My V-card for Daddy's Friend novel Chapter 7

chapter 7

The auction for my virginity has been purchased while I sat across from the man my father had chosen to own me.

The universe had a cruel sense of irony.

“Are you even listening?” Anthony’s voice cut through my haze, irritation threading through his perfect diction.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even think straight.

The walls of the restaurant seemed to contract around me. The chatter of other diners morphing into a suffocating hum that pressed against my eardrums.

“I need to go,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could shape them into something more polite. “Thank you for lunch.”

Anthony blinked, visibly thrown by my abruptness.

To his credit, his recovery was swift, his features rearranging into practiced nonchalance.

“We should at least exchange numbers,” he said, already reaching for his phone. “Since we’re, you know… engaged.”

The word hung between us, grotesque in its falseness.

My fingers trembled as I took my phone back out, knowing it would be faster to comply than argue.

We traded devices, each inputting our contact information with mechanical efficiency.

His fingers brushed against mine as we exchanged phones again, and I had to suppress a shudder at how empty the touch felt.

I spot Josie by the exit, waving like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter, and my stomach free-falls.

“Shit,” I mutter, plastering on what I hope resembles a smile but probably looks more like a hostage photo.

“So?” Josie pounces the second I’m within earshot, eyes gleaming with the bloodlust of someone who feeds on gossip. “Husband material or complete disaster? I need details, measurements, and at least three direct quotes.”

“Headache,” I lie, massaging my temple like it might actually convince someone who’s known me since I still believed in Santa. “Nuclear grade.”

Her face collapses like a soufflé. “That’s it? No dramatic showdown? No revelation that he secretly collects his own toenails or exclusively dates women who look like his mother?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I glance toward the exit, freedom so close I can smell it. “My driver’s outside. He can drop you off, and I’ll give you the boring play-by-play en route.”

“Deal.” She perks up like I’ve offered her blackmail material. “But I want everything—including how many times he checked his reflection in the silverware.”

Once we’re sealed in the backseat with the privacy glass up—my father’s one good idea in his entire parenting career—I unleash.

“He’s hot, sure,” I admit, head falling back against the leather. “But emotionally? He’s a teenager with a black card. I’ve had deeper connections with Siri.”

Josie cackles. “Seriously? That bad?”

“Worse. First twenty minutes? Instagram models and protein shakes. Then he moved on to virgin-shaming me like my hymen is a character flaw I developed specifically to ruin his day.”

“Holy shit.” Her eyes widen to cartoon proportions. “What an asshole!”

“A professionally groomed, socially acceptable asshole who’ll inherit millions,” I correct. “The perfect son-in-law for Gunther Wallace, Human Emotion Vacuum.”

She tilts her head, processing. “Reminds me of that weird girl from school—what was her name? Only talked about chemical compounds and looked at people like they were lab specimens?”

“Melanie Schwartz,” I supply, grateful for the distraction. “Chemistry Club president for three consecutive years of social suicide.”

“We should find her,” Josie grins wickedly. “Introduce her to Anthony. They can bore each other to death and save you from matrimonial hell.”

I feel my face crack into an actual smile. “You’re being really sweet today.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She bumps my shoulder. “I have a reputation as a heartless bitch to maintain.”

As we pull up to her house, she squeezes my hand. “Call me later? When the migraine magically disappears?”

Abstract concepts I could intellectualize but never truly understand—until Caleb walked in and suddenly those fictional scenarios were writing themselves across my skin in goosebumps, making my imagination run wild in high definition.

I slammed the door on that thought before it could form completely, before the image of Caleb’s fingers against my cheek could fully materialize.

This wasn’t about desire. This was about freedom. About taking control of my body, my future, my life.

I reread the details until they blurred before my eyes:

Tonight. 8 p.m. Valemont Hotel, Manhattan. Room 512. Final payment will be auto-released.

This was my one shot at independence—the strange, terrifying, one-in-a-million opportunity to buy my way out of the cage my father had built around me.

But tonight. So soon. So final.

The weight of the decision pressed against my chest like a stone.

I’d spent twenty-two years being good, being perfect, being exactly what my family demanded.

And what had it gotten me? Traded away like a commodity to a man who couldn’t be bothered to look up from his phone when meeting his future wife.

A violent tremor ran through my hand as I moved the cursor to the button at the bottom of the screen.

One click would change everything. Would transform me from Mikaela Wallace, perfect daughter and virgin bride-to-be, into… something else.

Someone free.

I pressed down. ACCEPTED.

The confirmation appeared instantly, cold and impersonal—transaction initiated, hotel information confirmed, payment pending completion.

What had I done? What had I just agreed to?