Chapter 127

Lily’s POV

The break from Manchester School is a relief spark of hope, a chance to bask in Crew’s warmth, to lose myself in his touch, his lips, his fierce claim that I’m his. But that spark is snuffed out by the shadow of my abusive father, whose control looms like a noose, tightening with every thought of telling him about Crew.

He expects perfection, purity, from a daughter who bends to his will, but I’m done—sick of his fists, his venomous words, his cruelty toward me and Mom.I’m not that girl anymore, not after Crew, not after giving him my virginity in that Vermont suite, his hands making me come, his love a rebellion against Dad’s chains. Yet fear claws at me, knowing he’ll explode when he learns I’m with a boy, that I’ve defied him, that I’m no longer his to break.

I’m staring at my laptop, the history paper in front of me, my mind on Crew—my necklace, my stolen heirloom, glinting at his neck, his vow that I’m his—when suddenly my phone rings, Dad’s name appears like a cold fist in my chest. Panic surges, my hands trembling as I answer, my voice small, submissive, the way he demands. “Hi, Dad. Do you need anything?”

“You weren’t thinking about my warnings, were you?” His voice is sharp like a blade, sharp with barely restrained rage, cutting through me. “You think I don’t know?”

My heart lodges in my throat, breath shallow, dread pooling. “Know what?” I whisper, my voice breaking, tears already pricking.

“Who you were with this weekend,” he snarls, his words venomous. “What you did with that boy. You’re a disgrace, Lily, just like your whore mother. Sharing a bed, fucking him—I saw the proof.” His voice drips with disgust, and my world tilts, terror gripping me. How does he know? Who told him? The lie I spun—volunteering at a charity home—crumbles, exposing me, my rebellion, my love for Crew.

“Dad, wait—” I choke, tears streaming, but he cuts me off, relentlessly.

“No excuses, no lies,” he snaps. “You told me you were with June, but you were with that Manchester boy, doing… unspeakable things. I have access to your iCloud, Lily. I saw the photos.” His voice is a low growl, and my heart sinks, my body trembling as I realize the depth of his obsession, his invasion.

I close my eyes, the memories flashing—Saturday night in Vermont, Crew’s shirt off, my lip-gloss kisses on his chest, photos I snapped to capture our intimacy. Later, after we’d fucked twice, my virginity his, I took a selfie of us in bed, my head on his bare shoulder, our smiles sleepy, satisfied, a private moment of love. I’d documented everything—Crew at lunch, downtown decorations, our stolen weekend—never imagining Dad’s eyes on them, his control so invasive, so absolute. Those photos were mine, Crew’s, not his to steal, to judge, to weaponize.

“How could you?” I whisper, my voice raw, tears choking me. “Those were private.”

“You’ve got nerve, talking back after spreading your legs,” he retorts, his voice sharp and slicing me open. “Your camera roll—disgusting. I almost regret looking, but I had to know what a slut you’ve become.”

His words are a lie, his regret false—he’s been waiting to catch me, to justify his rage, his fists. Access to my iCloud wasn’t protection; it was surveillance, a trap set years ago, his obsession with controlling is a sickness. I’m shaking, my body cold, my passionate night with Crew now tainted by Dad’s violation. “You had no right,” I mumble, my voice weak, defiance flickering but drowned by fear.

“We’ll deal with this tomorrow,” he says, his breath harsh, a promise of punishment. “I’m disappointed, Lily. I always have been. You were on the right path—pure, obedient—and you’ve ruined it, fucking that boy, defying me.” His voice is a whip, each word a lash, and I flinch, the memory of his slaps, his screams, vivid.

“Having sex doesn’t ruin me,” I snap, anger flaring, a spark of Crew’s strength in me. “I’m not your puppet, Dad. I’m done with your abuse.” The words burst out, reckless, my heart pounding, tears streaming, my defiance a fire I can’t contain.

“Don’t you dare,” he roars, his voice loud and piercing through the phone. “You’re nothing without me. I’ll deal with you—mercilessly. You and that boy will pay.” He ends the call, the silence deafening, and I collapse, sobs tearing through me, my body shaking, my world crumbling.

I curl into myself, tears soaking my pillow, Crew’s face my only anchor—his fierce kisses in the classroom, his vow to protect me, he claiming my necklace as a symbol of my freedom.

But Dad’s seen us, seen me bare, seen my love, and his rage is a storm I can’t outrun. The photos—my lip-gloss on Crew’s chest, our sleepy selfie—were sacred, a testament to my first time, my choice, my love, now twisted into evidence of my rebellion to my dad.

I’m terrified, my body trembling, my pussy still aching from Crew’s touch, now a source of shame under Dad’s gaze. He’ll come for me, his fists, his threats, maybe worse—“I’ll kill you”—and I don’t know if Crew’s love can shield me.

I think of Mom, her bruises, her sad eyes and what my rebellion will cost us both. The history paper is forgotten, my laptop shut, my mind a chaos of fear and defiance.

I’m not weak, not anymore—Crew’s made me bold, his love a fire that burns through Dad’s control, but the cost is heavy, the danger real. I wipe my tears, my breath steadying, my resolve hardening. I need Crew, need to tell him, need his strength to face Dad’s wrath. Tomorrow will soon be here, a confrontation I dread, but I’m done bending, done breaking. I’m Lily, Crew’s, not Dad’s, and I’ll fight for this love, this freedom, even if it destroys me, even if it means facing the monster who calls himself my father.