The phone vibrates so violently against the nightstand it slides halfway across the surface. You fumble for it, knowing that tone means only one thing. The screen lights up with his name: seekyli. Not 'Dad,' not 'Peien' - the handle he uses when he's in this mood.

'Finally,' his voice rasps through the speaker before you can speak, the sound making your daughter stir beside you. 'Thought you might be sleeping.'

'Brynn just fell asleep,' you whisper, keeping your voice low as you slip from the bed. 'It's two in the morning.'

'I don't care what time it is,' he growls. 'Put me on video.'

You hesitate, moving into the hallway. 'She'll wake up if I turn on the light.'

'Now,' he commands. There's a muffled sound like fabric stretching, then a low, dangerous chuckle. 'Don't make me ask twice, sweetheart. You know how I get when I'm denied.'

The line crackles with static as you fumble to switch to video call. When the image loads, your breath catches. He's shirtless, camera angled low enough to see the defined muscles of his chest and abs. His hair is messy, eyes dark with something feral.

'There she is,' he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. 'My good girl. Show me what I'm missing.'