Filthy Rich Single Daddies (Filthy Rich Harems #2)

2. Skylar

Chapter 2

Skylar

S ummer is officially here and I am officially off the clock.

The sun kisses my skin as I stretch out on the lounger, relishing the warmth of early summer. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, carrying with it the faint hum of bees flitting around the garden. I should be summer job hunting, I really should—but right now, I’m savoring this rare moment of peace. The scent of blooming roses drifts over from Birdie’s meticulously maintained garden, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly watered soil.

I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sky, letting the sunlight dance across my cheeks. For the first time in weeks, the tension in my shoulders starts to melt away.

I love the outdoors. I’m not really an outdoorsy girl—I’d rather sip cocktails on a patio than go hiking—but there’s something about being outside that soothes me.

"Enjoying yourself, dear?" Birdie's voice carries across the lawn, lilting and warm with a hint of amusement.

I sit up, squinting against the brightness as I shield my eyes with one hand. Birdie is making her way toward me, her silver hair catching the light like a halo. She’s the picture of elegance in one of her signature flowing caftans, this one a vibrant turquoise that sets off the sparkle in her eyes.

"Just soaking up some vitamin D before I dive into the job search," I call back, trying to keep the guilt out of my voice.

Birdie waves a hand dismissively, her golden bangles jangling softly. "Oh, pish posh. You should take the summer to relax—you’ve earned it. If you’re really itching for something to do, why don’t you come help me wrangle this garden into submission? Heaven knows it’s getting the better of me these days."

I laugh, stretching my arms over my head as I stand. "How can I ever say no to you? Besides, I think I’m actually starting to like gardening. Who would’ve thought?"

Birdie’s eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint as she reaches my side. "Darling, you’re far too practical to be a trust fund baby. It’s one of the things I adore about you."

We stroll toward the rose bushes, the warm grass brushing against my bare feet. I can’t help the twinge of discomfort that creeps in as I take in the perfectly manicured lawns and sprawling estate. It’s beautiful, breathtaking—familiar, even—but so far removed from where I thought I'd end up. If it weren’t for Birdie’s kindness, I’d probably be holed up in some dingy studio apartment, eating ramen noodles and dodging my landlord.

"You're thinking too hard again," Birdie chides gently, handing me a pair of gardening gloves and a pair of shiny shears. "I can practically hear the gears grinding in that pretty head of yours."

I force a smile, trying to push away the memories of my old life. "Just wondering how I got so lucky to have you as my fairy godmother."

Birdie lets out a rich, warm laugh that feels like sunshine. "Oh, please. If anything, you're my knight in shining armor. Who else would keep this old bird company and help with the gardening?"

As we work side by side—well, as I work and she watches—trimming away faded blooms and pulling up weeds, I feel the weight of gratitude settle over me. My life had imploded in ways I never thought possible, but somehow, I’d landed here. Or rather, Birdie had caught me before I hit the ground.

"You know," I say, carefully snipping a wilted rose, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm kind of glad about everything that happened. It led me here, to you."

Birdie pauses, her eyes softening as she looks at me. Her hands are folded over the handle of her cane, the sunlight glinting off the gold rings that adorn her fingers. "Well," she says with a small smile, "their loss is my gain. Now, enough of this sappy nonsense. Tell me—any interesting prospects on the job front?"

She retreats to the shade of the porch, settling into a cushioned chair with a glass of iced tea in hand. I know she’d love to be out here in the dirt with me, but the years have taken their toll, and it’s not as easy for her anymore. Still, the way her eyes linger on the flowers tells me she’s just as invested, even if she’s not the one doing the pruning.

Sweat beads on my forehead, but I don't mind. There’s something strangely soothing about the repetitive motion of pulling weeds and trimming back overgrown vines. The world feels smaller out here, the chaos of the past few months fading into the background.

"You missed a spot, darling," Birdie calls from her perch, her voice playful.

I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "I thought you were supposed to be resting, not supervising."

"What can I say? Old habits die hard," she quips, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she raises her glass in a mock toast.

I'm about to fire back a snarky retort when a sharp voice cuts through the peaceful afternoon air. My hands freeze mid-pull, dirt crumbling between my fingers. The muscles in my shoulders tense as I glance over my shoulder toward the sound, my stomach twisting with unease.

"What is wrong with you? Can't you do anything right?"

The words are harsh, dripping with disdain, each syllable cutting through the quiet yard like a serrated knife. I tilt my head, straining to pinpoint the source.

"I swear, if I have to tell you one more time—"

I clench my jaw, protective instincts flaring in my chest like a lit match.

"Skylar?" Birdie's voice is laced with concern, her expression worried as she leans forward in her chair. "Who is that?"

I stand slowly, brushing dirt from my knees. My heart starts to race, the edges of my vision narrowing with laser focus. "I'm not sure," I murmur, "but I don't like what I’m hearing."

The cruel words are unmistakably coming from next door. My stomach twists tighter, a nauseating combination of dread and anger pooling in my gut. Lucas. It has to be Lucas. My chest tightens further, a mix of seething fury and fierce protectiveness rising in a wave so strong I have to clench my fists to stay grounded.

"I'm sorry," I hear a small, trembling voice respond. The tone is soft, hesitant, and heartbreakingly familiar. "I'll do better, I promise."

That's definitely Lucas. His voice has that unmistakable note of desperation, the kind that makes my protective instincts scream louder. I can picture his wide, expressive brown eyes, brimming with unshed tears, his head ducked as though trying to make himself invisible.

My fingers wrap tightly around the handle of my spade as I strain to hear more. Then, I let it go and drop my gardening gloves, too, completely forgetting about the flowers.

"Skylar?" Birdie calls again, but her voice seems distant, like it’s coming from another room.

I bite my lip, torn between the burning need to intervene and the logical voice in my head warning me to stay out of it. Don’t meddle, it says. It’s not your business. What if I make things worse? What if Austin gets angry at me for interfering?

But then I hear it—a sharp cry, followed by more horrible words.

"Useless! Absolutely useless! The venom in the words makes my blood boil. "I don't know why they even bother with you!"

That does it. The logical voice is silenced, drowned out by a tidal wave of rage. My hesitation evaporates like morning dew under a scorching sun. I can’t stand by and let this continue—not when I know how sensitive and eager-to-please Lucas is. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if the kid was a stranger. This is unacceptable.

"I have to go," I mutter to Birdie, already moving toward the fence separating our properties.

"Wait, what?" Birdie stands, iced tea glass still in her hands, but I’m already halfway across the yard.

Glad the spade is no longer in my white-knuckled grip, I march across the perfectly manicured lawn, my heart pounding in my ears. My thoughts are a chaotic blur of anger and determination. As I round the corner and see the back of Austin’s sprawling mansion, the source of the shouting comes into view.

Lucas is there, his small frame hunched over like he’s trying to disappear into himself. Beside him stands a younger girl I don’t recognize—she must be his sister. My breath catches in my throat as I see their terrified faces, their wide eyes darting nervously toward the woman towering over them.

The woman’s back is to me, but even from a distance, I can sense her seething anger. For a split second, I assume she’s their mother, but as I draw closer, I realize how young she looks—she’s in her early twenties at most. Her trendy outfit and lithe figure scream trophy wife rather than caregiver, but something about her posture feels all wrong.

"What were you thinking?" she hisses at Lucas, who flinches visibly. "You could have broken it! Do you have any idea how much that costs?"

My stomach churns with disgust. Is this really who Austin chose to be with? Someone who treats his children like this?

And then it hits me—I’m living in millionaire land. And, while this may be Austin’s newest trophy wife, this isn’t their mother. Relief washes over me briefly, only to be replaced by a renewed surge of anger. She’s the nanny. She has to be. And judging by the scene in front of me, she’s failing at it spectacularly.

"Lucas?" I call out softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head snaps up, those soulful brown eyes widening in recognition. "Miss Deveraux!" he exclaims, a hint of desperation and relief in his eyes.

The nanny whirls around, her perfectly made-up face contorting into a scowl. "Excuse me, who the fuck are you?"

I paste on my sweetest smile, my fist clenching so tightly that my nails bite into my palm. "I’m Skylar, the neighbor," I reply, letting my voice drip with faux-politeness. "I couldn’t help but overhear..." I let the sentence hang in the air, my gaze flicking meaningfully between her and the children.

Lucas edges closer to me, as if seeking protection. The little girl, her bright blue eyes full of curiosity and fear, clings to Lucas’ side. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. Nanny or not, I won't let this woman terrorize these kids for another second.

"Look," the nanny starts, her tone defensive. "You don’t understand what it’s like dealing with these two. They’re spoiled, ungrateful little brats—"

"Brats?" I interrupt, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. My voice is sharp, each syllable laced with righteous fury. "They’re children, not prisoners in a boot camp."

She scoffs, her posture rigid with indignation. "This is exactly the problem. Everyone coddles them, and then I’m left to clean up the mess."

I take a step forward, positioning myself between her and the kids. I can feel Lucas and the little girl huddling behind me, their small frames pressed close to my back.

"That’s enough," I snap, my voice as sharp as the spade in my hand. "You don’t get to talk to them like that."

The nanny’s face reddens, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. "How dare you interfere! I’m their nanny, and I—"

"And you’re supposed to care for them," I cut her off, my anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. "Not berate them until they’re scared to breathe wrong."

I can feel my heart pounding, memories of my own childhood threatening to surface. I push them down, focusing on the here and now. These kids need me.

"You have no right," the nanny sputters, but I can see the uncertainty creeping into her eyes.

I lean in close, my voice low and dangerous. "I have every right to protect children from abuse. Verbal or otherwise."

The nanny's face contorts with rage. "Abuse? You have no idea what you're talking about!"

I raise an eyebrow.

Her jaw works furiously, but no sound comes out. She throws her hands up in exasperation. "You know what? Fine! I’m done. I quit!" She glares at the kids one last time. "Let’s see how you handle these little monsters!"

As she storms off, the tension in the air lingers like a storm cloud. I turn to face Lucas and the little girl, their tear-streaked faces breaking my heart.

"Hey, it's okay," I say, softening my voice. "She's gone now."

Lucas, always protective, wraps an arm around the little girl. She leans into him, her big eyes scanning me. “Miss Deveraux?”

“How about you call me Miss Skylar when we’re outside of school? Does that sound fair?”

“Y—yes.”

“Good. And, who might you be, sweetheart?”

“Elodie.”

"What...what happens now?" he asks, his voice small.

I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing. What the hell am I supposed to do? I didn’t think this through. But I can't just leave them.

"Now," I say, trying to inject confidence into my voice, "we call your dad. And maybe have a sweet treat. Let’s see what you guys have inside."

Their faces light up, and I feel a small surge of triumph. Okay, Skylar , I think to myself.

As we walk toward the house, Elodie slips her tiny hand into mine. The gesture catches me off guard, and I feel a warmth spreading through my chest.

"You're not going to leave us, are you?" she asks, her big blue eyes searching my face.

I swallow hard, pushing down the panic rising in my throat. "No, sweetie. I'm not going anywhere."