Page 45 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan
My back went rigid, my breathing instinctively softened—afraid that if I opened my mouth, the fragile thread of control I'd been clinging to would snap completely.
She told Nadia goodbye. Said she was happy to see her.
This was absurd. I was actually jealous of my own daughter.
I wanted to rush over and ask her—you're happy to see Nadia, but what about me? Didn't you feel anything at all?
But I said nothing.
Nadia looked back at me. That look was a prompt, like she was saying: Dad, go.
But...
I didn't move. I knew if I chased after her now, she'd only run. She was like a startled cat—the more you chased, the faster she fled.
So I had to be patient. At least for now.
I waved Nadia over. She trotted up to me.
I bent down and whispered in her ear. "Baby, you want Anna to stay?"
Nadia nodded hard.
"Then go after her now. Ask her to stay." I said softly, "She'll soften."
I felt pretty damn low. Using my daughter to gamble on Anna's tender heart. But I had no choice. Clearly, Nadia mattered more to Anna than I did.
I wasn't as important as my own daughter.
Fucking hell. I ranked below my four-year-old.
Nadia's eyes lit up. She took off after Anna.
I stood at the top of the stairs. Didn't follow. Just listened to them talk below.
"Anna, will you come back?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Of course." Nadia sounded close to tears. "I'm sorry I went behind Dad's back to hire you. I lied to you. I'm so sorry. I just missed you so much."
I tilted my head back slightly, the corner of my mouth twitching up despite myself.
That's it, baby. A little more pitiful. A little more hurt. The kitten will soften.
Silence downstairs for a few seconds. Then I heard Anna sigh quietly.
"I'll come back. But you have to promise me something."
"What?"
"I can only come when your dad's not here."
My smile froze. That flicker of satisfaction I'd just felt, still warm in my chest, got doused in ice water.
Great. She agreed to stay—as long as I was completely excluded.
I clenched my fist and slammed it into the wall.
