Grace woke to the taste of copper and regret, sunlight slicing through the penthouse windows like a blade. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache—thighs bruised, throat raw, the tender flesh between her legs swollen and slick with the evidence of last night. She bolted upright, heart jackhammering, and the room spun. His jacket slid off her naked skin. The scent of him—sandalwood, tobacco, sex—clung to her like a second skin.

Daddy.

The word detonated behind her eyes, and she scrambled off the bed, legs shaking, tears already burning. She found her torn dress in shreds, her panties missing entirely. She pulled on one of his white shirts from the closet instead, the fabric swallowing her, sleeves past her fingertips, hem brushing mid-thigh. It smelled like him. She hated that it calmed her.

She fled the suite with nothing but her phone and the keycard she never should have taken. In the elevator mirror, she saw the damage: mascara tracks, swollen lips, and on her throat—God—a brutal ring of purple bite marks shaped like ownership.

She spent the day curled in the fetal position in her apartment, scrubbing her skin raw in the shower until the water went cold. She couldn’t leave the city—her cards were declined, her accounts frozen. A single email waited in her inbox, crisp and impersonal:

Reed Global Acquisitions

Interview – Executive Position

Tomorrow, 10:00 a.m. sharp

Do not be late.

She almost laughed until she cried. Of course, it was him. Of course, he’d trapped her.

The lobby of Reed Global was a cathedral of glass and steel. Grace walked in on legs that felt borrowed, chin high, even as panic clawed at her ribs. And then she saw it—the enormous portrait on the far wall.

Apollo Reed.

Founder. Chairman.

The man whose cock had been inside her twelve hours ago.

The face she had only seen in nightmares and old photographs stared down at her: sharp jaw, silver temples, eyes like winter. Her knees buckled. A security guard caught her elbow.

“Miss Reed? They’re ready for you.”

She floated to the private elevator, vision tunneling. When the doors opened directly into the corner office, he was already waiting—leaning against the desk, arms crossed, suit immaculate. As if he hadn’t fucked his own daughter raw on the carpet last night.

Grace’s voice cracked the second she saw him. “You knew.”

Apollo’s gaze dragged over her slowly—possessive, hungry. “I knew the moment you crawled to me on your knees and begged Daddy to ruin you.”

Shame flooded her so violently that her vision blurred. “I was drunk. I didn’t know—how could you—” Her voice broke. “You’re my father.”

He moved closer, slow, deliberate. “And you’re my daughter. My blood. My heir.” His voice dropped to that lethal purr that had haunted her dreams. “My cunt.”

She slapped him. The crack echoed. His head barely moved, but his eyes darkened to something feral.

“You took advantage of me,” she whispered, tears spilling. “Of your own drunk, broken daughter—”

Apollo caught her wrist before she could pull away, yanking her against his chest. “You begged me, Grace. You spread your legs and sobbed for Daddy’s cock like you’d die without it.” His other hand slid under the hem of her skirt, fingers finding the bare lips of her pussy—she hadn’t worn underwear, too sore, too raw—and she gasped as he stroked once, possessively. “Still wet for me. Even now.”

She whimpered, hating the way her hips rocked into his touch. “Stop—”

“You don’t get to run, princess.” He spun her, slammed her back against the floor-to-ceiling window. The city sprawled forty stories below; anyone with binoculars could see. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other shoving her skirt to her waist.

“Please,” she sobbed, legs trembling. “Not here—”

He freed his cock with brutal efficiency—thick, already leaking—and drove into her in one savage thrust. The stretch burned; she was still swollen from last night, and she screamed, the sound muffled against his shoulder as he clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Shh,” he growled against her ear, hips snapping forward—slap-slap-slap—the wet, obscene sound of her body taking him filling the office. “Take Daddy’s cock like a good girl. This is what you were made for.”

Her back arched against the cold glass, tears streaming sideways into her hair. Every thrust punched the air from her lungs, his cock dragging over that spot inside her that made her see stars. She hated how fast she climbed, hated the way her walls fluttered around him, hated the broken moans she couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he snarled, teeth sinking into the fresh bruise on her throat, reopening the mark.

“You,” she cried, voice cracking. “Daddy—God—I’m yours—”

He fucked her harder, the window rattling in its frame, her body jolting with every thrust. When she came, it was violent—pussy clenching, squirting messily down her thighs, a wrecked scream tearing from her throat as her vision whited out.

He followed with a guttural groan, pumping her full again, hips jerking as he marked her inside and out.

After, he didn’t let her go. He zipped himself up, smoothed her skirt, and pressed the intercom with bloodstained fingers.

“Ms. Lau, send in the contract.”

Grace stood shaking, cum sliding down her legs, mascara running. The contract was already on the desk—six figures, benefits, corner office adjacent to his—title: Personal Secretary to the Chairman.

She stared at him, chest heaving. “Fire me,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

Apollo smiled, cold and absolute. He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re hired, Miss Reed. Effective immediately.” His thumb brushed the bite mark on her throat, pressing until she whimpered. “This mark means two things, princess. You’re my daughter. And you’re my woman. You don’t get to leave. Ever.”

He released her, stepped back, and straightened his tie.

“Tonight,” he said, voice velvet and venom. “Eight o’clock. The penthouse. Wear something pretty—and nothing underneath.” His gaze dragged over her trembling form. “We have twenty-three years to make up for, Grace. And I intend to take every single one of them out of that sweet little body.”

She signed the contract with shaking hands, tears blurring the ink.

As she stumbled toward the elevator, his voice followed her like a chain.

“Don’t be late, princess. Daddy doesn’t like to wait.”