The living room of Riley’s tiny apartment was a chaotic little kingdom of mismatched furniture and forgotten chores. A lumpy couch with a faded floral pattern dominated the space, its cushions sagging under the weight of Riley’s sprawled-out form. At nineteen, she was all sharp edges and restless energy, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The faint, acrid scent of burnt toast clung to the air—a breakfast mishap she hadn’t bothered to clean up. A pile of dishes teetered in the sink just beyond the doorway, but Riley’s focus remained glued to the glowing screen, her thumb flicking with practiced boredom.
Heavy boots thudded against the worn hardwood, announcing Greg’s arrival before he even spoke. Riley’s bio-dad, a man who’d only crashed back into her life a few months ago, carried himself like he owned the place. His broad shoulders filled the doorway as he surveyed the mess with a low, disapproving grunt. Riley didn’t bother looking up. She could feel his judgment boring into her, and frankly, she didn’t care.
Greg cleared his throat, the sound loud and deliberate, like a judge banging a gavel. Riley’s eyes rolled so hard she nearly strained something, but her gaze stayed on her phone. If he thought he could guilt-trip her with a cough, he had another thing coming.
“Riley,” he started, his voice rough and gravelly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place looks like a damn pigsty. I didn’t move in here to play maid, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you slack off while I’m around. I’m the man of the house now, and it’s time you started acting like you’ve got some sense of responsibility.”
Riley snorted, finally glancing up with a smirk that could cut glass. “Oh, please, Greg. ‘Man of the house’? You’ve been here for, what, three months? Don’t act like you’ve been tucking me into bed since I was a toddler. You missed that boat by about nineteen years.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking under the stubble. He crossed his arms, his flannel shirt straining against his biceps as his tone dropped to something colder, more commanding. “Watch that mouth, young lady. I’m not gonna tolerate this attitude problem of yours. Not under my roof.”
Riley tossed her phone onto the couch with a dramatic flourish, swinging her legs down and standing up to face him. Her arms crossed defiantly, mirroring his stance, and her smirk only grew sharper. “Your roof? Last I checked, my name’s on the lease, Daddy Dearest. You’re just the freeloader who showed up with a duffel bag and a bunch of outdated life lessons.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his presence suddenly looming. At six-foot-something, he towered over her, and the air between them crackled with a tension she hadn’t expected. “You’ve been naughty, Riley,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word dripping with a strange, heavy weight. “Real naughty. And I think it’s about time someone taught you some manners.”
Riley barked out a laugh, though a tiny flicker of unease twisted in her gut. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with a taunt. “What are you gonna do, Greg? Send me to boot camp? You’re a wannabe drill sergeant with no army to boss around. Stick to grunting at the dishes if you’re so bothered.”
She expected him to back off, to grumble and retreat like he usually did when her tongue got too sharp. But instead, his hand shot out, firm and unyielding, wrapping around her upper arm. Before she could yank away, he tugged her toward the couch with a strength that caught her off guard.
“Hey! What the hell—” Her protest cut off as he sat down hard, pulling her over his knee in one swift motion. Her stomach dropped, her body folding awkwardly as her hands scrambled for purchase against the couch. “Are you insane? Let me go, you psycho!”
“Not until you learn a proper lesson,” Greg said, his tone infuriatingly calm, like he was discussing the weather. “You’ve been running wild too long, Riley. Time to rein it in.”
She squirmed, her legs kicking uselessly as fury and disbelief surged through her. “I swear to God, Greg, if you don’t let me up right now, I’ll—ow!” The first swat landed, sharp and stinging against her backside through her thin leggings. A yelp escaped her lips before she could stop it, her face burning with humiliation as much as the strike itself. “You’re a psycho caveman! Who even does this?!”
Greg didn’t flinch, his hand coming down again with controlled precision. “Someone’s gotta teach you respect, kid. You don’t get to talk to me like I’m some nobody. I’m your father, whether you like it or not, and you’re gonna learn to act right under this roof.”
Riley gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out again even as the next few strikes landed, each one a humiliating reminder of how powerless she was in this position. Her nails dug into the couch cushion, her mind racing with a storm of anger and something else—something confusing and hot that coiled low in her belly. She hated him for this. Hated the way her body reacted with a mix of rage and... something she wouldn’t name.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a handful of seconds, Greg’s grip loosened. He let her up, and Riley scrambled away, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to put distance between them. Her hands instinctively rubbed at the sting on her backside, her face flushed with a mix of fury and mortification. She glared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a fire she couldn’t quite extinguish.
“You’re a bastard,” she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Don’t you ever touch me like that again.”
Greg leaned back on the couch, his expression unreadable but tinged with a smug satisfaction that made her want to slap him. “You’ll learn, Riley. One way or another, you’ll learn.”
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed toward her bedroom, her bare feet slapping against the floor. The door slammed behind her with a force that rattled the walls, a final punctuation to the chaos of the moment. From the living room, Greg’s voice followed her, calm and taunting, cutting through the silence like a knife.
“You’ll thank me one day, kiddo.”
Riley leaned against the inside of her door, her heart pounding, her mind a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something darker—something she didn’t dare unpack. The tension hung thick in the air, even through the barrier of her slammed door, promising that this was only the beginning.
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