Page 5 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

The words are harsh, dripping with disdain, each syllable cutting through the quiet yard like a serrated knife. I tilt my head, straining to pinpoint the source.

"I swear, if I have to tell you one more time—"

I clench my jaw, protective instincts flaring in my chest like a lit match.

"Skylar?" Birdie's voice is laced with concern, her expression worried as she leans forward in her chair. "Who is that?"

I stand slowly, brushing dirt from my knees. My heart starts to race, the edges of my vision narrowing with laser focus. "I'm not sure," I murmur, "but I don't like what I’m hearing."

The cruel words are unmistakably coming from next door. My stomach twists tighter, a nauseating combination of dread and anger pooling in my gut. Lucas. It has to be Lucas. My chest tightens further, a mix of seething fury and fierce protectiveness rising in a wave so strong I have to clench my fists to stay grounded.

"I'm sorry," I hear a small, trembling voice respond. The tone is soft, hesitant, and heartbreakingly familiar. "I'll do better, I promise."

That's definitely Lucas. His voice has that unmistakable note of desperation, the kind that makes my protective instincts scream louder. I can picture his wide, expressive brown eyes, brimming with unshed tears, his head ducked as though trying to make himself invisible.

My fingers wrap tightly around the handle of my spade as I strain to hear more. Then, I let it go and drop my gardening gloves, too, completely forgetting about the flowers.

"Skylar?" Birdie calls again, but her voice seems distant, like it’s coming from another room.

I bite my lip, torn between the burning need to intervene and the logical voice in my head warning me to stay out of it.Don’t meddle, it says. It’s not your business.What if I make things worse? What if Austin gets angry at me for interfering?

But then I hear it—a sharp cry, followed by more horrible words.

"Useless! Absolutely useless! The venom in the words makes my blood boil. "I don't know why they even bother with you!"

That does it. The logical voice is silenced, drowned out by a tidal wave of rage. My hesitation evaporates like morning dew under a scorching sun. I can’t stand by and let this continue—not when I know how sensitive and eager-to-please Lucas is. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if the kid was a stranger. This is unacceptable.

"I have to go," I mutter to Birdie, already moving toward the fence separating our properties.

"Wait, what?" Birdie stands, iced tea glass still in her hands, but I’m already halfway across the yard.

Glad the spade is no longer in my white-knuckled grip, I march across the perfectly manicured lawn, my heart pounding in my ears. My thoughts are a chaotic blur of anger and determination. As I round the corner and see the back of Austin’s sprawling mansion, the source of the shouting comes into view.

Lucas is there, his small frame hunched over like he’s trying to disappear into himself. Beside him stands a younger girl I don’t recognize—she must be his sister. My breath catches in my throat as I see their terrified faces, their wide eyes darting nervously toward the woman towering over them.

The woman’s back is to me, but even from a distance, I can sense her seething anger. For a split second, I assume she’s their mother, but as I draw closer, I realize how young she looks—she’s in her early twenties at most. Her trendy outfit and lithe figure scream trophy wife rather than caregiver, but something about her posture feels all wrong.

"What were you thinking?" she hisses at Lucas, who flinches visibly. "You could have broken it! Do you have any idea how much that costs?"

My stomach churns with disgust. Is this really who Austin chose to be with? Someone who treats his children like this?

And then it hits me—I’m living in millionaire land. And, while this may be Austin’s newest trophy wife, this isn’t their mother. Relief washes over me briefly, only to be replaced by a renewed surge of anger. She’s the nanny. She has to be. And judging by the scene in front of me, she’s failing at it spectacularly.

"Lucas?" I call out softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head snaps up, those soulful brown eyes widening in recognition. "Miss Deveraux!" he exclaims, a hint of desperation and relief in his eyes.

The nanny whirls around, her perfectly made-up face contorting into a scowl. "Excuse me, who the fuck are you?"

I paste on my sweetest smile, my fist clenching so tightly that my nails bite into my palm. "I’m Skylar, the neighbor," I reply, letting my voice drip with faux-politeness. "I couldn’t help but overhear..." I let the sentence hang in the air, my gaze flicking meaningfully between her and the children.

Lucas edges closer to me, as if seeking protection. The little girl, her bright blue eyes full of curiosity and fear, clings to Lucas’ side. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. Nanny or not, I won't let this woman terrorize these kids for another second.

"Look," the nanny starts, her tone defensive. "You don’t understand what it’s like dealing with these two. They’re spoiled, ungrateful little brats—"

"Brats?" I interrupt, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. My voice is sharp, each syllable laced with righteous fury. "They’re children, not prisoners in a boot camp."

She scoffs, her posture rigid with indignation. "This is exactly the problem. Everyone coddles them, and then I’m left to clean up the mess."

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