Page 207 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
Martin kept eating, unbothered. He wasn’t going to go against his wife — not tonight, not ever. To him, her judgment was just polite dinner conversation.
Callie shifted beside me. I could feel the tension coil in her body like a spring — and I didn’t like what that meant for her cortisol levels.
She didn’t know I was barely restraining myself for her sake.
But the bastard devil in me won.
“Callie services my needs in exchange for rent,” I said coolly, sipping my wine. “Don’t you know there’s a cost of living crisis?”
Martin choked on his food.
Callie’s hand landed on my lap, pinching me like that dainty little grip could do a damn thing. I didn’t even flinch.
Francine blinked. “So why marry her?”
There it was. That smug look. That venom tucked behind a holy smile.
But then it vanished. Her eyes flicked to Callie’s untouched wine glass. She scanned the table again—my wine, Martin’s, hers.
Callie’s hand rested on a glass of water.
“She’s pregnant,” Francine hissed, her voice a blade.
Callie looked like Armageddon had arrived. Her hands were trembling in her lap. Her face had gone pale, her throat bobbing as she swallowed the heat rising up her chest.
Martin stared at his daughter with a mixture of shock and something worse—disappointment. He didn’t speak. He never defended his daughter once. The lily-livered piece of shit was no better than his wife.
“Is this how we raised you?” Francine screeched, dropping her cutlery.
The fork clattered, bounced off the plate, and hit the floor with a final ping.
“Is this why you insisted on coming to this godforsaken city? To get knocked up by some godless landlord?”
Her voice cracked with hysteria, finger stabbing the air toward her daughter.
“You’re nothing but a sinful whore,” she spat.
Her hands shook now, fury trembling through her frame.
“You are the devil’s gateway—nothing more.”
I covered Callie’s hands with mine, and she lifted her head.
Beneath those bright blue glasses, her eyes shimmered.
When they overflowed—a single fat droplet rolling down her cheek—I felt a sharp pang in my chest.
I tightened my grip.
And then came the calm. The deadly kind that wrapped around the rage and revulsion building in my gut.
“And you?” I asked smoothly, shifting my gaze to her mother.
“Did you only fuck once, or was Callie the immaculate conception?”
Her jaw dropped.
She turned to her husband for defence—only to find him guzzling his wine, as useless as ever.
