Tyrant Daddy by Isabella Starling

Chapter 22

Raphael

1 year later

I gently tuck Austin into his crib, making sure he's safe. There's music playing softly in the background while Elise is busy chattering on her phone to one of her friends.

I stare down into the boy's sleepy face as he yawns. He's a good baby, going down easily most nights and never giving us too much trouble. But tonight, he's a little fussy, tossing and turning as I gently stroke his cheek.

"Raphael, are you coming?"

Groaning, I turn away from my son and walk toward the sound of Elise's voice.

Our relationship has only grown more strained this past year. I thought having a child together would make us grow closer, make Elise kinder. But I have the feeling she doesn't enjoy being a mother. I think she sees Austin as an accessory rather than anything meaningful, and that makes me despise her.

"We need to go," she tells me crisply. "Our reservations are at eight."

"The nanny isn't here yet," I reply firmly. "We can't leave him alone."

She rolls her eyes, adjusting her updo. "I'm not waiting. I have to be there tonight."

"Fine," I hiss. "Then you go, and I'll stay back with Austin."

"You know I hate going to these things without you."

I know full well she's trying to guilt-trip me into coming along with her, but it's not going to work this time. Elise has been dragging me to all sorts of charity events without actually giving a fuck about any of it. And every time, I dread running into Nox and Dove. I can't handle this, not tonight.

Shrugging off my suit jacket and loosening my tie, I tell her, "I'm not leaving Austin behind, but you can leave."

"Whatever." She glares at me, spraying a cloud of perfume before heading for the door. "Don't wait up."

I had thought being with Elise would make me bitter, but as it turns out, she's the one who pulled the short end of the stick. She has no connection to the kid, no motherly instincts. I'm left taking care of the boy by myself while she flits from brunch to dinner to drinks. But I don't mind. At least it means I don't have to be around her much.

Still, I don't understand why Elise is acting this way with her own son. She was excited to be a mother when we met, and even when she was pregnant, she spent hours shopping for Austin. But now that he's here, he's been abandoned by her. Discarded like one of her many designer purses in favor of a new, shinier object.

I hear the door slam as she leaves. I check on Austin again and feel a pang of guilt as I watch him sleep in his crib.

This poor boy has been cursed with two parents who hate each other. I've tried so fucking hard to be a good father, be the man my own dad never was. But I don't feel the fatherly connection with the boy. It's more of an obligation, and while there are warm feelings attached to the baby, I just don't feel like a father.

Guilt racks through me realizing this. I shouldn't be this way, I should've invested fully into the role of a father. And none of this is Austin's fault – he doesn't deserve this shitty situation he's been thrust into. Yet I can't help my emotions. Every time I see him, I imagine his mother as Willa instead. But that's never going to happen.

Softly closing the nursery door behind me, I walk back into my study and place the baby monitor on my desk. My laptop lights up as I sit down at my desk, and I instantly check the sugar baby website.

I've become addicted to Willa, even though she has no idea I'm the one paying for her. But she seems so happy in New York. Every day, she regales me with stories of everything she's seen, heard and been through. Every day in that city seems like an adventure for her.

At the same time, I can't help but notice the changes in her when she sends the rare photo or video. She's thin, so painfully thin her bones jut out awkwardly. Her hair has gotten longer, but lost some of its shine, and her eyes seem full of pain. She's paler than ever and sometimes she seems a little lost. Her eyes swim around the room. She seems so far away. But that's probably just because I'm seeing her through a screen.

I have no doubt my trouble is having the time of her life in New York. It's what she wanted and what she worked so hard for. I know Parsons is a tough school, but she seems to be excelling and I couldn't be happier for her.

And yet it stings.

It stings like a motherfucker, watching her live the happy life she could only have by me breaking up with her.

She hasn't mentioned me to the persona I've built online, not once. She doesn't talk about other men either, to be fair, but the fact that my name has not once crossed her lips hurts like hell.

She must've forgotten all about me already. After all, I was nothing but a bleep on her radar, a bad experience she had to have so she could move on with the life she always wanted.

Obviously, she's moved on.

Obviously, she doesn't think of me anymore.

And obviously, she's so much happier now that I'm out of the picture. And I have no right to disrupt the happy life Willa has built for herself. I already feel guilty enough for staying in touch with her, but I can't stay away. I'm addicted to her just like I've always been.

Every time she ends our calls or doesn't text back it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. Every night I fall asleep without her in my arms, I wish I were fucking dead so the pain would ease. But Willa's happy. And that's the one thing that keeps me going.

I send her money sometimes, telling her I'm doing it so she'll stay exclusive with me and not chat to other men on the app. I don't know whether she actually does that. But it makes me feel better, as much as I want a happy future for her. I just can't imagine sharing her with anyone else.

She probably has a boyfriend by now. Some artsy New York hipster who makes her oat milk lattes and kisses all the spots I used to kiss.

The thought fills me with pain and I shake my head to get it out. As hard as I've tried to get over her, I can't forget Willa.

I check on my son and grab a drink before heading back to my computer. I'm avoiding the moment of messaging her, blindly hoping she'll text first. That I'm not just some random internet stranger paying her, that she realizes deep down it's me. But she doesn't text.

Defeated, I send the first message.

Got time for a quick video call?

I lean back in my chair, and the reply comes back soon after.

Not today. You can call me if you want, though.

I'm a fool for her and I'll do anything just to hear her voice. I send her the agreed upon amount for voice calls and plug in my headphones, calling her.

"Hello."

Her voice seems far away, but that's probably just because she is. I'm still using special software to change the sound of my voice. Willa has complained about it before, but I told her I'm not changing it. I can't risk her realizing it's me on the other end of the line.

"Hello," I reply softly. "How were classes today?"

"Wonderful," she replies dreamily, making me smile. "We're doing a project this month, a runway. And one of my designs is going out first."

"That's great. So you're happy?"

She pauses, not answering and making me worry. When she speaks again, her voice is colder, more detached, and I have to remind myself she doesn't know it's me before realizing if she did, she'd probably be even colder.

"I need some more money."

"Okay. How much?"

"Couple grand."

I furrow my brows. Where is all this money going? I send her at least a grand every month.

"Okay," I mutter. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Do elaborate."

"Why? You're just a contorted voice. You might not even be a real person."

I chuckle. "I assure you, I'm very real."

Austin's screams come through the baby monitor and I curse softly.

"You got a kid?"

"Y-Yeah," I manage, grabbing my laptop as I head into the nursery. Fuck. What if she realizes it's me?

"How old is he?"

I'm the one ignoring her question this time. I put the pacifier back in Austin's mouth and he happily sucks on it as I go back to the study.

"I don't really know anything about you," Willa muses. "Why are you so secretive?"

"You don't need to know, it would only make you hate me," I mutter in reply.

"Why?" She laughs. "Are you a bad man?"

I contemplate her words, not knowing how to reply. Finally, I say, "Maybe."

"How bad?"

"You don't want to know."

"Secretive again. But that's fine, TyrantDaddy. One day you'll tell me more about yourself. And until then, I'll just take your money."

I smirk before my expression falls. "Are you sure everything's okay with you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You haven't let me see you in three months."

"It's kind of weird talking to a black screen."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're very apologetic," she mutters. "You know, I'd let you see me right now. As long as you turn on your camera, too."

My heart starts racing at the thought, but I quickly banish it from my mind. I can't do it. I can't let her see it's me – she's finally moved on, and she deserves to be free of my clutches.

"I can't," I admit brokenly, the generator contorting my voice into something dull, robotic. No emotion. Just the way it should be.

"Okay," she says carelessly. "Send me the money and I'll send you some photos."

"Okay," I say. "And I –"

She ends the call before I can stop her.

I close my eyes and tell myself not to worry. I have no power over what Willa does now. She's on her own, and it's better that way. I would've only hurt her more by telling her it was me on the other end of the line.

I send over the money and tell myself it's going to be okay. As long as I get my fix of Willa, I'm as happy as I can be.

I don't deserve anything better, anyway. I made the right choice for my son; I can't go back on it now. I'm not the selfish man I used to be, and yet I can't help but regret walking away from Willa.

My phone pings with some incoming photos. I look at them, groaning at the sight of Willa. I was right – she's lost a lot of weight. She's wearing a faraway look in all the photos, as if her mind's caught in some fairytale land where nothing bad ever happens. But I can see the pain too. This is the first time she's let me see her this vulnerable, at least as TyrantDaddy. But even now, I can't let this go any further than it already has.

I force myself not to reply to her pictures. Instead, I check on my son and prepare his bottle. I keep an eye on him until I get too tired, then crawl into bed in the guest bedroom feeling defeated.

I may have done the right thing, but on nights like this, I miss Willa so badly it physically hurts. And no amount of telling myself this is what she deserves will convince me it's true.