Page 70 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

I move away, finding refuge near a stained-glass window where fragmented light scatters across my path. Each color is a memory I wish I could forget—the crimson of whispered arguments, the sapphire of tears shed in silence, the gold of expectations unmet.

"Your father would have wanted—"

"Stop," I cut him off, the word a lash. "He wanted nothing to do with me. And she made sure of it."

My stepmother's voice crescendos then, shrill and insistent as she recounts her version of the story—a narrative crafted to serve her own ends, painting her as the bereaved widow, cruelly abandoned by her stepdaughter. She’s abandoned all pretenses of this being about my father, her husband, and his death.

I walk away from the chaos of my stepmother’s performance, from Theo continuing to ignore what I want. The room seems to close in on me as I make my way down the long, echoing hallway.

It isn’t just her. It’s everything. This world of wealth and privilege—it suffocates me. It always has.

I find a quiet corner, a window that overlooks the manicured gardens, where nothing feels real anymore. The tears that have been threatening to spill all afternoon stay put, but my thoughts are a storm.

Theo is still behind me, of course.

“Skylark,” his voice is soft, tentative, but there’s an urgency underneath. "Please, baby."

I turn, my eyes flashing with frustration. I can feel the emotions welling up, the years of being overlooked, dismissed, of being abandoned. "You just don't listen, do you?" The words are sharp, but they feel necessary. "What is it you even want from me, Theo? You want to play house for a little while, make me fall for you all over again, and then just walk away a second time?"

His face tightens in confusion, and I see the frustration in his eyes too. He’s trying to help, trying to be here for me, but it feels like a foreign concept. Like he’s still trying to make me fit into a life I’ve never wanted.

“I’m just trying to be here for you. Don’t shut me out.”

It’s the same argument we always have. He wants to fix things, but he doesn’t see that the real problem is deeper than any gesture he can offer. It’s in the very foundation of this world I was born into. The wealth, the image, the status—none of it was ever mine. They’ve always treated me like an outsider, like a shadow that only half-belongs in their perfect picture.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, my voice quieter now, the anger slowly bleeding out. “Maybe I’ve been shutting you out. But you’re not hearing me. You want to pull me into this world, into the life I’ve tried to escape, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that I fit here.”

Theo takes a step forward, his face softening, but it’s not enough. “You don’t have to fit in, Sky. You don’t have to change who you are. I don't want you to.”

But I already have, haven’t I? For years, I’ve tried to blend in, to find a place among them, even as they made it clear that I was never meant to be a part of their world. All that effort, all that bending and twisting to meet their expectations—what did it get me? A few half-hearted attempts at love? A family who only wanted to control me and then abandoned me completely when I wouldn't become some Stepford daughter?

“Maybe I don’t need to change who I am,” I murmur, almost to myself. “But I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. Not with you, not with Cohen, not with Austin...”

Theo flinches like I’ve struck him, and for a moment, I see something raw in his eyes—hurt, confusion, but also a sliver of understanding. Maybe it’s the same realization that’s settling in my own chest: that I’ve been lying to myself, pretending this world could somehow be mine.

“I think I need to figure things out on my own,” I continue, my voice steady now. “I can’t keep holding on to something that’s never been real.”

Theo’s silence speaks volumes. He’s not going to argue. Not now. I’m not sure if it’s relief or something darker that’s filling the space between us, but I know one thing for sure. This is the first time in years I’ve felt like I’m taking control of my life, and for the first time, I feel a little lighter. It’s not Theo or Cohen or Austin—it’s me. It’s my choice. My decision to walk away from the chaos, the privilege, and the toxic web they’ve all tangled me in.

“You don’t have to make any decisions now,” Theo says quietly, his voice soft but firm. “But whatever you choose, I’ll respect it.”

I nod, swallowing the knot that’s formed in my throat. “I know. But right now, I need space. I need time to think.”

I don’t look back as I walk away. Maybe this is the beginning of letting go—of finally unshackling myself from the suffocating expectations and false promises of a family I never truly had. Maybe this is where I start to live for myself.

Chapter 22

Skylar

Idon’t go to the will reading. I don’t even consider it. What’s the point? I already know what it will be—me left out of everything with all of it going to my stepmother or some charity. His blood runs in my veins, but it’s not enough to tie me to this world anymore. And honestly, I’m done pretending like it matters.

Without him, I have no reason to stay, no reason to cling to anything about this world—the mansion, the people who fill it, the role they want me to play. It’s all fake, all smoke and mirrors. And I walked away from all of it years ago.

I don’t want to see my stepmother’s smug face or hear her lecture me on my “lack of gratitude” for what little she decides to spare me.

I'm standing outside on the tarmac waiting to board the jet home. Theo stays back, lingering by the door. He looks miserable, and I can feel the weight of it every time he looks at me. But he’s not pushing. He’s not offering me comfort, no words of reassurance. He’s not trying to fix anything. He’s just…here. And for once, I’m grateful for the space. Because I don’t know what to say to him either.

We're finally beckoned onboard. I don't wait for Theo. I just board and find a spot to sit. The engine hums to life, and I stare out the window as the world outside blurs past.

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