Page 72 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

"How are you doing, my dear?”

“Fine. Is there something you need?”

“Yes, yes. Good news this time, I’m sure you’re happy to hear. I want to apologize in advance, Ms. Deveraux. This should never have happened to you. Your father...he set up a trust fund for you. You've had access since you turned twenty-one.”

“I…what?”

I freeze, the words swirling around my head, none of them fitting together. My father set up a trust fund for me? How could that be true? The last time I spoke to him, he’d made it clear I was dead to him. He cut me off financially—and emotionally—when I was nineteen. No calls. No checks. Nothing.

The lawyer’s voice remains steady, unfazed by my confusion. “I understand this is a shock. It should have come to your attention much sooner, but your stepmother took steps to ensure you were unaware of the account. It was only through the recent reading of the will, and some additional digging, that we uncovered the discrepancies. Everything has now been corrected, and I wanted to make sure you were aware of the account immediately.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, all I can hear is the relentless drumming of rain. A trust fund. Money that should have been mine, kept just out of reach by a woman who relished in wielding control as much as she did her designer handbags.

“This…doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, though the words feel hollow. “Why would he—why would she—”

“The details of why are not entirely clear, but we believe your stepmother took actions to prevent you from benefiting. Perhaps she thought she could control the inheritance in some way. In any case, the account is now yours, as it should have been from the beginning.”

The rain beats against the window, and I open and close my mouth, trying to think of something to say.

"Are you still there, Ms. Deveraux?"

"Yes," I manage, my voice barely above the patter of raindrops. "Yes, I'm here."

"Shall I proceed with the details?"

"Please." My mind races as he outlines figures and stipulations, but it's the freedom they represent that sends a shockwave through me.

“Ms. Deveraux, the account is substantial, and it's all yours now. We can arrange for you to access it at your convenience. If you would like to discuss the details further, I am available at any time.”

I struggle to find my words. “I—I don’t know what to say. I didn’t even know about this…why didn’t he tell me?”

There’s a pause on the other end, almost as if the lawyer is carefully considering how to respond. “I’m not sure, Skylar. Your father was more than a client, he was a friend. I never understood his decision to cut you out of his life. It seems perhaps he intended to protect you, though his actions were misguided. Regardless, the trust is now yours. You are entitled to it, and I would suggest we meet to go over the specifics.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

I sit there for a long time after the call ends, staring at the phone as if the answers will magically appear on the screen. My hands are cold, my thoughts colder. I have financial freedom now. Real freedom. The kind I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d get. A trust fund, hidden from me all these years, now suddenly back in my name. The world is mine to take, to do whatever I want with it.

I could leave. I could pack up and go anywhere. Anywhere but here. The idea isn’t even just a fleeting thought anymore—it’s possible. There’s nothing holding me back now. No ties, no debts. I could leave my job at the school and figure out where I want to settle. I have the money to keep me afloat while I search for a new job in a different district.

The men aren’t my responsibility. The kids won’t need me once school starts back up. I could disappear, go somewhere warm, somewhere quiet. Maybe travel, find a place where no one knows my name.

I should want that, right? It should be the easiest decision in the world, to walk away from everything that’s left me twisted up inside. The mansion, the men, the ghosts of the past—there’s nothing keeping me here now but some lingering sense of obligation I don’t fully understand.

But for some reason, leaving feels harder than it should and that surprises me.

When I picture it, I see myself on a plane, the seat next to me empty. I can already hear the hollow sound of my own footsteps in whatever place I find. The silence presses down on me, and it feels like my chest is going to crack open from the weight of it.

I try to picture what life would be like without them. I don’t want to leave them behind. They have their own problems, their own baggage. I know that. I’m not the one who can fix them. But somehow, when I imagine walking out the door for good, I feel like I’m the one who’s giving up on us. Giving up on them. And maybe, just maybe, on myself.

So, why does it feel like I’m already losing something I never even had?

Maybe this is what freedom feels like. The space to run, but the constant pull to stay.

Chapter 23

Theo

Iwatch Skylar pace the room, her chestnut hair swaying with each sharp turn. Her words from the funeral echo in my head—sharp, final. It's just grief, I tell myself. It has to be.

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