Chapter 13
“Okay,” I said, standing, determined. “Tomorrow we start the plan.”
To-do list:
Lose weight (or at least be able to sit without grunting)
Hire a nanny (or an exorcist)
Research how to legally reclaim your life if you're trapped in someone else's boobs
Buy a car
Buy clothes for the kids
Burn the clothes Catherine left me
Set Alec on fire (figuratively... probably)
And think of a way not to have sex with the husband when he returns home.
I looked down at Jaya, who was now asleep in my arms. “We’ll make it. You, me, your sisters… and this goddamn stretch-marked destiny.”
Dinner that night was the kind of chaos you could sell to reality TV. The kitchen table was practically bending from the weight of the food I'd brought home—burgers, fries, nuggets, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, apple pies, juice boxes in every flavor, and that suspicious McDonald’s salad nobody ever eats but always orders to feel better.
Aliya was shoving fries up her nose and Maya was alternating between judgment and awe.
“Mom…” Maya narrowed her eyes. “Where did you get the money for all this? Did you rob a bank?”
I coughed violently, almost choking on a bite of chicken.
“What? No! Of course not!”
“Then how?” Aliya chimed in, her mouth smeared with ketchup. “Did aunt Jhing-Jhing give you money? Did someone die? Are we rich now?”
I panicked. Fast. My brain scrambled for a story, any story, and before I could stop myself—
“I won the lottery!” I blurted out with the enthusiasm of a woman who had no idea how the lottery even worked.
There was silence.
Maya blinked slowly. “You… won the lottery.”
I nodded too aggressively. “Yes. It was just a small prize. Like, um, grocery-level lottery. Not the millionaire kind. More like... the kind that lets you buy chicken nuggets and cleaning services without going bankrupt.”
Aliya gasped, then yelled toward the ceiling, “THANK YOU JESUS!”
Maya remained skeptical. “You didn’t even play the lottery.”
“Did you?” I shot back.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
We locked eyes in an intense mother-daughter standoff while Jaya, sitting in her high chair, smacked a nugget against the tray like a miniature Thor wielding a golden hammer.
Eventually, Maya sighed and let it go. The food was too good to keep questioning the miracle.
Aliya raised her juice box in a toast. “To lottery money!”
“To lies,” I muttered under my breath, clinking her drink with a tired smile.
The girls continued eating, bickering over who got the last pie, tossing napkins like grenades, and arguing about who should get to name the invisible unicorn that allegedly now lived in the hallway.
After everyone was bathed, bribed, and bribed again into going to sleep (Maya with extra reading time, Aliya with five more minutes of jumping on the bed, and Jaya with lullabies and a slice of banana), I finally collapsed on the sofa.
“God, this is more tiring than planning an ambush.”
But the house was clean. The kids were quiet. And I, Leon-freaking-Darrow, billionaire-assassin- ghost-mother-thing, finally had a moment to breathe.
I pulled out the new iPhone I bought earlier—clean, slick, untouched by baby puke and cereal dust. My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the browser.
Search: Leon Darrow news
The results hit like a sledgehammer.
Headline #1: "Confirmed: Leon Darrow Declared Dead After Spider Bite in Private Estate"
Headline #2: "Darrow’s Legacy Divided: Brother Alec Takes Full Control of Empire"
Headline #3: "EXCLUSIVE: Alec Darrow Marries Supermodel Dorothy Kleanthis in Surprise Greek Island Ceremony"
My jaw dropped.
“What the actual fu—”
Dorothy. My Dorothy. The woman who once called my abs “a sculpture of sin.” The woman I dated for two years. The one who cried when I gave her a diamond the size of a quail egg.
And Alec married her. Yesterday. In a castle. Wearing my ring.
My suit.
My villa.
My private yacht.
My damn woman.
“Fuck!” I threw the phone onto the couch, stood up in rage, forgot how heavy this body was, and promptly sat back down as my knees gave out.
“That rat-faced, inheritance-stealing, smooth-talking tapeworm.”
It wasn’t even about love. I didn’t love Dorothy. Not truly. But she was mine. She was part of my life, my image, my status. And now Alec had paraded her down a beach like some victory lap over my corpse.
I leaned forward, seething, feeling rage pool in the soft folds of this unfamiliar body.
My hands clenched into fists. “You want war, Alec? I’ll give you war. You took my life. My name. My legacy. You think I’m dead?”
I looked down at my chest—big, soft, and currently smothered in baby spit-up stains—and sighed.
“Okay, yes. I’m not exactly threatening right now. But just you wait.”
I stood slowly, legs shaking, and grabbed the iPhone.
“Step one: get revenge.
Step two: get hot.”