Chapter 13
Rika
I'm standing barefoot in my driveway, my heart hammering against my ribs, and I can't catch my breath.
Not from the frantic scramble to get dressed, though that was bad enough—I had yanked on yoga pants and an oversized cardigan while Noah practically vaulted down the stairs—and not from the lingering warmth still buzzing through my body.
No. I can't breathe because Mitchell's ridiculous little red sports car is idling in my driveway.
"Mitchell." My voice comes out tight and high. "What happened? Where are the kids?"
Mitchell is already at the back of the car, yanking open the trunk with sharp, angry movements. His lavender wings are stiff and flared behind him and his face is set in harsh, angry lines. No, scratch that. When his lips are pursed the way they are right now, it means he's furious.
And he doesn't even glance my way. He hauls a suitcase out and drops it heavily on the driveway without looking at me.
Then another. Then a backpack. Zoe's backpack.
My mind swirls around in a thick ooze as my gaze trails to the rear window of Mitchell's car. I see them there, and my anxiety lowers just a fraction. But it doesn't last long.
Zoe and Matthew sit in the back seat, side by side and silent.
Matthew's face is pressed against the glass, his purple eyes red and swollen, tears streaking down his round cheeks.
Zoe's expression is blank and hard as she stares stubbornly in front of her, her arms crossed over her chest, lips pinched to a fine line.
Something is very, very wrong.
"Mitchell, will you stop!" I turn to my ex-husband, still busy throwing the kids' stuff onto my driveway. "Talk to me! Are the kids okay?"
Mitchell doesn't look at me. He just drops another bag on the driveway with a thud that makes me flinch.
"The kids are definitely not okay," he snaps, his voice cold and clipped. "And that's on you."
"On me?" I blink. "I have no idea what you're even talking about."
"Save it." He straightens up, finally turning to face me, and that's when he stops mid-sentence.
His lavender eyes rake over me from head to toe, taking in the damp hair still clinging to my neck, the cardigan clutched closed over my chest, the bare feet on the cool concrete.
The just-fucked look I'm definitely radiating.
His gaze sharpens and then it flicks past me toward the front porch. I feel the shift in his attention like a cold wind and turn slightly to follow his gaze.
Noah is standing on the porch. He looks the very picture of male temptation, with his sex-mussed hair, t-shirt, and jeans. He's also as barefoot as me.
Yeah. The picture is pretty clear, even for someone as self-absorbed as Mitchell.
My stomach twists with dread. Because I know exactly what this looks like.
It looks like we've been fucking. Which is exactly what we were doing.
Mitchell's expression twists into something ugly, into something disgusted and triumphant all at once. His lip curls as he looks from Noah to me and back again.
"Is this why you wanted to saddle me with the kids over spring break?" His voice drips with venom. "So you could fuck the new help?"
The words land and heat floods my face. Humiliation and fury mix into something that makes my wings snap tight against my back.
I glance at the car and see that Zoe is watching me. I don't need her verbal confirmation to know she heard everything.
"Mitchell, the kids can hear you," I begin, lowering my voice in the hopes that Mitchell gets the message.
"Don't." He holds up a hand, his voice rising. "Don't you dare stand there and lie to me. I can see it all over you. You've been fucking the nanny."
Anger flares in my chest and my cheeks are on fire. What right does he have to put me on the spot like that? After everything he did?
"At least I'm not going around like an alley cat, running after every skirt I see," I grit out between my teeth. "At least I never cheated on you."
Mitchell huffs at this and shakes his head.
"No wonder you found a guy to take care of the kids. It was never about them, was it? You just wanted to get laid."
I open my mouth to spew more poison his way, but my words get lost as Zoe climbs out slowly, her movements stiff and deliberate. Her face is pale, her blue eyes wide and shocked as she looks at me.
At my disheveled hair. My bare feet. My cardigan buttoned all wrong.
At Noah standing on the porch behind me.
Her expression shifts from shock to something worse. Betrayal. Her lower lip trembles and for a moment I think she's going to burst into tears.
I take a step toward her, my hand reaching out instinctively.
"Zoe, wait. I can explain—"
But Zoe doesn't wait.
Her mouth presses into a thin, furious line, and she storms past me without a word. She doesn't look at Noah either; she just shoves past him on the porch and disappears into the house. The door slams so hard it rattles the frame.
I flinch like I've been struck.
Then Matthew stumbles out of the car, clutching Mr. Gears to his chest. His face is red and blotchy from crying. He doesn't look at anyone. Not me, not Mitchell, not Noah.
He just runs after his sister, his wings dragging on the ground behind him.
"Matthew—" I start, but he's already gone.
The front door closes again, softer this time but no less final. I stand there in the driveway, frozen, my chest cracking wide open. I want to go after them. I want to hold them and explain and fix this.
But I can't move. Mitchell's laugh is bitter and sharp.
"Well, that went about as well as expected."
I round on him, my hands trembling. "What the hell happened, Mitchell? You were supposed to spend the week with them. What did you do?"
"What did I do?" He laughs again, and it's the ugliest sound I've ever heard. "Zoe ruined the entire trip, that's what happened. She was openly disrespectful to Jasmine from day one. Refused to cooperate. Refused to even try."
My jaw tightens. "She's thirteen, and her father left her family for another woman. What did you expect?"
Mitchell ignores me and continues, his voice rising. "I planned a family photoshoot. A nice, simple thing. Professional photos with me and Jasmine and the kids. Something we could frame and put on the wall."
My stomach sinks. Of course he did.
"And Zoe flat-out refused. Stepped out of frame. Humiliated Jasmine in front of the photographer and the staff."
His face is flushed now, his wings vibrating with barely contained anger.
"Is that all?" I ask quietly. "You're rejecting your children because Zoe didn't want to take a picture."
Mitchell's mouth twists. "She said, 'I'm not taking pictures for your fake family.'"
The words hang in the air between us. I close my eyes briefly.
Oh, Zoe.
"And when I tried to make her cooperate, because she's my daughter and she doesn't get to treat Jasmine like garbage, she did this."
He gestures sharply toward the car, toward Jasmine, who is now climbing out of the passenger seat, her face blotchy with tears and twisted with anger.
"She took a red Sharpie and wrote THIEF across Jasmine's dress. Ruined it. A custom cream silk dress that Jasmine wanted to wear for our cruise this spring."
Jasmine stalks around the front of the car, and I get a full view of the damage. The cream-colored dress is elegant, well fitted and clearly expensive. Well, it was. Now harsh red letters scrawl across the bodice like an accusation.
"Your daughter is a monster," Jasmine spits, her bubblegum-pink wings flaring behind her. "A spoiled, vindictive little monster. I've tried so hard to be nice to her, and this is how she repays me?"
A flicker of guilt stirs in my chest. Zoe went too far this time. But it's quickly smothered by anger as Jasmine keeps talking.
"I told Mitchell we should send her to boarding school. Somewhere with actual discipline." Jasmine's pink eyes narrow at me. "Clearly she's not getting any at home."
The words hit like ice water. My wings snap rigid against my back.
"Don't you dare talk about my daughter that way."
Jasmine's lip curls. "Someone needs to. You're obviously too busy screwing the help to parent her properly."
For one blinding moment, I want to slap her. I want to grab her by her perfect pink curls and drag her off my property. But I don't. Because that's what she wants. A scene, ammunition, proof that I'm the unhinged ex-wife.
I won't give her the satisfaction.
"Get back in the car, Jasmine," I say, my voice deadly calm. "This is between Mitchell and me."
She opens her mouth to argue, but Mitchell cuts her off with a sharp gesture. "Jas. Get in the car."
Jasmine glares at me for another long moment, then stalks back to the passenger side, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement. She slams the door hard enough to rock the little sports car on its wheels.
For the first time since this entire fiasco started, I truly hate him. I didn’t hate him when he cheated the first time or the second time. I didn’t even hate him when he cheated on me with my best friend.
But this very second, I hate him.
Because Mitchell set this up. He pushed and pushed until Zoe broke. And now Jasmine wants to ship my daughter off to boarding school. Over my dead body.
I turn back to Mitchell, my voice hard. "You tried to force them into a family photo? With Jasmine? Mitchell, you left us six months ago. You can't just snap your fingers and expect them to pretend everything's fine."
My voice cracks slightly on the last word, but I don't let myself cry.
Never again. I will not shed another tear because of Mitchell Lark.
"This is your fault. You've poisoned them against me." Mitchell's expression goes cold and vicious. "Zoe has no respect for me or Jasmine because you encourage this behavior."
"I have never said a single bad word about you to those kids. Not one." My hands curl into fists at my sides. "Zoe is angry because you broke her heart, not because I told her to be."
Mitchell steps closer, his voice dropping to something cruel and cutting. From the corner of my eye, I see Noah move from the porch. If I wasn't so consumed by my anger for Mitchell, I would pay attention to the alarm bells ringing all over my head.
"You're a terrible mother, Rika. And it shows. Zoe's turning into a stuck-up little bitch just like you."
The words land on me with all the force of my years of unhappiness at this man's hands.
My breath catches. My vision blurs at the edges.
He keeps going, his gaze raking over my disheveled appearance with open contempt. His lip curls as he looks at Noah walking toward us.
“Look at you. You're old. You're cold. No man with any self-respect would ever want you unless you paid him to fuck you.” He pauses, then leans in to tower above me. “I bet that's what you did. You're paying this guy to fuck you because no one else will do it for free.”
The words echo in my head, mixing with all the things I've been telling myself for months.
You're not enough. You never were. You ruin everything you touch.
Behind me, I hear footsteps on the pavement.
"That's enough."
Noah's voice is calm but edged with steel. Mitchell's gaze snaps to him, eyes narrowing. "Oh, the help has opinions now?"
Somehow, from the deep, thick ooze that has overtaken my brain, my heart, and my entire body, I find my voice.
"Get off my property, Mitchell." My hands are shaking, but my voice is steady. "Now."
Mitchell casts one last disgusted look at both of us.
"You two deserve each other," he sneers. "Good luck with the ice queen, Noah. You'll get tired of freezing your cock with her soon enough."
Noah takes another step forward, his posture protective and unmistakably threatening.
"It's time for you to leave."
His voice is quiet, but there's a warning in it that even Mitchell can't miss. My ex-husband turns around and gets into his sports car, then drives away, tires screeching on the pavement.
I stand in the driveway, arms wrapped around myself, watching the red car disappear down the street. The sound of the engine fades.
Silence settles, heavy and suffocating.
Noah moves toward me.
"Rika."
But I take a step back, shaking my head.
My face feels numb. My chest feels hollow. Mitchell's words circle around in my brain like tiny rodents, gnawing at my sanity.
"I can't do this."
The words come out barely above a whisper and they're shaking with all the fear and insecurities I buried deep inside me.
Noah freezes. "Rika, don't listen to that guy."
"I can't." I shake my head again, harder this time, my wings trembling. "I just… I can't."
Because Mitchell is right.
I'm a terrible mother. I was so desperate for someone to want me, to touch me, to make me feel like something other than a failure, that I didn't think about what would happen if the kids came home early.
I didn't think about how it would affect my kids. I didn't think about them at all.
And now they're upstairs, hurt and angry, because I was selfish.
I turn and walk to the house. I don't look back.
I was so stupid. So stupid to think anyone could want me. To think I deserved this. Mitchell is right. I ruin everything I touch.
The thought loops in my head, bitter and familiar, as I cross the threshold and close the door behind me. I lean against the cool wood, my whole body trembling.
The house is so silent it hurts my bones. I slide down to the floor, my knees pulled to my chest. I close my eyes and let the first sob break free, raw and wrenching.
Because I know the truth now.
I was never meant to have this. I was never meant to be happy.
And the worst part?
I only have myself to blame.