Three words: Pink. Sparkly. Bikini.
That's how this depraved obsession started. I've never looked at Lyric as anything other than my wife's daughter. The deepest my attention and affections have ever run are that of any fatherly figure, but those neglected baser needs take one look too long, and my fate is suddenly sealed—especially after the "accidental" nude debacle. I figure ignoring her and staying as far away as possible will get my point across; we can't happen and I can't be attracted to her. It's immoral, forbidden, and wrong on so many levels. She's a brat, though, and goddamn does she know how to play the game. Knows how to work her way under my skin, how to push my buttons, how to taunt and tempt me toward the point of no return. How to break me. And eventually, it works. I snap and we collide. The perfect combination of heaven and hell. What never should have happened quickly spirals into tabloid-gold material, a scandal waiting to happen. We're playing one hell of a dangerous game, treading lines that could ruin us if her A-list celebrity mother uncovers our little secret. The one thing working in our favor is we're not the only ones hiding the truth within the shadows. Lyric Taylor will be mine—mark my words. Even if I have to burn our lives to the ground to keep her.
