Page 65 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

The sheets cling to my skin, reminders of what just happened. Austin's scent lingers, a ghost that won't be exorcised.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing away the images that haunt me. A tear escapes, tracing a warm path down my cheek. It's a rare show of vulnerability, one I quickly quash with a shuddering breath.

"Get it together, Skylar," I mutter to myself.

The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence. An unknown number flashes on the screen. My heart skips a beat. I hesitate, the last vestiges of peace slipping away. With a shaky hand, I swipe to answer.

"Hello?" My voice is foreign to my own ears.

"Skylar Deveraux?" The voice on the other end is formal, detached.

"Speaking."

"I'm calling on behalf of your father's estate. My name is Richard Calloway, your father's attorney. I regret to inform you that he passed away earlier today."

The words hit like a freight train. The phone slips from my grasp, clattering against the hardwood floor. My father. The man whose approval I could never win, whose shadow I've been trying to escape my whole life. Gone.

I'm numb, caught in the eye of a hurricane. All the anger, the hurt—it's still there, but now there's nowhere to direct it. What am I supposed to do with all these feelings? They're mine to carry, alone.

My father's death doesn't erase the past, but it closes the door on any future reconciliation. Whether I wanted one or not, the option is gone.

"Miss Deveraux?" The voice calls from the phone, distant and insistent.

I bend down, fingers trembling as I pick it back up. "Yes, I'm here."

"I'm also calling regarding the reading of the will. The firm is handling the estate. As his only child, you're expected to be present."

A bitter laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. Of course. Even in death, my father finds a way to pull me back into his orbit.

"Miss Deveraux?"

I swallow hard, forcing my voice into something steadier. "Thank you for the call, Mr. Calloway. I’ll be in touch."

I end the call without another word, staring at the screen like it might offer some kind of answer. But there’s nothing. Just silence.

Chapter 21

Skylar

Izip the overnight bag shut, my movements sharp and efficient. It's just one night—barely a few hours in that suffocating world of marble mausoleums and feigned sympathies. I can survive that much.

I spin on my heel, ready to head for the door, but Theo blocks my path. His presence, like a boulder in a stream, diverts the current of my determination.

"Skylar, you shouldn't be alone.” His voice is steady, but there’s something raw just beneath the surface.

"Like hell, I shouldn't." My words are ice, a blizzard swirling inside me. "I don't need an entourage, Theo."

He doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching me like he can will me into agreeing. His green eyes search mine, seeking entry into the fortress of my resolve. I won't let him see the cracks.

"Cohen wants to be there for you, too," he says. "And Austin—"

"Is Austin," I finish, rolling my eyes. "So what? You all planning a field trip to my personal hell?"

Theo doesn't flinch at my biting tone. He's always been like this, the calm to my storm. But right now, his tranquility feels like a taunt.

"I know your family is complicated," he says.

"Complicated?" The word is acid on my tongue. "Try toxic."

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