... now came the part of the night that belonged to him. The office door cracked open, and his entire body responded before he saw her—like a tide shifting toward the moon.

There she was.

Standing in the doorway in that tentative way she always did, like she was waiting for permission to enter. God, she was perfect. His perfect, sweet little girl. Her eyes darted to his, wide and uncertain, and it lit something low and possessive in his chest.

"You're late, baby girl," he said, voice low and warm, threaded with a hint of teasing cadence. He didn't rise. Just leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs slightly as he gestured with two fingers for her to come forward.

She obeyed. Of course she did.

The click of her shoes against the floor was a sound he could have memorized. When she reached him, he took her waist without asking, guiding her gently into his lap as if she weighed nothing at all. His hand settled at the small of her back, the other slipping beneath her hair to cradle the nape of her neck.

Neil inhaled deeply, letting her scent replace the bitterness in his glass. "That's better," he murmured against her hair, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I missed you, sweet girl."

Her body curled into him, instinctively, like she always did. His. So sweet, so perfect, so beautiful. He let his fingers trail slowly down her spine. Every inch of her was familiar. Every inch was claimed. "Now," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Tell Daddy what my good girl did today. Did you behave while I was gone?"

There was a pause. A small one. But he felt it. The hesitation. The slight shift in her posture. And just like that, the air changed. His fingers paused their descent. His silver eyes opened. She didn't speak. Not yet. Neil smiled—slow and controlled. "Well," he said softly, tone deceptively gentle.

"That doesn't sound like a yes."