Filthy Rich Single Daddies (Filthy Rich Harems #2)

22. Skylar

Chapter 22

Skylar

I don’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.

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’s easier 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.

"How are you doing, my dear?”

“Fine. Is there something you need?”

“Yes, yes. Good news this time, I’m sure you’re happy to hear. I want to apologize in advance, Ms. Deveraux. This should never have happened to you. Your father...he set up a trust fund for you. You've had access since you turned twenty-one.”

“I…what?”

I freeze, the words swirling around my head, none of them fitting together. My father set up a trust fund for me? How could that be true? The last time I spoke to him, he’d made it clear I was dead to him. He cut me off financially—and emotionally—when I was nineteen. No calls. No checks. Nothing.

The lawyer’s voice remains steady, unfazed by my confusion. “I understand this is a shock. It should have come to your attention much sooner, but your stepmother took steps to ensure you were unaware of the account. It was only through the recent reading of the will, and some additional digging, that we uncovered the discrepancies. Everything has now been corrected, and I wanted to make sure you were aware of the account immediately.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, all I can hear is the relentless drumming of rain. A trust fund. Money that should have been mine, kept just out of reach by a woman who relished in wielding control as much as she did her designer handbags.

“This…doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, though the words feel hollow. “Why would he—why would she—”

“The details of why are not entirely clear, but we believe your stepmother took actions to prevent you from benefiting. Perhaps she thought she could control the inheritance in some way. In any case, the account is now yours, as it should have been from the beginning.”

The rain beats against the window, and I open and close my mouth, trying to think of something to say.

"Are you still there, Ms. Deveraux?"

"Yes," I manage, my voice barely above the patter of raindrops. "Yes, I'm here."

"Shall I proceed with the details?"

"Please." My mind races as he outlines figures and stipulations, but it's the freedom they represent that sends a shockwave through me.

“Ms. Deveraux, the account is substantial, and it's all yours now. We can arrange for you to access it at your convenience. If you would like to discuss the details further, I am available at any time.”

I struggle to find my words. “I—I don’t know what to say. I didn’t even know about this…why didn’t he tell me?”

There’s a pause on the other end, almost as if the lawyer is carefully considering how to respond. “I’m not sure, Skylar. Your father was more than a client, he was a friend. I never understood his decision to cut you out of his life. It seems perhaps he intended to protect you, though his actions were misguided. Regardless, the trust is now yours. You are entitled to it, and I would suggest we meet to go over the specifics.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

I sit there for a long time after the call ends, staring at the phone as if the answers will magically appear on the screen. My hands are cold, my thoughts colder. I have financial freedom now. Real freedom. The kind I’ve always wanted but never thought I’d get. A trust fund, hidden from me all these years, now suddenly back in my name. The world is mine to take, to do whatever I want with it.

I could leave. I could pack up and go anywhere. Anywhere but here. The idea isn’t even just a fleeting thought anymore—it’s possible. There’s nothing holding me back now. No ties, no debts. I could leave my job at the school and figure out where I want to settle. I have the money to keep me afloat while I search for a new job in a different district.

The men aren’t my responsibility. The kids won’t need me once school starts back up. I could disappear, go somewhere warm, somewhere quiet. Maybe travel, find a place where no one knows my name.

I should want that, right? It should be the easiest decision in the world, to walk away from everything that’s left me twisted up inside. The mansion, the men, the ghosts of the past—there’s nothing keeping me here now but some lingering sense of obligation I don’t fully understand.

But for some reason, leaving feels harder than it should and that surprises me.

When I picture it, I see myself on a plane, the seat next to me empty. I can already hear the hollow sound of my own footsteps in whatever place I find. The silence presses down on me, and it feels like my chest is going to crack open from the weight of it.

I try to picture what life would be like without them. I don’t want to leave them behind. They have their own problems, their own baggage. I know that. I’m not the one who can fix them. But somehow, when I imagine walking out the door for good, I feel like I’m the one who’s giving up on us. Giving up on them. And maybe, just maybe, on myself.

So, why does it feel like I’m already losing something I never even had?

Maybe this is what freedom feels like. The space to run, but the constant pull to stay.