𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 [18+]

- 22 -

"You're losing focus, sweet cheeks."

I lift my head and jerk when I accidentally touch the hot pot.

"Zara!" Dad takes my hand in his and inspects my fingers.

His touch burns my cursed wrist. I feel as if his laser eyes will reach beneath the watch and see the evidence of how fucked I am.

I subtly pull my hand from Dad and plaster on a smile. "It's nothing. Just a little burn."

"You need to be careful in the kitchen. That's the first rule of cooking."

"I know. Sorry."

Dad pats my shoulder affectionately and goes back to chopping carrots, but not before he offers me his golden smile.

My mom used to say he was the closed-off type, the one nobody dared to look at but yet still garnered more attention than he should have. I could understand that. I'd never seen him offer that smile to anybody but me and Mom. Pen, rarely. He always looked out for me my entire life, even while I was not the same person I am now, even while I was filled with insecurities about being called the 'fat girl' - I still am, but it all only seemed to make my dad love me more.

A select few preferred to do business with him because he's more than amiable. People he's gained close connections over decades, one of them being Ford.

It's lonely at the top, they say.

Dad is the actual gem with his intense yet caring personality. His outward ruthlessness yet inner warmth. His firm demands and bear hugs. Dad has always been the ultimate role model and the type of human I've strived to be.

Responsible. Reliable. In control.

Too bad I'm already screwed in the head. I thought with time and hard work, I would be able to achieve that - losing weight was that example. But somewhere down the lane, I realised I wasn't meant for it all.

I pass him the bowl of potatoes before he even asks for it. We're in sync like that, Dad and I.

"Shouldn't you be adding the spices now?"

"Oh, right." I focus on that and methodically sprinkle precise amounts of each one into the pot.

I couldn't stop thinking about him. What business meeting? Where was he now? Who the fuck was he with? But at the same time, I wanted to sue myself for allowing me to think that way. I hate him with all my heart. But I didn't know what to do about it.

I've been thinking a lot about us. Everything we did. Everything he did to me. Every time, I look at my hips - it's a reminder. God, only I know the struggles to hide them. It was already chaos that Pen knew about them.

He just kept barging in every time. It fucked with my head and he knew that.

"I think Pen is really hungry, she glaring at everyone on the way here," Dad says amidst the chopping of vegetables. "You think we can speed up a bit, sweet cheeks?"