Chapter 134

Chapter 134
# Chapter 16: Calculated Affection

When I walked into the Ross Group's marble-floored lobby that morning, I felt eyes tracking my every move. The receptionist's gaze lingered on my face for several seconds before recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Ms. Ross!" She straightened immediately, professional smile firmly in place. The surprise in her voice was unmistakable—I'd become quite the stranger at my father's company.

"I'm here to see my father," I replied with practiced politeness, the designer gift box swinging lightly from my fingertips.

"The Chairman is in his office," she confirmed, reaching for the phone.

I nodded my thanks and headed for the executive elevator. As the doors slid open on the top floor, my father's executive assistant—Alex, I think his name was—spotted me immediately. His expression registered the same surprise I'd seen downstairs.

"Ms. Ross, what a pleasant surprise," he said, eyeing the elegant box in my hand. "I'm afraid your father has a meeting in a few minutes. Perhaps—"

Before he could finish, my father's voice boomed through the intercom. "Is that Sheryl? Send her in."

I pushed open the heavy mahogany door and found my father behind his imposing desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed documents. Despite his sixty years, Robert Ross maintained the sharp jawline and commanding presence that had intimidated boardrooms for decades. I forced myself not to think about the disgusting photos I'd seen on that phone—naked bodies intertwined, my father and my stepmother...

I dug my nails into my palm and smiled. "Daddy, I came to see you."

The word "Daddy" made his hand pause mid-signature. He looked up, clearly caught off guard by the endearment I hadn't used since childhood. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly.

"So you have," he replied, his voice gentler than usual.

I placed the gift box on his desk. "I brought your favorite black forest cake from that bakery on Newbury Street. I wanted to apologize for yesterday—the argument with Rebecca upset you, and I felt terrible about it." I opened the box and offered him a slice. "Try it? See if it tastes the same as you remember."

"Sheryl..." He looked genuinely confused by my sudden warmth.

"You're wondering why I seem like a different person?" I smiled, allowing vulnerability to creep into my expression. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. Since Mom died, I've been holding this grudge against you for fifteen years. We're father and daughter, but we've become like strangers." I lowered my eyes, softening my voice. "You're getting older now, and I need to be more understanding. Besides..." I looked up, letting my eyes fill with tears. "I dreamed about Mom last night."

The mention of my mother worked exactly as I'd expected. My father's face transformed, the stern lines melting into something like tenderness. This display of paternal affection that once would have meant everything to me now left me completely cold.

"You dreamed of Margaret?" He took a bite of the cake, savoring its sweetness.

"Yes." I sniffled convincingly, my expression carefully calibrated to show grief. "She was so upset seeing us at odds with each other. She said it breaks her heart that the man she loved most and the daughter she cherished can't connect. She was crying the entire time in my dream."

My father's face clouded with pain. "Your mother really said that?"

"She did," I continued, voice trembling slightly. "That's why I'm here—to apologize for my behavior all these years. I hope you can forgive me."

He stood up and came around the desk, awkwardly wiping a tear from my cheek. His eyes showed genuine regret. "Sheryl, I've failed you these past years."

"No, Daddy, it's not just you. We've grown apart, and I've contributed to that too. But I want things to change. I don't want to make you unhappy anymore."

Relief washed over his face. I took his arm gently, leaning in with practiced intimacy. "Daddy, Mom told me something else in my dream."

"What did she say?" His voice was hushed.

I studied his expression carefully. "She said she wants to come home."

The arm beneath my hand stiffened. He turned to face me. "Come home? What does that mean?"

"It's about her things," I explained. "Mom said she feels like you pushed her away, throwing out her belongings like that. She thinks you've forgotten her—that's why she can't visit your dreams and had to come to mine instead. She's heartbroken and wants to return home."

His face crumpled with guilt. I knew he was remembering how, at Christine's urging, he'd cleared out all my mother's possessions. The fight we'd had about it had nearly destroyed what little relationship we had left.

"All right," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll bring your mother's things back to the mansion. No one will touch them again."

"Thank you, Daddy!" I beamed at him, my smile bright and grateful.

But as I turned away, my smile vanished instantly, revealing the cold calculation beneath. In its place was nothing but icy determination.

Let the game begin.