Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

Chapter 167 - 168 | A Terrible Influence

"Problem-solving implies there’s a problem to solve. My father’s just an asshole."

"Same difference."

We ordered food. Thai again, because Cheon had developed an addiction to pad thai that bordered on concerning. Mera sprawled across the couch with her head in my lap while Cheon organized tomorrow’s schedule on her tablet, muttering about time conflicts and travel logistics.

Normal. This felt normal.

The drain hummed contentedly between us, three signatures weaving together in patterns that felt more familiar with each passing day. Mera’s energy tasted like smoke and amber. Cheon’s like honey and lightning. Together they created something that settled in my chest like a warm weight.

"Your father’s going to ask about your abilities," Cheon said without looking up. "The match footage is everywhere. There’s no way he hasn’t seen it."

"Let him ask."

"You need a story prepared. Something that explains the portals and the gravity manipulation and the fire without revealing the drain."

"I’ll tell him I’m an adaptive type. Same story I told everyone else."

"He won’t believe it."

"He doesn’t have to believe it. He just has to accept it."

Mera tilted her head back to look at me. "What’s the deal with you and your dad anyway? You never talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about. He wanted the perfect heir. He got me instead. End of story."

"There’s more to it than that."

"Is there?"

"Rome." She poked my chest. "I’ve read your file. The original Rome was a disappointment in every possible way. Terrible grades. No combat ability. A reputation for sleeping with anything that moved. Your father basically wrote him off years ago."

"And?"

"And now you’re top of the combat rankings. You just beat the academy’s golden boy in front of agency recruiters. You’re dating the class representative and a Root-Type with dimensional manipulation. You’re the opposite of everything the original Rome was."

"Your point?"

"My point is that your father should be thrilled. Instead you’re acting like tomorrow’s meeting is a death sentence."

I thought about Vito Angelo. About the cold eyes that never warmed even when looking at his own children. About the way he treated people like assets to be managed rather than family to be loved.

"My father doesn’t do thrilled," I said. "He does suspicious. He’s going to look at everything I’ve accomplished and wonder what the catch is. What angle I’m working. What I want from him."

"Do you want something from him?"

"Independence. Resources. The ability to build something that doesn’t have his name stamped on every corner." I shrugged. "Same things the original Rome wanted. The difference is I might actually be able to get them."

Cheon stopped typing. "You’re planning to leverage your performance against him."

"I’m planning to negotiate from a position of strength instead of weakness. There’s a difference."

"Is there?"

"Ask Mera. She’s the one who taught me that everything’s a transaction."

Mera grinned up at me. "I’m such a good influence."

"You’re a terrible influence."

"Same thing."

The food arrived. We ate in comfortable silence, broken only by Mera’s commentary on the drama playing on the TV and Cheon’s occasional corrections of factual inaccuracies in the show’s portrayal of hero regulations.

Around eleven, Cheon announced she was going to bed. She kissed me on the cheek, then kissed Mera on the forehead, then disappeared into what had become her bedroom without ceremony.

Mera watched her go with something soft in her eyes.

"You like her," I said.

"Obviously."

"No, I mean you actually like her. Not just tolerate her because we’re both dating the same person."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "She’s good. In ways I’m not. In ways I don’t know how to be."

"Mera."

"I’m serious. She has this whole moral compass thing going on. This sense of right and wrong that actually means something. I just have survival instincts and a really good spreadsheet."

"That’s not true."

"Isn’t it?"

I pulled her up so she was sitting in my lap instead of lying across it. Her legs bracketed my hips, her tail curling around my thigh. The drain pulsed between us, gentle and warm.

"You stayed," I said. "When you could have taken the money and run, you stayed. When things got complicated with Cheon and Noel and Laurana, you adapted instead of bailing. When I told you what I really am, you didn’t flinch."

"Self-interest."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"Self-interest would have been taking my credit card and disappearing. Self-interest would have been selling my secrets to the highest bidder. Self-interest would have been keeping me at arm’s length instead of moving into my apartment and making friends with my other girlfriend."

"Maybe I just like good sex and free food."

"Maybe. Or maybe you’re just better than you’re willing to admit you are."

Her green eyes held mine. I watched her run through her usual deflections, watched her weigh the cost of being serious against the comfort of being funny, watched her choose the harder option.

"I don’t know how to do this," she said. "The real feelings thing. The caring-about-people thing. I’ve spent my entire life keeping everyone at exactly the distance where they couldn’t hurt me. You can’t get damaged by people who don’t actually matter to you. That was the whole design. Stay mobile, stay detached, get the money, get out."

She looked down at where our hands were linked between us. Her fingers tightened on mine.

"I got really good at the performance. The flirting without the follow-through. The proximity without the commitment. The being around people without actually letting them in. I could read everyone else perfectly because I never let them read me back. It worked. For years, it worked."

"And now?" I asked quietly.

"And now I’m living with two people who matter. And it’s terrifying."

I kissed her. Soft at first, then deeper when she responded. The drain opened without either of us triggering it, energy cycling between us in familiar patterns.

When we broke apart, her forehead rested against mine.

"We’re all figuring this out," I said. "None of us have any idea what we’re doing. We’re just making it up as we go."

"That’s not reassuring."

"It’s not supposed to be reassuring. It’s supposed to be honest."

"Honesty is overrated."

"Coming from someone who lies professionally, that’s almost a compliment."

She laughed, and the sound loosened something in my chest. "Come to bed?"

"Cheon’s already asleep."

"So we’ll be quiet."

"You’re never quiet."

"That’s your fault for being so good at what you do."