Daddy is the Best Friend

I always thought the word "Daddy" was supposed to mean someone who raised you, protected you, loved you like a daughter. But in my case, it started as a joke — a teasing nickname, a smirk, a look across the room that burned hotter than it should have.

He was twice my age. Powerful. Dangerous. Billionaire CEO of an empire too large for one man to hold — but he held it with one hand and held me with the other.

We met when I was twenty-two, interning at Blackthorne International. Fresh out of school, no connections, no money, just ambition and wide eyes. He was the legend. Jason Blackthorne. Forty-four. Ruthless. Brilliant. Unattainable.

He never noticed interns. But he noticed me.

Maybe it was the way I challenged him during a meeting, or how I spilled coffee on his hundred-thousand-dollar briefcase and dared to laugh about it. Or maybe he just liked breaking rules. I didn’t ask. I didn’t need to.

What started as late-night work sessions turned into dinners. Dinners turned into weekends at his lake house. And soon, I was no longer “that bold intern” — I was his girl.

“Call me Daddy,” he whispered one night, voice like whiskey and thunder, “because I’m going to take care of you in ways no one ever did.”

I should’ve said no. I didn’t. I liked the way he said it. I liked what it meant — not just possession, but protection. And he meant it. When I lost my apartment, he handed me the keys to a penthouse. When my student loans came calling, he paid them off without a word. But it was more than the money. He showed up for me. He listened when no one else did. He saw me.

And in return, I gave him something no one else ever dared to: my honesty. My dreams. My chaos.

I fell in love with the man behind the empire. And somehow, he fell in love with the mess of a girl who never belonged anywhere — until she belonged to him.

The tabloids called me a gold-digger. His board called me a distraction. My so-called friends called me naïve. But he called me wife.

Yes, he married me. No prenup. No lawyers whispering in corners. Just a quiet ceremony on a private island, waves lapping at our feet, and a ring he designed himself. A flawless diamond nestled in a platinum band — the first thing in my life that ever felt permanent.

They said it wouldn’t last.

But what they didn’t know was that Jason didn’t just give me his name.

He gave me his power.

While others saw a sugar baby playing dress-up, he trained me. Late nights in the office became strategy sessions. He taught me the game — and how to beat it. How to read people. How to see weakness. How to lead.

Within three years, I wasn’t just his wife.

I was the COO of Blackthorne International.

And when cancer tried to take him down last year, I ran the company like he taught me. I tripled our profits. Acquired our rivals. Protected his legacy while he fought for his life.

He beat the cancer.

I beat the world.

Now, when people say “Daddy’s girl,” they think I’m just another trophy wife living off a billionaire's bank account. But they don’t know the truth.

I was never his weakness.

I’m his heir.

And while the world still talks about age gaps and power imbalances, we laugh — because in private, we’re just us. A man who needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. And a girl who never had a place to belong, until he made one for her.

Every day, I choose him.

And every day, he chooses me.

Not for my beauty. Not for my loyalty.

But because he knows: I would burn the world to protect the man who built mine.

That’s what love looks like when it’s real. Fierce. Messy. Obsessive. Kind.

He still calls me “baby.” I still call him “Daddy.”

Not because he saved me.

But because he made me a woman no one can break — not even the billion-dollar world we rule together.