Stealing Daddy’s Heart (Daddy’s Good Girl)

Chapter 16

Skylar

The clink of champagne glasses and the low murmur of conversation fill the air as I stand in the center of the Riverside Gallery, watching the last few guests mingle around the artwork.

The warm lighting casts shadows on the paintings and sculptures, each piece carefully chosen to tell our story. I hear words like “innovative” and “groundbreaking” from critics and guests.

The crowd's still buzzing from earlier performances. Garrett is beside me, solid as a rock, his proud gaze warming me.

Dad hovers nearby, smiling approvingly. It's surreal, both of them here for my triumph.

My eyes flit from face to face, drinking in the expressions of awe and admiration. Red dots pop up on artwork faster than I can track them, each dot is a tangible sign of success.

Yet, despite the whirlwind of praise, sales, and congratulations, there's a hollowness in my chest. Bittersweet. Like I've reached the summit only to find another level to climb just out of reach.

The Scarpettas' shadow still looms, a dark cloud threatening to overshadow this perfect moment.

As I scan the crowd, my eyes land on a familiar face—a critic I recognize from Art Forum. He's tapping out notes on his phone, his brow furrowed.

I've seen more smiles tonight than I have in ages. But what will the critic say about the exhibition?

I take a deep breath. This is my night. I won't let anyone or anything ruin it.

Vanessa appears at my side, a glass of champagne in each hand. “Madame Beaumont's dying to meet you,” she gushes. She passes me a flute, bubbling with excitement. “You're the talk of the night.” Excusing myself from Garrett, I follow Vanessa through the crowd.

I force a smile as my stepmother introduces me to Madame Beaumont, her perfectly manicured hand on my arm. I sip champagne, fizz tickling my nose.

I'm in the middle of discussing Wolf Winters' fascinating artistic background with Madame Beaumont—did you know the sculptor was a former football player?—when a commotion at the entrance catches my eye.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and there's Autumn, weaving through the crowd. She's a blur of flushed cheeks and wild hair, almost hidden behind an enormous bouquet. They're comically huge.

Heads turn as she approaches, but my eyes are on her huge grin. I excuse myself from Madame Beaumont and meet Autumn halfway.

“Victory,” she announces.

“Autumn—what are you talking about?”

The flowers land in my arms. “Read the card.”

My fingers tremble as I fumble with the crisp white envelope hidden within the flowers. The world narrows to this single moment, every heartbeat an eternity as I tear open the envelope. I'm too aware of the eyes on us as I quickly scan the words inside.

I can't breathe. The Scarpetta Family.

The message is almost sickeningly polite—the phrasing, an expertly written corporate apology: Strategic reallocation of resources, redirection of efforts, complete cessation of partnerships with external contractors.

With one carefully worded message—coded, yes, but the meaning is unmistakable. The Scarpettas are declaring their retreat.

She nods, her eyes sparkling. “They got spooked as soon as I started sniffing around. Didn't want any more attention on their operations.”

I look at Autumn. “Is this real?”

Autumn grins widely, looking like she could burst from pride. “Triple-checked. It's legit, Sky.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh, loud and unrestrained. Nearby patrons stare, but I don't care. I could float away if not for Autumn's anchoring touch.

“Our plan worked,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

The threat over Dad and Garrett is gone. I can hardly believe it. “How did you do it so quickly?”

“Those leads Garrett gave me were solid gold,” Autumn explains, her eyes shining with excitement. “I followed the money trail, uncovered enough to incriminate them. It's all laid out in black and white, impossible to ignore. The Scarpettas are too exposed, too vulnerable. They're pulling out of everything. That's why they sent those flowers—they're waving the white flag.”

My gaze darts across the room, seeking out Garrett, his tall frame unmistakable. Dad is beside a large painting, mid-conversation, his brow furrowed.

“We need to tell them,” I say.

She grins, squeezing my arm as we weave through the crowd. “You took on a crime family and won. With art and journalism, no less. Who says the pen isn't mightier than the sword?”

Garrett and Dad are quick to cross the room.

“I should go,” Autumn says, her eyes dancing. “Lots to do before I head to Midnight Falls to work on this haunted house story.”

“Your heading to your hometown for work?” I ask, confused.

“There have been some spooky events at the famous Manor House. I'm going to investigate. It's going to be wild—hopefully with fewer crime families involved this time!” She winks, and we both laugh, the sound lighter than it's been in weeks.

“Go,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Be brilliant. And thanks, again. For everything.”

As Autumn disappears into the crowd, my heart swells with pride.

I raise my head to meet Garrett's eyes as he and Dad reach us. “You need to see this.”

I hand them the card, watching as they read it together. The transformation on their faces is almost comical—confusion giving way to disbelief, then to dawning realization.

For a moment, we all stand there, letting the news sink in. Peace washes over me. We faced our fears, stood our ground, and came out stronger on the other side.

Then, to my surprise, my father pulls me into a tight hug. “You were right. About handling it without violence,” Dad says, his voice thick with emotion. “Your mother would have been so proud.”

I nod, words stuck behind the lump in my throat. I pull away from Dad.

Garrett wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “You outplayed them,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I'm so proud of you.”

Dad's gaze settles on our intertwined hands. He hesitates, then looks at us resolutely. “You have my blessing,” he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. “If being together makes you happy, I'm all for it.”

I'm speechless. I glance at Garrett, who looks as stunned as I feel. Those words, ones I'd been waiting to hear for what feels like forever, work their way straight into my heart. I would have gone ahead regardless, but Dad's approval makes it easier. Although it's only been a few days since our confrontation, Dad's quick acceptance means so much. The worry about Garrett quitting his job to avoid awkwardness with Dad vanishes.

I throw my arms around Dad and hug him tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper, choking back tears.

When I pull away, Garrett and Dad exchange a look. “I'll always take care of her,” Garrett extends his hand to Dad.

Dad hugs him instead. “I know you will.”

As they separate, I feel lighter.

Dad and Vanessa walk away to fetch more champagne, leaving Garrett and me alone. My heart is racing from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening—the success of my show, the resolution with the Scarpettas, and now Dad's unexpected blessing.

Garrett's hand finds mine and he guides me to a quiet corner. Despite the people around us, it's like we're in our own little world.

“You were incredible tonight, babygirl,” he says.

I melt into Garrett's embrace, his praise warming me more than the champagne ever could. The pet name reminds me of how far we've come in understanding each other’s deepest needs.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” I murmur, breathing in his familiar scent.

His touch trails up my spine, igniting sparks along my skin. I shiver, pressing closer as he insists, “You'd have managed just fine.”

As we pull apart, a mischievous grin spreads across Garrett's face. It's a look I've come to love and fear—it usually means he's up to something.

“What's that look for?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I have a little surprise for you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he produces a length of crimson silk rope—the same type Raven used in her performance that night at the warehouse party.

I burst out laughing, my face heating up from both the humor and the hidden meaning.

“And what did you have in mind for this silk rope, Mr. Hayes?”

Garrett's lips curve into a wolfish grin as he runs the smooth silk through his fingers. “We’ll put it to good use when we get home. I'll show you exactly how proud I am.”

I bite my lip, the familiar warmth pooling low in my belly making me squirm. “I can't wait,” I breathe, leaning in closer. “I hope you know what you're doing with that.”

“Patience, babygirl.” His grip on my hip tightens, making me gasp. “I've got plans for you. Big plans. Promise I'll make it worth the wait.”

As his mouth covers mine in a searing kiss, I know the night is far from over. I melt into him, savoring the moment. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel truly free—free from the shadow of the Scarpettas, free from the tension with my father, free to fully embrace this thing between Garrett and me.

When we finally break apart, I'm breathless. Garrett's eyes are dark with desire, but there's something else there too—a tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat.

“I love you, Skylar,” he says softly, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.

I lean into his touch, overcome with emotion. “I love you too,” I whisper back. “Always.”

The night winds down, guests filtering out with final congratulations and promises to keep in touch. As the last person leaves, I take a moment to survey the gallery—my gallery. The fruits of my labor and my vision were brought to life.

Dad approaches with a tray of champagne flutes. “To new beginnings,” he says, raising his glass.

“To family,” Garrett adds, his arm around my waist.

I lift my glass, swallowing the lump in my throat. “To us,” I say softly.

With one last look at the gallery—my triumph, my future—I turn to leave, Garrett's hand in mine, ready to start the next chapter of our lives together.