Page 1 of Undisputed Player
PROLOGUE ONE
Estelle
The morning always started before the sun rose, before the city's noise filtered through the cracked windows, and before the weight of another day could settle fully on my shoulders.
Some days I wondered if I'd just... stop. If I'd finally give in to the bone-deep exhaustion that’s been my constant companion for the past year and simply refuse to get up.
Just five more minutes, I bargained with myself, the same lie I told every morning. Five more minutes and then I’d figure out how to be human again.
I lay there for another stolen second, listening to the soft rhythm of Leo's breathing from the next room. It was the only sound in this world that didn't make me want to scream.
Sometimes I pretended we were somewhere else, somewhere with walls that didn't have mysterious stains and sheets that didn't feel like sandpaper against my skin.
Somewhere, I could wake up without immediately calculating how many hours until I could collapse again.
But fantasies were for people who had the luxury of hope, and I'd learned long ago that hope was just delayed disappointment dressed up in pretty packaging.
The apartment felt smaller every day, like it was slowly suffocating us both. Two rooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen that could barely contain the secondhand table I'd dragged home from a yard sale—the same table where I cried weekly over legal documents and counted coins until my fingers went numb.
The floor creaked in the same spots every morning, a symphony of structural failure that matched my internal soundtrack. I memorized every weak board, every protest of tired wood, moving through our space like a ghost who learned to haunt quietly.
At least ghosts didn’t have to pay rent. The thought was bitter as I padded toward the kitchen.
I grabbed the kettle just before it whistled, pouring hot water over instant coffee, breathing in the bitter steam that never quite masked the smell of mold creeping through the walls.
My reflection in the window looked back at me: hollow-eyed, sharp-cheeked, brown hair that used to shine now pulled into a ponytail that screamed, "I gave up three existential crises ago."
I'd been tired since Giselle passed. Tired since Leo's small hand found mine at the funeral and held on like I was his anchor in a storm I couldn't calm.
Tired since I realized that love wasn't enough to pay bills, or fight custody battles, or keep the lights on when the world decided you didn't deserve basic human dignity.
God, I was exhausted, watching my reflection flinch at its own honesty.
I sipped the coffee and opened the banking app on my phone. The numbers glared back at me with the same cruel indifference they showed daily.
Seventy-three dollars and sixteen cents. Enough for groceries and the remaining bill if I skipped lunch. Again.
Enough for exactly nothing that resembled financial security.
I'd gotten good at the mathematics of desperation. Cereal for dinner meant Leo could have the leftover soup for lunch. Skipping breakfast meant he could have seconds. Wearing the same three outfits on rotation meant we could keep our water on.
There were times I caught him watching me with those impossibly green eyes, Giselle's eyes, and I knew he saw through every fake smile I plastered on.
Five years old and already learning that adults lied to protect him from truths he was too young to carry.
He'd offer me his last bite of toast or push his cup of juice toward me with tiny, serious hands, and I'd want to cry because children shouldn't have to parent their parents.
He deserved better than this for the thousandth time. He deserved better than me.
And that was exactly why I wouldn't let Damon take him. Leo needed stability, not a life of violence and moral compromise. He needed someone who'd read him bedtime stories, not someone who'd teach him to count drug money.
He needed love, not legacy.
The bastard made his choice when he let Giselle spiral further into addiction. When he'd provided the drugs that killed her and then had the audacity to want custody of the son he'd never bothered to know.
Over my dead body, which, considering my current trajectory, might be sooner than I'd like.
I had to focus, one day at a time. One bill at a time, one legal fee at a time, until this nightmare was over.
