"Daddy?"

"Stay," she breathed, the word barely audible.

Now he looked up. His gaze wasn't angry, which would have been easy. It was assessing. Knowing. He closed the book with a soft thump that felt louder than thunder.

"I know. But it's cold." She tucked a bare foot under her other leg, the silk of her robe whispering against the leather. "And you were taking too long."

He removed his glasses slowly, folding them and setting them on the side table. He didn't smile. He never smiled when he was about to teach her a lesson.

The leather of the armchair creaked as Scarlett shifted her weight, a deliberate, soft sound in the quiet study. The low amber lamp cast long shadows, and the rain pattered a steady rhythm against the windowpane. She wasn't supposed to be in here.