Page 66 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

He doesn’t argue. Just steps closer, voice softer. "You don’t have to do this alone, Skylark. We can face them together."

"Them?" My laugh is bitter, hollow. "You mean the high society that chewed me up and spat me out?"

"Skylar—"

"No, Theo." I cut him off with a raised hand, my overnight bag clutched in the other. "I don't want you there. And certainly not because of some misplaced sense of duty to a girl you left behind years ago."

"Why won’t you let me be there for you?" he persists, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

"Me?" I scoff, shaking my head. "What do you know about me anymore?"

"More than you want to admit."

"Stay here, Theo," I command, my voice laced with finality. "This is my battle. Not yours."

"Skylar," he says softly, but I've heard enough.

"Stop." My voice is steel, even as my resolve wavers under his intense green gaze. "I already told you no."

He doesn't budge, his casual stance at odds with the stubborn set of his jaw. I sidestep him, brushing against the soft cotton of his shirt, and he smells like home and heartache. It's almost enough to break me.

"Sky," he begins again, following me now, a shadow I can't shake.

"God, Theo! Just—stop, okay?" I snap, spinning on my heels to face him. His proximity is a tangible force, the air between us charged with words left unsaid.

"I don't want you there. Take a fucking hint."

His hand lifts, fingers gentle against the line of my jaw, tracing skin that burns at his touch. "I know you're hurting," he murmurs, eyes searching mine, seeing too much. "Lean on me—when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

I stare back at him, every fiber of my being screaming to relent, to collapse into those arms that promise solace. But I harden instead, erecting walls he has no right to tear down.

"Your stubbornness isn't charming, Theo. It's suffocating."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't waver. And as I leave him standing there, something inside me fractures—a tiny crack in the armor I've spent years fortifying.

My pulse stutters. But I shove it down, not yielding to it. I can't. Not now. Not with my father’s funeral looming and everything it has dragged to the surface. I ignore Theo behind me and head for the front door.

Cohen's there, leaning against the frame. He doesn't speak right away, just watches me with those knowing eyes, as if he can see through the cracks in my facade.

"Hey," he says softly, reaching out. His fingers brush a stray curl from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear with a gentleness that feels like far too much for me at the moment.

"I'm here." The simple promise lingers in the air between us. "When you're ready."

I nod, because what else can I do? Words are too much; they ask for more than I can give. So I step past him, feeling the ghost of his touch like a whisper over my skin.

The car pulls up, sleek and black, waiting to whisk me away from this place, from them. I slip inside without looking back, without saying goodbye to Austin, or acknowledging Theo's lingering presence. The driver shuts the door, cocooning me in silence and solitude.

But that elusive peace is short-lived.

As we near the hangar where Austin's jet waits—the one show of support he bothered to offer—I spot him. Not Austin. Theo.

How the hell did he even beat me here?

"Damn it, Theo," I mutter under my breath, frustration simmering hot beneath the surface. He shouldn't be here. He's the last thing I need right now.

The car door opens and I step out, bracing myself for the confrontation I know is coming. My heart stutters again, but I quash the sensation ruthlessly. Emotions are a luxury I can't afford, not with the gauntlet I'm about to run.

"Skylar," he calls out, and I steel myself, ready to face him and whatever storm he brings with him.

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