Page 6 of My Ex’s Dad

This argument is the same broken record it always is with her. She protests that Roman is a perfect son who can do no wrong. And I can turn blue in the face when I point out how he does nothing but assume the world revolves around him all because he happens to be the Sokolov heir.

“He’s our only son, Anton,” she says smoothly, a practiced line.

I grit my teeth at her use of our. Yes, Roman is the child from my short and much-scorned marriage to Elena. But I detest any hint that I share anything with her.

“He’s our only son, and he’s our future.”

I shake my head, wishing for anything but that. For the blessing of another woman who’d make me want to be a better man, not merely get through day after day of managing this empire. For the chance to count on another heir who’d make me proud and contribute instead of treating me like a bank account.

“As a matter of fact, we should meet up, Anton. To discuss Roman’s future. I’ve been hoping to catch up with you, and⁠—”

I cut her off once more. Ending the call abruptly is the only way to spare myself a full-on migraine.

I set the phone in my lap and turn to watch the scenery of the nightscape blur by out the window.

Instead of the irritating obligation of putting up with her or Roman, I try to look forward to my next business deal, because at this rate, burying myself in work is all I can do to stay sane anymore.

3

LILIANA

Jenni didn’t hesitate to let me crash at her apartment. She let me in and listened to me rant, whine, lecture, and gripe about the shock of catching my boyfriend cheating on me with my best friend. She’d never had a high opinion of Roman to begin with, always saying he was too cocky and seemed to think the world revolved around him.

Good riddance is her mantra for this post-breakup phase I’m going through. And she’s a solid believer in getting what’s coming to you where he’s concerned. Over the last week, she came with me to grab more of my things from the apartment, often serving as backup to shout at Roman that this is what he gets for screwing around, with Maeve or anyone else.

“I’m only going to grab the last of the things I left behind,” I tell her as I speed out of the city. Leaving the gray icy sludge that lines the curbs for the open country roads is a healthy change of scenery. And if the view doesn’t soothe me, the time to drive alone might.

“Okay. Just be careful on the drive,” she says via speaker. “It’s supposed to snow.”

“I know. I’m just going out there and back,” I tell her before we disconnect the call.

My goal is to stop at the Sokolov vacation home to grab the notebook I forgot to take when Roman and I stayed for that short getaway. In hindsight, knowing he’d already been taking Maeve to family outings, I’m more convinced than ever that he avoided introducing me to anyone in his family and stashed me way out here to keep me from pushing the matter.

While it was nice to get away and stay in the massive mansion a couple of hours from the city, it’s so obvious that Roman was hiding me. Never fully letting me matter in his life or acting like I could belong in it.

Good.

I smirk to myself.

Makes it easier to cut all ties now.

That’s what I’m after, severing the last tie to him. Collecting this notebook and the couple items of clothing I left from that short stay means grabbing the last things he could hold over me or use as a bribe to get me talking to him again. He’s been trying already.

Yesterday, he left me a voicemail saying that he wouldn’t give me the last of my mail unless I came to my senses and talked to him. “Because you have no right to walk out on me.”

That’s the sticking point with him. The audacity that someone would reject him. That I could dare to end things with him and not let him dictate how our lives should be.

The mail he’s trying to use as leverage is just junk, thank God, because everything that matters is paperless and digital now. Still, it got me thinking about what else he could hold over my head and be an ass about. The clothes at this upstate mansion could be replaced, but the notebook with the planning details I’ve started putting together for the bakery is too important to lose or reproduce.

Not even five minutes after I end the call with Jenni, the snow falls thicker.

I speed up the wiper blades and sigh, hating that I have to do the drastic thing of heading all the way out here for that notebook because I can’t count on Roman to be decent.

“Decent?” I mutter to myself with a harsh laugh.

He’s lost the definition of decency. He’s been an asshole, taunting me and blowing up my phone with nasty texts to remind me I’m too fat and simple to land anyone else, with voicemails threatening that I’ll regret treating him like this, and even emails listing how he’s somehow the victim here and no one can fault him for deciding to open up the relationship and sleep with Maeve.

Thinking about it again, dwelling on all the high emotions I’ve been riding since I walked in on him with Maeve a week ago, I know I’m letting it—and him—get to me. My blood pressure spikes, my pulse hammers, and my knuckles go white on the wheel before I even realize I’m gripping it. That’s all it takes. One thought of Roman rattling around in my head and I’m fuming, jacked on adrenaline, ready to fight him out of my own mind.