Page 71 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

The closer we get to home, the more I realize how fast summer is slipping away. I’m not sure what comes next. I should be thinking about the kids—about my responsibilities, about the school year starting soon and how everything will go back to normal. But normal doesn’t feel like something I can grasp anymore.

I’ve told myself this is temporary, this whole arrangement with Austin. It’s never been built to last. But now, as I watch the landscape slip away behind me, I wonder if I can even go back to the life I knew before.

Will things really go back to normal? Or have I changed too much to ever fit into that world again?

The kids won’t need me soon, and neither will their fathers. Sure, they’ll need help after school, but it won’t be hard for them to find part-time help to fill that role. Someone who doesn’t come with baggage.

A temporary fix—that's what I've been. A band-aid for a family adjusting to divorce, my role always had an expiration date. It wasn't supposed to matter. I wasn't supposed to care.

I should be excited. I should be thinking about all the things I have planned for the future, but all I can focus on is the feeling that this whole summer, this whole experience with Austin and Cohen and Theo, has been like a fever dream.

I can’t shake the thought that I was never a part of it. Not really. Maybe I was just a distraction for them—especially Austin. Wasn’t that all I was? A temporary break from their reality, something to keep their minds occupied, a way to pass the time before they returned to their real lives?

It makes me feel small. Unimportant. Like I’ve been playing along with a group of people I didn’t belong with, and now that it’s over, I’m left wondering what I was even doing here in the first place. What purpose did I serve in their world?

I push the thought away for a moment, but it lingers. Because if I'm being honest with myself, I can't help but feel the pull of it.

Theo. He was never going to stick around. That was obvious from the start. He'd already shown me who he was the last time—when he walked away without a second thought. He'd left me behind, surrounded by the empty promises of a future we could build together. And now, as I look at him, sitting there, his face etched with regret, I know nothing’s changed. He’ll leave again.

Cohen’s no different. He’s been running from his pain for so long, trying to patch up the holes his ex-wife left behind, and I was just another way to fill that void. Twice now. Once in Vegas and again this summer. I don’t think he ever saw me as more than that. Another distraction, a temporary fix to soothe the ache. He’d never stay. None of them would. I knew that deep down, even when I wanted to believe otherwise.

And Austin...I don’t even know what to think about him anymore. Maybe he wanted me in the beginning because I was something to conquer—something unattainable, something he could claim. But after he got what he wanted, after he had me, it was like I was nothing more than a trophy to him. A fleeting moment of desire. After he let me fall for him, after I’d given in, he’s barely spoken to me since. It’s like I never existed beyond that night.

I felt used, and I didn’t like it. I hated that he could just walk away and leave me to pick up the pieces of whatever it was we had—if we ever had anything at all.

So maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better if I just stop pretending like any of them really want me around. Maybe it’seasier to walk away first, before any of them have a chance to do it again.

I should focus on the one thing I can control. The one thing that hasn’t betrayed me.

I pull my thoughts back to the kids. The reality of what’s ahead. The need for a clean break from everything, from all of them. Because no matter how I try to spin it, I know deep down that I’m never going to be a part of their world. Not in the way they want me to be. And I can’t keep pretending otherwise.

We land and head back to the mansion, and it's like nothing ever changed. The house is just as cold, just as grand, just as empty. The walls hold secrets, just like they always have. I try to keep my head down, to bury myself in the routine of things, in the daily tasks that keep me busy enough to forget the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Days bleed into one another, each as indistinguishable as the last. I fall back into my old patterns quickly, like slipping into a pair of worn-out shoes, but there's no comfort in the familiarity.

I retreat. I keep my distance, both physically and emotionally. I don’t let myself get too close to them again. I can’t. Not after everything that’s happened, not after realizing how easy it is for them to walk away. Or for me to convince myself it’s not real.

The men sense the shift in me, the emotional distance that's grown like a chasm between us.

Theo lingers. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t try to talk to me, doesn’t ask if I’m okay. I can see the misery in his eyes, but there’s a quiet resignation there too, like he’s decided that whatever this is between us is over. He seems to be waiting for something, but neither of us knows what. We’re both stuck in this space where we’re not quite together, not quite apart. It’s the most uncomfortable place I’ve ever been, and I’m not sure how to get out of it.

Cohen doesn’t even seem to notice the distance. Although, I suspect he's avoiding me almost as much as I'm avoiding him. Maybe he’s just hoping it’ll all blow over, that the tension will ease with time. But it doesn’t. He keeps his distance, but there’s a coldness in the air every time I walk by him. It’s like a flicker of disappointment, maybe. Or maybe it’s guilt. I’m not sure anymore.

Austin, though—he’s harder to read. He watches me, like he’s studying me, waiting for some sign, something. It’s suffocating, like he’s waiting for something to crack, for me to fall apart or finally give in. But I won’t.

We all know something’s wrong, but no one knows how to fix it. I don’t know how to undo the damage that’s been done or how to go back to the way things were. And maybe, deep down, I know we never can.

Because how do you fix something when you don't even understand how it broke? How do you reconnect when you're not sure you were ever truly connected at all?

Why do I even want to?

I wake up each morning with the same gnawing feeling in my chest, the same emptiness that’s been there since I got here. I’m still a stranger in my own life. A guest in a world that isn’t mine. A temporary fix for a family that doesn’t really need me.

A week after my father’s funeral, my phone rings with another call from his lawyer. Rain pelts against the window in a steady rhythm, matching the throb in my temples. I snatch up my phone, pressing it to my ear, steeling myself for another hollow exchange.

"Ms. Deveraux?" The lawyer's voice is crisp, a stark contrast to the muffled storm outside.

"Speaking." My reply is clipped, wary of more bad news.

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