Page 45 of His Son's Wife
This was the knock-on effect of the devil. Not only had she kept Sayla away from me, but she’d managed to disrupt her perfect routine. Eating and sleeping on time meant anchoring her circadian rhythm—allowing her autonomic nervous system to shift from fight-or-flight to rest-and-digest. Three days of Maya had undone weeks of careful work.
I knew this because I’d done the research. I hadn’t turned into a Daddy Dom overnight. Every part of my approach had been meticulous—considered, studied, built around what Sayla specifically needed rather than what the dynamic typically demanded.
Maya had torpedoed it in seventy-two hours.
To be fair, she’d also held her sister for three nights straight and made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe.
I supposed I could forgive her.
I wouldn’t tell her that.
“Bedtime,” I murmured, pulling the blanket off us as she stretched and yawned again.
“But it’s only eight.”
Her eyes were on the clock.
“And what time did you go to sleep last night?” I asked, sitting upright on the couch before lifting her with me.
“Uh. Maybe around two or three?” Her head turned.“We’d been catching up.”
“Bed,” I said, standing and taking her hands.
Her eyes rested on my crotch for a moment before she glanced up.
“I know what would help me sleep.”
“No chance. You need to rest,” I chuckled.
“But Daddy—” a dramatic pause.“I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Princess, but your wellbeing always comes first.”
Her lips tightened. Not impressed. She stood anyway.
We went upstairs.
She brushed her teeth and used the bathroom.
Changed into her frog pyjamas.
Stomped across the room and dove headfirst into bed, snatching Pandora and stuffing her beneath the covers.
Her tantrum was so endearing that I decided to push her a little further.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Eyes flashed. A gasp of outrage.
“You’re a bad Daddy,” she mumbled under her breath—but her hands came to rest on the edge of the blue covers.
I smiled and climbed into bed, switching the lamp off.
My head hadn’t touched the pillow before she and Pandora were snuggling into my chest.
???
I stared at the response to the divorce papers, surprised that any decent solicitor had drawn it up for him. The viciousness of the legalese shouldn’t have shocked me. His aim was to stall court proceedings and drag out the litigation for as long as possible—bleed Sayla dry of patience and hope she’d capitulate before it ever reached a judge.
