Page 10 of Daddy's Firm Hand

I turned to David, my eyes wide with wonder. "What is this place?" I breathed, hardly daring to believe that such an enchanting oasis could exist here, in the heart of our sterile corporate tower. “How is there a garden there?”

He smiled, a rare gesture that softened his stern features and made my heart skip a beat. "This is a special space, Candy. A place where you can let go of your adult worries and responsibilities, and simply be. As for the garden—I spent a lot of money to make that courtyard garden, and ensure that no windows overlook it. It’s one of the most beautiful, private spaces in the whole city."

I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, marveling at the way they seemed to pulse with life and color. "But why? Why create something like this?"

“For you, Candy.”

“For me?” I couldn’t believe it.

He nodded. “I’ve been watching you, hoping this would appeal to you.”

“How did you know it would?”

David's hand came to rest on my shoulder, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of my blouse. "Because I see you, Candy. I see the little girl inside, longing for a place to feel safe and cherished. And I want to give that to you."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, blurring the room into a soft watercolor haze. No one had ever looked at me the way David did, as if he could see straight into the hidden corners of my soul. No one had ever offered me such a precious gift, a chance to explore the long-buried parts of myself without fear or judgment.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for seeing me, for understanding. For giving me this."

I gestured around the room, trying to encompass the magnitude of what he was offering. A chance to heal. To grow. To finally step into the fullness of who I was meant to be.

David's arms came around me, strong and steady, holding me close as the first tears began to fall. And there, in the safety of his embrace, surrounded by the soothing colors and textures of this magical space, I felt a knot deep inside me begin to loosen.

Chapter 4

Ihesitated, my heartpounding. The playroom stretched before me - cheerful, inviting, and utterly foreign. Stuffed animals smiled from shelves while a rainbow of art supplies beckoned from a low table. It was a child's fantasy, designed to delight and comfort.

And it terrified me.

What was I doing here? A grown woman, an accountant no less, daring to indulge in such frivolity. Doubt clawed at my throat. If I let myself act freely... David would see.

Even though he’d been the one to bring me here, I was still frightened that he might see that beneath my professionalism, I yearned for soft things and nurturing and play. The little girl inside, long buried, trembled at being so exposed.

I should leave. Retreat to spreadsheets and seriousness, to the façade I'd constructed so carefully. Pretend this silly whim had never-

"Candy." David's voice, gentle as a caress, drew my gaze. He stood beside me, tall and solid, blue eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay to feel nervous."

His hand brushed my arm, steadying me as surely as his presence. I breathed in his scent, clean and masculine, letting it ground me.

"This is your space to relax. To be yourself." His lips curved in a soft smile. "There's no right or wrong way to enjoy it."

Tension unspooled from my muscles. Of course he'd sensed my unease, read me so easily after such a short time. And instead of mockery or judgment, he offered reassurance. A safe harbor.

“There’s only one thing I ask. This is a specially constructed space, just for you. I would like to be the one to introduce you to all parts of the room, okay? Don’t go exploring everything when I’m not here.”

“Okay. That’s fair,” I said, nodding vigorously.

“Good.” David gestured towards the art table with its joyful clutter. "Why don't we start with something simple and fun?"

Fun. When was the last time I'd done anything just for the pure enjoyment of it? Put aside deadlines and duties and just . . . played?

I bit my lip, looking from him to that tempting rainbow of crayons and paints. Something tugged behind my breastbone, a sweet ache. Longing. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—sitting beside him, making a mess, not worrying about perfection or productivity. Just creating. Laughing. Being.

Slowly, I nodded.

David led me to the low table, every step measured to match my tentative pace. The art supplies beckoned, chunky crayons and vibrant paints reminiscent of a childhood I'd long since boxed away. Tidily compartmentalized, like the rest of my life.

I reached out, fingers brushing the waxy surface of a purple crayon. The color called to me, rich and regal. Grasping it felt unnatural at first, its thickness awkward in my hand more accustomed to slender pens and precise keystrokes. These were no ordinary coloring crayons. They were huge—probablydesigned to make the user feel more child-like. As I rolled it between my fingertips, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Nostalgia and novelty intertwined.

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