Chapter 5
FIVE
Colton
PRESENT DAY
Dear Mr. Dickhead,
Nice of you in your uselessness to once again forget that you were supposed to send me your daughter’s account statements! We’re in default, and our first court date is coming up soon. If your stupidity hasn’t already made you forget.
All the best,
Blueface
Icrumple the letter my lawyer sent me and groan in frustration.
She loves sending me legal letters with her firm’s stamp and everything, so I actually think it’s something important—then it just turns into her insulting me.
I’ve already confronted her because I have no idea why she hates me this much.
I barely remember high school, but she claims I fucking bullied her.
High school was hell. An agent discovered me at home in Russia, and everything happened so fast. I got a sports visa, had to move to the US completely alone with some foster family I didn’t know or liked, and spent ages trying to make friends.
I couldn’t speak a word of English, and somehow, I managed to bully Jenna.
She was weird back then—always with her nose in books.
I do remember why they called her Blueface: her entire face was painted blue once, and the guys on my team mocked her because of it.
I thought it was her real name at first. I had no idea what it meant—I just heard everyone calling her that, so I stupidly did too.
I stopped once I got the hang of English but it took me a year just to speak decently, and even now I’d rather stay silent than mispronounce something and be branded stupid.
Having an accent makes people assume you’re dumb.
And a jock on top of that... I hated every minute of that immigrant label.
So, I have no clue why she’s still so angry. I never actively bullied her, and she refuses to talk about it. I guess I just have to accept it and hope that in court she lives up to her reputation and tears my ex apart.
Only problem is I might have really screwed up this time.
I kind of kidnapped my daughter.
On a normal—not stalkery or kidnappery—day, I just pick her up from school a little early, spend some time with her, then sneak her back like nothing happened. It only works because I paid her teacher to “refine” her mother’s restriction note.
Which is a complete lie, by the way.
She told the teachers I’m not allowed to see her. I am. Legally. We both have custody of Livy, but somehow she’s managed to convince everyone otherwise—like she has sole custody and I’m some footnote in a story she gets to rewrite.
And it’s so easy for people to believe the worst version of me. Sex addict. Parties. Prostitutes drifting through my house like it’s some kind of revolving door.
None of it’s true.
I can’t even remember the last time it was anything other than me, alone, and my hand.
But Livy’s teacher’s corruption is the only reason I get to see her at all.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen her in ages.
Sneaking around and hiding Livy isn’t right either—I know that.
But I can’t sleep if I haven’t seen her, and my ex refuses every call.
She only wants my money. I’ve been fighting alone for a year.
My old lawyer sucked and lost everything, which is why I’m appealing now and just hoping Jenna fixes it, so I get my daughter back.
Most nights I drive past my ex’s house, sit like a stalker, and wait for her to go out.
If she does, I break in with a duplicate key.
Yes, illegal again—but she leaves Livy alone, asleep, while she parties.
My daughter wakes up crying. So, I document everything, even though I can’t exactly explain the breaks-ins.
I’ve called the cops, but my ex is sleeping with a high-ranking officer who warns her whenever he hears radio traffic.
Once they arrive, she sits perfectly staged at home, pretending to be the perfect mommy and greets the cops with that perfect fake smile. Pretty privilege.
All that was almost manageable until yesterday.
I stalked my ex, again, and the bitch left, again.
Livy hurt herself because she wanted to make herself dinner. She cried so hard she threw up. When I saw her bloody arm, I snapped, packed her clothes and toys—and we left.
I couldn’t just go back to my own apartment, so I went to Jay’s, another one of my best friends.
If I’d gone to Riley, my ex would’ve found me.
Jay just moved and hasn’t been in New York since his injury, so she wouldn’t think to look there.
I haven’t told Jenna any of this, and I’m pretty sure she’s about to kill me now—because at this very second, my fiery little lawyer is storming straight toward me.
I’m in the foyer of the Withmore well-known midtown hotel owned by Riley’s father, celebrating his sister Rosalie’s Nutcracker with family and friends. It should be a good day, but the moment I see Jenna, I know I’m a dead man. I clutch my daughter and watch the drama unfold…
“Is there something we can assist you with?” Jay asks Jenna from a few feet away.
We’re all tall guys. Jay stands out a bit with his maroon curls tied up in a man bun and his usual three-day stubble.
Jenna whips around. “I’m looking for Colton King. I’m his lawyer.”
Rosie, Riley’s sister, relaxes slightly. She has that tall, lean ballet build. You can tell from a distance she’s a dancer. The way she carries her long neck, the way her black hair is always pulled into a tight bun. So, bun-wise, Jay and her are a perfect match.
“Can I ask what it’s about?” Rosie says.
Jenna gives them a once-over. “I’m Jenna, his lawyer. We have urgent matters.”
Rosie starts to reply, “Oh, of course he’s—” but Jenna spots me and walks over.
Shit. I don’t often get scared of people under six foot, but that stare makes me tremble.
White outfit, red shoes, red lips—always flawless. My eyes follow her until she stops just mere inches across from me.
“Are you insane?” she simply asks.
I notice Jay and Rosie walking up, and Riley beside me stiffens at my reaction.
He looks just like his sister. Tall, whiskey eyes and raven black hair.
He still looks like an emo kid collided with a way too muscular sports jock—long black strands of hair falling into his face, a mischievous grin plastered across his troublemaker features.
“You kidnapped your own daughter? Do you know how much more complicated your case is now? I can’t believe you,” Jenna snaps.
I have nothing to say. Riley laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re frozen solid. Chill. Riley Huntington. Nice to meet you.”
He offers Jenna a handshake and she nods curtly, then turns back to me with her “happy” expression. “Colton. We need to leave. We have to deal with this. You need to return her—”
“No. Over my dead body. I’m not giving her back.”
“No, I don’t want to live with Mom,” Livy says.
Her words land and I watch something in Jenna’s face break open—just for a second—before she pulls it shut again. She’s got a soft spot for that kid. I should let Livy handle her.
“Okay,” she says, softer now. “Then we must file for emergency relief immediately. You can’t hide her. You must move back to your registered address today. I’ll file the urgent motion, but we need to start now—in my office.”
“I—”
“Do I need to define the adverb now for you?”
I give up, letting my head drop like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold up.
Riley tries to stifle a laugh. I shoot him an icy look and follow Jenna with Livy clutched tight. No one’s taking her from me ever again.
Within minutes, we’re buckled up in my car.
She wanted to use public transit, but when you’re famous, buses and subways get awkward—your face is plastered everywhere. People stare at you. Annoying people come up and ask for an autograph or a selfie. Since I don’t like to be an ass to my fans, I prefer not to use the subway.
So, she granted me permission to drive.
Livy sits behind us, glued to the window.
She’s like me—shuts down if she’s uncomfortable, especially around strangers.
Otherwise, she’s bright as a button. She’s got that fire that can drive you insane, but I swear—if there’s ever someone in her life who tries to smother it in the future, I’m going to have serious words with them.
The kind of words that come with threats and poor impulse control.
We drive to Jenna’s office in silence—she sits next to me clutching her pen like a weapon, her legal pad filled with red-inked notes and “DICKFACE!!!” doodled across the top.
I keep opening my mouth like I want to speak, but nothing comes out. What can I say? I’ve made everything worse.
“We can’t go to your office,” I suddenly say.
“What?” Jenna tries to follow my gaze, turning her head to look out the window. “Colton. No. Turn around again. I swear—”
“My ex is standing in front of that building. She’s probably waiting for us.”
Damn. How does she know Jenna’s my lawyer? Social media article, I guess.
“Even if she’s there—”
“I’m not talking to her now. She’ll just unsettle Livy.”
She sighs. “Fine. So where? I need a laptop.”
“Don’t you have one at home?”
“I don’t bring clients to my home.”
I take a deep breath. Then I do something I’ve never done: I beg.
“Please, Jenna. I can’t face her right now.”
She’s silent. Then I see her posture soften. She rolls her eyes and exhales dramatically. “Aaaall right. You know where I live. We’ll go to my place then.”
She mutters under her breath—something like “What did I ever do to deserve this?”—and we drive off without another word. Just knowing my ex has no clue where we’re headed calms me down.
Jenna clicks the door to her office shut and it sounds ominously final.
“Sit,” she says, looking more than ready to throw me out of the window. “We have to document the incident.”
Livy still clings to me, her tiny hand on my chest like an anchor as we take a seat.
Jenna’ sits across from us—laptop open, hair tucked behind an ear, fully in work mode even though this is a tiny room with just an old desk and a cheap shelf of binders. The chair I’m sitting on right now came from her dining table.
I hand my phone to Livy so she can play.
Good parenting? No, but I have zero patience for anything right now.
“Okay,” Jenna says, typing. “We have a massive problem.”
“She was alone,” I blurt out.
She doesn’t look up. “That’s not a legal term, Colton.”
“I don’t care what you call it. She. Was. Alone.”
Jenna finally looks up and for a split second I see something beyond mere professional annoyance in her eyes. Then she rolls her eyes again.
“And so, you decided to break the law?”
“I decided not to leave my kid alone, crying and puking.”
Silence. Her fingers hover over the keyboard before stopping. She lifts her head. “She threw up?”
I nod.
“And cried so hard she couldn’t breathe?”
Another nod.
Her jaw twitches but she types again. “How long was she alone? How did she get hurt?”
“I don’t know exactly.” I hate admitting it. “Longer than she should’ve been. I was parking in front of my ex’s house, and she vanished through the back door. I went in when I saw Livy crying in the kitchen.”
“That’s not a sufficient answer.”
“An hour? Maybe more. She told me she was hungry, tried to make a sandwich, and cut her hand.”
I lift her hand—she’s still clutching my phone—but lets me show it. Jenna pulls out her phone and photographs the now roughly healed cut. I’d put on a Band-Aid, but it’s gone missing somewhere.
“Okay,” she says, leaning back. “Let’s stop arguing morality.”
I exhale. “Good.”
“And let’s focus on the legal disaster.”
I blink.
“You violated a custody order because you removed the child from her mother’s home without her consent.” A pause. “And you haven’t returned her, nor told her mother where her daughter is.”
“And I’m not going to.”
She studies me—that same look that makes me nervous, even though I usually fear nothing.
“Then,” she says slowly. “We have to reinvent the narrative.”
“How?”
A barely perceptible twitch at her lip. “If you listen to me this time, I might have an idea.”
I nod too quickly. Jenna’s the only one with real power here. Ethan was right: she’s the best and she’s never lost a case. Even if she insults or scolds me, I trust her completely. And to be frank, I don’t know anything about the law. What I can and can’t do. I need Jenna.
“Good,” she says, typing all over again. “We’ll file a temporary restraining order for child endangerment and expedite everything. I’ll send our evidence to the police and push this through. I’ll contact Child Protective Services and file for an emergency custody petition.”
My heart drops straight into my shoes. “Child services?”
“Relax,” she says, not even looking up from her laptop, like my panic is just background noise.
“They’re not the bad guys. They’re there to help kids and families—and we need them for our case.
We want an allowance to keep Livy as soon as possible, so we have to try all we’ve got.
One bonus is that Livy wants to stay with you.
She’s been neglected and put in danger by her own mother, which makes the case immediate.
So, we’re hoping to get a temporary placement agreement fast.”
“How fast?”
“If I’m any good?” Her emerald eyes meet mine. “Today.”
I stare. “You’re kidding.”
“I rarely joke on the clock.”
Her phone rings. She glances at it and lets out a deeply annoyed breath. “No. Why? Your ex hired Goldblatt.”
“Gold-what?”
“That’s your ex’s lawyer. I hate that guy,” she says.
My stomach drops. “Don’t answer.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Well, genius, that’s not an option. I’d prefer it if you let me do my job.” And with that, she picks up. “I’m listening.” Silence on her end. She tenses. “No,” she finally says. “My client did not ‘kidnap’ their child.”
I clench my fist.
“He removed her from a situation under review.”
She shoots me a sharp look—I know she’s running through scenarios of how to kill me if this goes south.
“No,” she says coolly. “You’ll do nothing until we speak.”
Livy stirs in my arms. I hug her tighter.
“If your client wants to press charges, she may,” Jenna continues. “We’ll respond.”
Another pause. “Go ahead.”
She hangs up.
“That went badly,” I say, my heart pounding up to my temples now.
“It did.”
“What now?”
She stands, circles the desk, and faces me. “Now,” she says. “We work faster than him and better.”