Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 229

Chapter 229: Chapter 229: You don’t even know what a real father is

Meanwhile, inside the shabby apartment, Mia stepped out of her room, the door clicking shut behind her. Her eyes scanned the hallway with instinctual caution, but the silence confirmed what she already knew—she was alone.

She had just finished erasing every possible trace of her presence from the city’s surveillance systems. Traffic cams, building security feeds, even the bakery’s old rusted camera across the street—scrubbed clean. Nothing could link her to the task she had completed that evening.

It had gone smoother than expected. But smooth didn’t mean safe.

She’d been warned—Kalix Andreas’s men aren’t easy to fool. They were trained to hunt ghosts, and Mia… she knew just how good they were. If they suspected even a hint of manipulation, they would dig her out of her hiding hole, even if it meant unearthing her bones.

That warning echoed in her head constantly. Not as fear—but as fuel. She used it to stay sharp, to clear her tracks with obsessive precision. Every step covered. Every shadow used. Every mistake corrected before it could even happen.

She exhaled, hoping to finally get something into her stomach after hours of work. But just as her feet carried her toward the kitchen, her eyes landed on the lumpy couch in the living room—and her steps halted.

There he was.

Logan.

Sprawled out on the couch like a broken doll, shirt half untucked and reeking of old sweat and whiskey, Logan looked like every bit of the ghost Mia wished she could forget. A near-empty bottle rolled beneath his limp hand, clinking softly against the wooden floor as the sour scent of cheap liquor hung heavy in the air.

“Of course you’d drink yourself into oblivion—again,” Mia muttered, dragging a tired hand down her face.

Her eyes lingered on him—not just as the drunk taking up space on her couch—but as the man who was, her boss.

Not that it meant much.

He wasn’t someone she remembered fondly, or someone she could point to in a childhood photo.

The memories she did have of him were jagged and harsh—shouts behind closed doors, slammed drawers, the sound of breaking glass. But somehow, somewhere in the gaps of time, he had become the one who raised her. Not out of love, but necessity.

He taught her how to lie. How to disappear. How to survive in a world that devoured the weak. And maybe, in a twisted way, she owed him for that. But love? No. That ship had sunk before it ever left the shore.

Letting out a resigned sigh, she crossed the room and bent down beside him.

“Time to go to bed, old man,” she grumbled, slipping her arm beneath his and hoisting him up with practiced effort.

Logan stirred at the movement, his head lolling forward before snapping up with a lazy grin, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

“My daughter… Mia,” he slurred, his words sloshing like the liquor in his veins. “You’ve been nothing but obedient…”

He let out a wheezy laugh, loud and bitter, the kind that didn’t know the difference between joy and mockery.

Mia didn’t reply. What was there to say? That his approval never meant anything? That obedience wasn’t love—it was survival?

She steadied him as he staggered toward the hallway, his weight half-slumped against her. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The man who’d once claimed he was training her to be strong now couldn’t walk in a straight line without her.

To anyone else, this might’ve looked like compassion. But Mia knew better.

She wasn’t doing this because she cared. She was doing it because no one else would.

Because even though Logan had raised her like a soldier, used her like a pawn, and praised her only when it benefited him—he was still her mess to clean up. Just like every other night.

“You don’t even know what a real father is,” she muttered under her breath as they neared his room. “But here I am. Cleaning up after you like clockwork.”

Logan didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. His head fell against the doorframe as she nudged it open and guided him inside.

Once he was finally sprawled on the bed, half-conscious and mumbling to himself, Mia stepped back and stared at him for a long moment.

“This isn’t obedience,” she whispered. “It’s a debt I never asked for.”

Then she shut the door behind her, the click echoing like a quiet rebellion.

As Mia turned to walk past the living room, something caught her eye—a flicker of light in the dimness.

Her gaze dropped to the couch.

Logan’s phone.

It lay there, abandoned between the cushions, screen glowing with an incoming call.

With a sigh of frustration, she strode over and snatched it up, already expecting another drinking buddy or a dealer trying to collect. But the moment her eyes landed on the name flashing across the screen, her breath hitched.

Stanley.

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it—quiet, instinctive, like muscle memory.

Her fingers froze mid-air, hovering just above the screen. Her expression shifted instantly, the tired irritation replaced by something sharper—colder.

Stanley.

Of course she remembered him.

You didn’t forget men like that. Men who knew too much, spoke too little, and always smiled like they had your soul in their pocket. He wasn’t just a name in Logan’s contact list. He was part of the past Mia had tried to bury six feet deep.

And yet, there it was—buzzing back to life right in front of her.

The urge to answer twisted in her chest like a hook. She could pick up. Say nothing. Just listen. Maybe even get a clue about what Logan was hiding this time.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stood there, frozen, watching the screen pulse with each ring like a countdown.

Because she knew one thing—calls from Stanley never came without consequence.

And if he was reaching out now, Logan had already dragged them both into something far bigger than she was ready to handle.

The phone finally went dark, leaving behind a silence heavier than before.

Mia’s jaw clenched as she slowly set the phone back down, screen facing the couch like it had never been touched.

She took a step back, her mind already racing.

Whatever game Logan was playing again—she was done being his pawn.