“Is your boyfriend a child?”
“Huh?” I spin my phone away so he can’t read any more of my messages. The audacity.
“Well, why should you cook when you work all day?”
“I like cooking,” I say. It’s true, I actually loved cooking and trying new recipes when my Instagram feed used to be full of ideas. But now that joy vanished. There’s no joy in being forced into cooking when you’re tired.
I fold my arms, trying to rebuild a tough facade.
He leans back, arms behind his head, shirt riding up to reveal a pronounced V and damn, I quickly glance away again
“Sorry, but I know few people who do a demanding job all day then love cooking for their partners. He has hands, right? He could feed himself.”
“I don’t see why that’s your problem.”
He shrugs. “As you wish.”
“Why is Livy even with you right now? I thought she lives full-time with her mother.”
“I picked her up from school. I’ll take her back later. I don’t see her otherwise—and I can’t bear that.”
“All right,” I say, hoping he’s playing by the rules; if he’s abducting her from her mother’s custody, it could get messy. But I’ll dive into prep now and build a rock-solid case.
“We’ll be in touch. Have a nice day.”
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 orliked, 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.
