Daddy's Little Pet | 18+

|Bar Scuffles|

ROBERT

"A refill?" The bartender asked as I held up my empty glass, and I curtly nodded.

Taking a sip of the burning liquid, I grimaced at the bitter aftertaste, then returned my gaze to my phone on the bar's countertop. I sat and stared at the picture of Renee displayed on the screen.

In this photo, she was asleep on my hotel bed, her mouth slightly open and her strawberry blonde hair messy and scattered on the sheets.

Her long lashes cast shadows across her delicate cheeks, giving her a soft and fragile appearance. Dammit, but she was so beautiful. The most gorgeous sight I'd ever seen and one I'd never get tired of looking at.

Flipping through my photos, I found another picture of her. One I'd taken while she was standing on the balcony of our new mansion.

With her arms outstretched, her dress fluttering against the wind, and the fabric dancing wildly before settling back into place. She looked so happy and at peace that, for a moment, my heart clenched.

Her eyes were closed, but adoration and joy were written all over her face. I'd done well, unknowingly capturing this beautiful moment.

"God..." I muttered as my fingers flickered through the screen, scrolling past photos of her, each more stunning than the last.

There were so many, and each one caused me more pain than the last, bringing tears to my eyes.

My heart hurt, and it wasn't because of the alcohol in my veins. Seeing Renee reminded me of how much I'd hurt her and messed things up.

It'd been two days since I'd shown up on her doorstep and demanded to see her. I couldn't stop thinking.

As I tightly gripped the whiskey glass, I couldn't seem to relax into a comfortable stupor. Because no! The memories of that day were still too fresh.

My mind kept going over everything that'd happened. From her rejection to her hurtful words, which I deserved, and the look of pain in her eyes. Damn! I'd hurt her so badly.

So badly that she was willing to throw away everything we had. Everything we'd built together.

"Fuck! Fuck!" I cursed as I chugged the last remnants of my drink, wincing at the burn in my throat.

I was in shambles. Both literally and metaphorically.

I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't think straight. God! I felt terrible. And the worst part was that I deserved it.

Everything happening to my drunken depressed ass right now was entirely my fault, and I deserved each ounce of pain and suffering.

Apart from my personal life, what about my business? Oh, I was stalling work. I'd been getting dozens of reports here and there, calls and meeting appointments that I'd ignored in the last few days. My stocks were plummeting drastically, but I didn't care.

Maybe next week, I'd get myself together and focus on business, but I wanted to get lost in this haze for now.

This haze which—

"Some vodka and whiskey shots, please." My head shot up. The owner of the smooth voice bedside me broke through my spiraling thoughts.

Looking to my left, I froze. The owner of that familiar voice was my son.

"Dylan." I croaked as I stared at him, unable to figure out what he was doing there.

He wasn't alone. He was with some men, most likely his friends.