Page 68 of Under Southern Stars
“What do you want?” His voice has lost its alpha male confidence. “Money? Is that it?”
I physically recoil. “What? No. Christ, no.”
“Then what?”
“Delete it. All of it. The podcast. The videos. The Discord messages. Everything that talks about women’s ‘value’ or daughters being ‘liabilities.’ Everything that makes Madison sound like a fucking investment property instead of a human being.”
“That’s my livelihood—”
“Find another one.” I stand, towering over him. “Madison loves you. God knows why, but she does. And if she ever finds those videos, that podcast—it will destroy her.”
“You can’t—”
“I’m not doing anything, Troy. I’m just pointing out that your content exists forever unless you delete it. And Madison is getting older, more curious. One day, she’ll Google you.” I let that sink in. “What do you want her to find?”
I see conflict in his eyes—the financial incentive of his ‘brand’ wrestling with whatever parental instinct might still exist.
“How did you even find all this?” he asks finally.
I shrug. “Anyone with internet access could find it. It’s all public.”
That seems to hit him harder than anything else I’ve said. The color drains from his face again.
“There’s more, too,” I add casually. “I notice how you reply to Joe Rogan and Jordan Peterson tweets. Like, within seconds of them posting. Every. Single. Time.”
His face reddens. “So what? They’re thought leaders—”
“You’re literally waiting by your phone to lick their arseholes the instant they post.” I shake my head. “Maybe try touching grass sometime, mate.”
Troy’s jaw tightens. “Are we done here?”
“Almost.” I keep my voice level, measured. “Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything. For the moment, anyway, freedom of speech is still the law in this country. But I want to be crystal clear about something: I’m not telling Madison about any of this. Because I know it would destroy her.”
I let that hang for a moment between us.
“Take some time to think about what kind of father you want to be, Troy. What you want your daughter to find when she inevitably googles you. Because that day is coming.”
“I’ll…think about it.”
“Do that.” I step away from the table. “And Troy? This conversation stays between us. For Madison’s sake.”
Outside, Madison is sitting in Troy’s Tesla, head bowed over her phone. She looks up as I pass, waves cheerfully. I wave back, my heart breaking for this incredible kid who has no idea what her father really thinks of her.
I drive home in a daze, wondering if I’ve done the right thing. Should I have told Sophia immediately? Is confronting Troy directly a mistake? What if he retaliates by trying to limit Madison’s time with Sophia?
At a red light, my phone buzzes with a text.
Sophia: Just finishing up at work. Can't wait to see you. Madison will be back by 9pm so we have the place to ourselves for a little. ;) Decided to wear something interesting under my scrubs today. Here's something I took earlier to show you what you have to look forward to.
I open the message and nearly drop my phone. It’s Sophia—my God, is it ever Sophia—in her bathroom mirror at home, wearing a lacy black bra that’s doing God’s work. Matching panties that barely qualify as clothing. Her hair’s pinned up, tendrils falling loose against her collarbone, and her mouth is curved in a knowing, wicked little smirk that tells me she knowsexactlywhat this picture is doing to me.
