The Heiress He Underestimated Free Preview

The crystal chandelier cast dancing shadows across the marble floor of the Nethys mansion as Elyrian Nethys adjusted her silk dress for the third time. She had been sitting in the waiting room for almost twenty minutes now, and her hands were getting sweaty.

The double doors opened with a soft click, and her father's business partner walked in. Kieran Nethys looked pleased with himself, which was never a good sign. Behind him followed a man who could only be described as devastatingly handsome in the most dangerous way possible.

Zephyros Valdris was tall, probably around six foot three, with dark hair that looked like he had run his fingers through it and sharp green eyes that seemed to see everything. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that was very expensive. But it was the way he moved that caught her attention. Like a predator who had just spotted his next meal.

"Elera, sweetheart," her father said, using the nickname that always made her skin crawl when he said it in front of business associates. "I'd like you to meet Zephyros Valdris. Xan, this is my daughter Elyrian."

Xan stepped forward and extended his hand. When she placed hers in his, he brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was old fashioned and completely calculated. She could see it in his eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nethys," he said, his voice smooth as expensive whiskey. "Your father has told me so much about you."

"Please, call me Elera," she replied, letting a small blush creep up her cheeks. "And I hope he only told you the good things."

Xan's smile was perfect. Not too wide, not too charming, just enough to seem genuine. "Only the very best, I assure you."

Her father clapped his hands together. "Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I have some calls to make." He practically rushed out of the room, leaving them alone.

"Would you like to sit?" Xan gestured toward the plush sofa near the fireplace.

"That would be nice." She smoothed her dress as she sat down, making sure to tuck her ankles together like the perfect lady she was supposed to be.

Xan settled beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne. Something expensive and masculine. He was studying her face with those sharp green eyes.

"Your father mentioned you just graduated from university," he said.

"Yes, last month. Literature and art history." She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. "I know it's not very practical, but I've always loved beautiful things."

"There's nothing wrong with studying what you love." He paused, his eyes glinting with something she couldn't quite read. "Do you have plans for your career?"

She gave a small, helpless shrug. "I'm not sure yet. Daddy says I don't need to worry about working. That I should focus on finding a good husband and starting a family." She looked down at her hands. "I suppose he's right. I've never really been good at... practical things."

"That's very traditional," Xan said, and she caught the satisfaction in his voice. "But what do you want?"

"I want to be happy," she said softly. "I want to find someone who will love me and protect me. Someone strong who can take care of everything so I don't have to worry." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Is that silly?"

"Not at all." He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I think that's very wise. A woman like you deserves to be cherished and protected."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so." His smile widened slightly. "Elera, I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, but I find myself very drawn to you."

"Oh." She let her breath catch. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let me take you to dinner tomorrow night."

She bit her bottom lip. "I'd like that. Very much."

"Good." His hand lingered near her face a moment too long. "I'll pick you up at seven."

They talked for another hour. She asked him about his business with wide-eyed fascination, laughed at his jokes even when they weren't funny, and blushed every time he moved closer. When he finally stood to leave, he took her hand again.

"I'm very glad your father introduced us, Elera. I think we're going to get along wonderfully."

"I think so too," she said, her voice breathy and soft.

The moment the front door closed behind him, her father appeared from his study. His expression was calculating.

"Well? What did you think?"

"He seems very nice, Daddy."

Kieran smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "He's more than nice, Elera. He's powerful, wealthy, and he's interested in you. Do you understand what kind of opportunity this is?"

"I think so."

"Good. Because I need you to make this work." He stepped closer, and his voice dropped. "Our family needs this alliance. The Valdris connection could save us from some... financial difficulties. So you'll be charming, won't you? You'll make him want you."

The words stung, but she kept her face neutral. "Of course, Daddy. Whatever you think is best."

"That's my girl." He patted her cheek like she was a child. "Now go rest. You need to look your best for dinner tomorrow. And Elera?" He paused at the door of his study. "Don't embarrass me. You know you're not clever enough to handle complicated situations on your own. Just smile, be sweet, and let him take the lead. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy."

She watched him disappear into his study, then slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Every step felt heavier than the last. When she finally closed her bedroom door behind her, she stood there in the darkness for a long moment.

Then she walked to her vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. The innocent, helpless girl stared back at her. She had perfected this mask over years. It was so convincing that even her own father believed it.

She pulled out her phone. There were several missed messages, but one made her pause. It was from an unknown number.

"I saw you met with Valdris today. Interesting choice."

She stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: "Who is this?"

"Someone who thinks you deserve better than to be sold like livestock."

Her finger hovered over the screen. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? I'll be in touch, Miss Nethys. Be careful with Valdris. He's not what he seems."

The conversation ended there. Elera set down her phone and walked to her window. The Valdris estate was visible in the distance, all lit up against the night sky.

Tomorrow she would have dinner with a man who thought she was nothing more than a pretty face. Her father thought she was too simple to understand she was being used. Even this mysterious stranger seemed to think she needed protecting.

Let them all think what they wanted.

She had learned a long time ago that being underestimated was the greatest advantage a woman could have.

Elera woke up at 5 AM like she did every morning. She pulled on her running clothes and tied her hair back. The morning jog was part of her routine, and if anyone was watching, they would see exactly what they expected to see—a rich girl with too much time on her hands.

The streets were quiet this early. She ran through the park, letting her mind work through the problem of Zephyros Valdris. She had done some basic research on him last night. Successful businessman, wealthy family, impeccable reputation. But there had been something in his eyes yesterday. Something calculating.

At 6:30 she was back home, showered, and sitting at her vanity getting ready for the day. Her phone buzzed.

It was her father.

"Lunch today. 1 PM. Don't be late."

No please. No asking if she was available. Just orders, as always.

She arrived at the restaurant at exactly 1 PM. Her father was already seated, and he wasn't alone. Three of his business partners sat around the table, all men in their fifties with expensive suits and dismissive expressions.

"Elera, darling, you remember Mr. Chen, Mr. Rousseau, and Mr. Williams?"

"Of course." She smiled and took her seat. "It's lovely to see you all again."

"Your father tells us you've caught Zephyros Valdris's eye," Mr. Chen said, looking at her like she was a moderately interesting painting. "Quite a coup for a girl with your... limited prospects."

Her father laughed, actually laughed. "Now, now, Elera may not be a businesswoman, but she has other qualities. Don't you, sweetheart?"

"I try my best, Daddy."

"She's a sweet girl," her father continued, as if she wasn't sitting right there. "Not much going on upstairs, but she's pretty and well-mannered. That's all Valdris really needs in a wife anyway."

The men chuckled. Mr. Rousseau leaned forward. "Just make sure you don't try to involve yourself in his business affairs, my dear. Men like Valdris don't appreciate women who overstep."

"Oh, I would never," she said, widening her eyes. "Business sounds so complicated. I don't think I could understand it even if I tried."

"Smart girl," Mr. Williams said approvingly. "Know your limitations. That's rare these days."

The lunch continued like that for another hour. They talked around her, about her, occasionally to her—but always with that same condescending tone. Like she was a child who needed simple words and patient explanations.

When she finally escaped, she sat in her car in the parking lot and gripped the steering wheel. Her hands were shaking slightly. Not from anger—she had learned to control that years ago. Just from the exhaustion of maintaining the act.

Her phone buzzed. The unknown number again.

"How was lunch?"

She stared at the message. Whoever this was, they were watching her closely. "Fine."

"Liar. I saw your face when you walked out."

Despite herself, she felt a small smile tug at her lips. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter? I'm someone who sees you, Miss Nethys. The real you. Not the mask."

Her heart skipped a beat. "There is no mask. I am exactly what I appear to be."

"If you really believed that, you wouldn't have hacked into Valdris's email last night."

Her blood went cold. She looked around the parking lot, but saw no one watching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. Just like you don't know anything about the security flaw in his system that you exploited at 11:47 PM. Impressive work, by the way. Most people wouldn't have found that backdoor."

She sat very still. Someone knew. Someone had been monitoring her while she thought she was being careful.

"What do you want?" she typed.

"To meet you. The real you, not the act you put on for your father and his friends."

"Why?"

"Because I have a proposition. One that might save you from Valdris and whatever he's planning."

She thought about the emails she had found last night. The detailed plans Xan had for humiliating her. The photos and videos he wanted to collect. It had made her sick to read, but it had also told her exactly what kind of man he was.

"I'm listening."

"Not over text. Meet me tomorrow. The Meridian Hotel, penthouse suite. 3 PM."

"I have dinner plans with Xan."

"Cancel them."

"I can't. He'll get suspicious."

There was a long pause. Then: "Fine. But after tomorrow, you'll understand that you have options beyond being your father's pawn and Valdris's target."

The conversation ended. Elera sat there for a long moment, then started her car and drove home.

That evening, she spent two hours getting ready for dinner with Xan. She chose a soft pink dress that made her look young and innocent. Delicate jewelry. Minimal makeup. Every detail carefully calculated to present exactly the image he expected.

He picked her up at seven sharp. The restaurant was exclusive, the type of place where you needed reservations months in advance.

Throughout dinner, Xan was charming. Attentive. He asked about her day, complimented her dress, and made her laugh. He was playing his role as perfectly as she was playing hers.

"Your father mentioned you enjoy reading," he said over dessert.

"Oh yes. I love romance novels especially." She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "I know they're silly, but I just adore a good love story."

"There's nothing silly about that." He reached across the table and took her hand. "You're a romantic. There's something very pure about that."

She let herself blush. "You must think I'm terribly naive."

"I think you're refreshing." His thumb stroked across her knuckles. "Most women I meet are so focused on careers and ambition. But you... you just want to be loved and cared for. That's beautiful, Elera."

The way he said it made her skin crawl. He thought he had found the perfect victim. A woman with no ambition, no skills, no ability to fight back when he destroyed her.

"I'm just glad you don't think I'm boring," she said softly.

"Boring? Never." He signaled for the check. "In fact, I was hoping we could do this again soon. Perhaps this weekend? I have a yacht, and the weather is supposed to be perfect."

"That sounds wonderful."

He drove her home and walked her to the door. Under the porch light, he cupped her face in his hands.

"I'm very glad I met you, Elera."

"Me too," she whispered.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, he kissed her softly. It was gentle, respectful and designed to make her feel cherished.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. "Goodnight, Elera."

"Goodnight, Xan."

She watched him drive away, then went inside. Her father was waiting in the living room.

"Well? How did it go?"

"Very well, Daddy. He's taking me out on his yacht this weekend."

"Excellent." Her father nodded approvingly. "You're doing well, Elera. Keep it up. And remember—"

"I know. Be sweet, be charming, don't talk about anything complicated."

"Exactly. You're not equipped for those kinds of conversations anyway." He stood and stretched. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late reading those silly romance novels of yours."

"I won't, Daddy."

She waited until she heard his bedroom door close, then went upstairs to her own room. She locked the door and sat down at her desk.

Tomorrow she would meet the mysterious stranger who somehow knew her secrets. Tonight, she needed to understand exactly what Xan was planning.

She pulled out her laptop and started working. Within minutes, she had bypassed his updated security and was reading through his latest messages.

Her hands clenched into fists as she read. It was worse than she thought. He wasn't just planning to humiliate her at their wedding. He was planning to destroy her father's business, ruin her family's reputation, and leave her with nothing.

And everyone would believe it was her fault. That she had been too stupid, too naive, too trusting.

She closed the laptop and stared at her reflection in the darkened screen.

Let him try.

Tomorrow she would find out what the stranger wanted. This weekend she would smile and play her role on Xan's yacht. And when the time was right, she would show them all exactly who Elyrian Nethys really was.

But not yet. Not until she had all the pieces in place.

For now, she was still the helpless princess everyone thought she was. And that was exactly where she wanted them to keep thinking she was.

She pulled out her phone one more time and looked at the mysterious messages. Whoever this person was, they had seen through her act. That made them either a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.

Tomorrow at 3 PM, she would find out which.

The elevator to the penthouse of the Meridian Hotel was a capsule of polished brass and soft, golden light. It was utterly silent, so quiet Elera could hear the faint, rapid beat of her own heart. She watched the numbers above the door climb, each one a step closer to a meeting that could change everything. She had spent the morning carefully constructing her mask, choosing a simple cream-colored sweater and a pair of dark-wash jeans. It was an outfit that said unassuming, approachable. It was a lie, of course, but it was her favorite kind of lie, the type that gave her all the power.

The doors slid open without a sound, directly into the penthouse suite.

The view was the first thing that stole her breath. The entire wall opposite her was glass, a sweeping, uninterrupted panorama of the city sprawling all the way to the distant, hazy line of the ocean. The sky was a clear, pale blue, and the sunlight streamed in, painting the wide-plank oak floors with long, bright rectangles.

And there, standing with his back to her, silhouetted against that immense view, was Drakonius Vex.

He was taller than she had imagined, and he held himself with a stillness that was almost unnerving. He was not looking at the view, she realized. He was watching her reflection in the glass. He had known the moment she arrived.

"Miss Nethys," he said, his voice a low, calm baritone that seemed to vibrate in the quiet room. He did not turn around. "I appreciate you coming."

"I'm not sure I had much of a choice," Elera said, stepping out of the elevator. The doors whispered shut behind her, sealing her in. "You seem to know things that should be impossible to know."

"Very little is impossible," he replied, finally turning to face her. "It just requires the right resources, and the right motivation."

Up close, he was even more striking, and it had nothing to do with conventional handsomeness. His face was all sharp, intelligent angles, with a strong jaw and a blade-straight nose. His hair was indeed dark, and perfectly styled, but it was his eyes that held her captive. They were a shade of gray she had never seen before, like a winter storm gathering over the sea, and they were filled with a weary intelligence that seemed at odds with his age, which she guessed to be in his late thirties. And her editor was right. He was pale, a faint, almost translucent quality to his skin that spoke of prolonged illness. But his presence was so commanding, so utterly dense, that the signs of his sickness seemed almost like a disguise.

"Would you like to sit?" he asked, gesturing to a large, comfortable-looking sectional sofa facing the windows.

"I think I'll stand for now, thank you." She needed the distance, the illusion of control. She crossed her arms, not defensively, but thoughtfully. "You said you had a proposition. One that would save me from Zephyros Valdris."

"I did." He mimicked her posture, leaning back against the window frame, his hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored black trousers. He was studying her with an intensity that was both clinical and deeply personal. "But first, I think we should establish some ground rules. The game of pretend is over. I know who you are. Or rather, I know one very significant part of who you are."

"And who is that?"

"You are Dr. Mystral."

The name hung in the air between them, stark and undeniable. She had practiced a dozen denials in the mirror, but faced with the absolute certainty in his voice, they all seemed foolish. He wasn't guessing. He was stating a fact.

"How?" was all she could manage to ask.

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "The world is made of data, Miss Nethys. Patterns. You are exceptionally good at hiding yours. But no one is perfect. A blurred reflection in a surgical theater window in Dubai. An anomalous financial transaction that funded a free clinic in a war zone, traced back to a shell corporation that also pays for your very expensive, very secret lab here in the city. It took me six months to connect the threads. But once I did, the picture was very clear."

Her blood ran cold. He had not just found one thread; he had unraveled the entire tapestry, or at least a corner of it. This was a level of scrutiny she had never anticipated.

"If you know that," she said, her voice carefully steady, "then you know I am not some helpless victim who needs saving from a man like Zephyros Valdris."

"Oh, I know you are far from helpless," he agreed, a faint, dry smile touching his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "But even the most powerful people can be blindsided. Valdris is not playing a business game. He is playing a deeply personal, vindictive game of revenge. He has planned this for years. He has resources you cannot anticipate, and a cruelty you have not yet begun to fathom. You may be a brilliant surgeon and a savvy businesswoman, but you are walking into a den of lions believing you are the only one wearing armor."

"And you want to offer me better armor?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I want to offer you a different battlefield," he corrected. "One where you hold the high ground."

He pushed himself away from the window and walked slowly toward a sleek, modern kitchenette, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He didn't offer her one. He simply took a long sip, his eyes never leaving her. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the city below.

"My proposition is simple, Dr. Mystral," he said finally. "Marry me."

The words, so blunt and outrageous, should have made her laugh. Instead, they sent a jolt through her system, a strange mixture of shock and a dark, curious thrill.

"You're serious," she said, not a question.

"Deadly," he replied, and the word carried a heavy, double meaning.

"Why? Why would you possibly want to marry a stranger? Even one with my... particular set of skills."

"Two reasons. The first is I am, as you have no doubt surmised, unwell. My condition is degenerative. It has no known cure. I have consulted every expert on the planet. You are my last, best hope. Having you as my wife would ensure your complete and undivided attention. It would grant you unrestricted access to my medical team, my resources, and my body, for your research." He said it all with a chilling, matter-of-fact detachment. "The second reason is more... strategic. As my wife, you would be under my protection. The Vex name carries a certain weight. It makes people think twice. It would force Valdris to recalculate. He would not dare move against you so openly if you were mine."

The possessiveness in that last word, mine, should have set off every alarm bell in her head. Instead, it stirred something else, something primal and unexpected. It was the promise of a shield, of someone standing between her and the world that wanted to use her.

"This is insane," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"Is it?" He took another step closer. He was close enough now that she could see the fine lines of fatigue around his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw that spoke of constant, managed pain. "You are a woman of science. Look at the variables. Variable A: Zephyros Valdris intends to publicly destroy you and your family. Variable B: Your current strategy involves playing a dangerous double game, risking exposure of the identity or identities you have worked a lifetime to build. Variable C: I am offering you a safe harbor, unlimited funding for your work, and a patient with a unique condition that, I suspect, intrigues your brilliant mind. The logical conclusion is clear."

"It's not just logic," she countered, meeting his stormy gaze head-on. "It's my life. My freedom."

"Freedom?" he asked, and for the first time, she heard a trace of genuine emotion in his voice, something bleak and weary. "What freedom do you have now? The freedom to lie to your father? The freedom to smile at a man who wants to break you? The freedom to hide in plain sight? I am not offering you a cage, Dr. Mystral. I am offering you a partnership. A business arrangement with mutual benefits."

"And what happens," she asked, her voice low, "if I can't cure you? What happens when you...?"

"When I die?" he finished for her, his tone flat. "Then you will be a very wealthy widow, free to resume your life, with the Vex fortune and influence behind you to ensure Valdris never troubles you again. Our marriage would be temporary. A means to an end for both of us."

She turned away from him, walking to the window and looking down at the city. It looked so small, so orderly from up here. But down there, in the messy, chaotic reality, her father was waiting for a report on her date with Xan, and Xan was probably already planning their weekend on his yacht, a predator anticipating his kill.

She thought of the emails, the cold, clinical way Xan and Sarah had discussed her ruin. She thought of her father's pat on the cheek. You're not clever enough.

And then she thought of the senator's wife, whose heart she had mended. She thought of the research she was doing in her secret lab, research that could save thousands. All of it was at risk if her carefully constructed world came crashing down.

Drakonius Vex was offering her a way out. A dangerous, unpredictable way, but a way nonetheless.

She felt his presence behind her before he spoke. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his focus.

"What is your answer, Elera?" he asked softly, using her name for the first time.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then turned to face him. The sunlight caught the gold in her hair, but her eyes were no longer those of a naive girl. They were the sharp, assessing eyes of Dr. Mystral.

"I will need to examine you," she said, her voice all business. "Properly. Not just your records. I need my own scans, my own blood work, a full genetic sequencing. I need access to everything."

"Of course," he nodded.

"This would be a partnership. In this, my work to save you, you follow my lead. No arguments, no corporate oversight. My methods are my own."

"Agreed."

"And the marriage... it is temporary. The moment you are cured, or the moment it becomes clear you cannot be, we dissolve it. No questions, no messy attachments."

Something flickered in the depths of his gray eyes, something she couldn't name. It was gone in an instant. "Naturally."

She took a deep breath, the final piece of her old life settling into place alongside the first piece of this terrifying new one.

"Then we have a deal, Mr. Vex."

A slow, genuine smile, the first she had seen from him, transformed his face. It made him look younger, and somehow more dangerous. "I think, under the circumstances, you should call me Drakonius."

"Drakonius," she repeated. The name felt foreign and heavy on her tongue.

"And I will call you Elera," he said. "In private, at least. To the world, you will be my charming, innocent fiancée, and soon, my wife."

The reality of it crashed down on her. She was agreeing to become the wife of this mysterious, dying king. She was going to walk away from the life she knew and step into a role even more complex than the ones she already played.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a sharp, insistent vibration. She knew without looking that it was Xan, probably sending a flirty text about their dinner, reinforcing his web of lies.

She looked from the phone in her hand to the man standing before her. Two billionaires. Two traps. But one of them was offering her a scalpel to cut her way out.

The elevator descended in the same hushed silence in which it had ascended, but the woman inside was fundamentally changed. The meeting had not been a negotiation; it had been a realignment of her entire universe. Elera Nethys leaned against the polished brass wall, not from weakness, but to steady the humming energy coursing through her. A deal. A partnership. A marriage.

She pulled out her phone, ignoring Xan’s new message—a picture of a stunning yacht with the caption, "Can't wait to have you all to myself this weekend, darling."—and opened a different, heavily encrypted app. Her fingers flew across the screen, not with panic, but with purpose.

Initiate Project Chimera. Full asset review. Priority one: Drakonius Vex. Medical, financial, personal. I want everything. And pull the blueprints for the Vex corporate headquarters. I need to know his environment.

She sent the message. This was not about asking Drakonius for his plans. This was about verifying his story, understanding his empire, and figuring out how to fit her own vast, hidden world inside his. He thought he was recruiting a brilliant doctor. He had no idea he was inviting a sovereign queen into his kingdom.

When she stepped out into the opulent hotel lobby, the air felt different. Sharper. She had a new role to play, a new mask to wear, but for the first time, the mask was not meant to make her seem smaller. It was a disguise of a different kind, one that would allow her true power to operate in the open, shielded by his name.

Her car, a modest silver sedan that was anything but, was waiting. She slid into the driver's seat, and the engine purred to life. Instead of heading home, she drove across the city to a non-descript industrial building in a neighborhood known for artist lofts and tech startups. She parked in an underground garage, used a key fob that emitted no light on a scanner, and stepped into a private elevator that descended three levels below the street.

The doors opened into her sanctuary. Her lab.

It was a symphony of cool white light and polished steel. One wall was a vast bank of servers, their tiny lights blinking like a constellation of silent stars. Another was lined with refrigeration units containing biological samples from across the globe. In the center stood a state-of-the-art surgical suite, currently sterile and dark. This was the heart of her medical empire, the place where Dr. Mystral did her most sensitive and groundbreaking work.

She went straight to the main terminal, waking the screens. Data began to stream across them—financial reports from Nethys Medical, the latest sales figures for her latest novel under the name Raven Shadowmere, design approvals for her Celestine winter line. She minimized them all. Right now, only one patient mattered.

The file Drakonius had given her was already digitized and uploaded. She spent the next two hours immersed in it, her coffee growing cold beside her. It was a grim read. The genetic markers were brutal, a cascading failure of cellular regeneration. His other doctors had been right to be pessimistic. It was a death sentence.

But Elera was not most doctors.

She leaned back, chewing on the end of her pen. The disease was attacking his body's ability to repair its own DNA. Standard treatments were like trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose. But what if you could teach the forest to be fireproof? Her mind raced, connecting disparate pieces of research she had conducted for other, seemingly unrelated projects. A regenerative enzyme from a rare deep-sea organism she had been studying for burn victims. A gene therapy vector she had developed for a neurodegenerative disorder.

It was a thousand-to-one shot. A mosaic of impossibilities.

A slow smile touched her lips. Impossibility was her favorite specialty.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. It was her father.