“Jason, that’s enough!” Kaden finally snaps as he shoots up from the couch. “Both of you, just stop fucking fighting! I can’t stand it anymore!”
“Well, tell your guard dog to back off,” Lucia sneers.
“Tell your slut to get the fuck out!” I retort.
Kaden expels a long, tired breath. “Lucia, please just go. I’ll call you later, after we’ve all calmed down.”
“You have a week until you need to move out. So get your shit together and start packing, Kaden,” she orders hastily.
Confused, I glance at Kaden, frowning. “Why do you have to move out in a week?”
“I’ve put the house up for lease. I can’t stay here with all the memories of my wife.”
Lucia flinches ever so slightly at the mention of the word ‘wife’ and I internally laugh.
That’s right, snake—his kind, beautiful wife, someone you’ll never measure up to.
I shake my head, unable to hide my irritation. “And you thought moving in with your mistress was a good idea? Kaden, if you needed a place to stay, you could’ve just asked.”
Lucia lets out a bitter huff, and in that moment, I realise just how deeply I despise her.
I angle my head so my eyes level with hers. “What are you even doing here? You have no right to walk into this house after everything you’ve done. Haven’t you already taken enough from Skylar?”
“You know, I find it odd how fixated you are on Skylar. Do you have a little thing for her, huh?” she says, her tone dripping with accusation.
Kaden steps between us, and only then do I realise I’ve edged closer to her without noticing. “Please, stop this—both of you,” he pleads, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “You’re only making things worse.”
I take a step back and turn my attention back to my best friend. He knows I’ve never looked at his wife in an intimate way. He also knows I’ve always treated Skylar like family, as if she were my own sister. But I’m not about to stand here and justify myself to his stupid mistress.
“Can’t you see how in denial she is? She’s a complete nutjob!” I shake my head at Kaden, my anger and irritation palpable. “I’m not even going to dignify her ridiculous statement with a response. She’s not worth explaining myself to. Honestly, I don’t know what you see in her, Kaden, but for your sake, I pray to God you know what you’re doing.”
I glance between them one last time, my gaze heavy with disapproval and disgust, before brushing past and striding straight out the door.
Within minutes my car screeches out of Kaden’s driveway and onto the road, a rush of relief instantly washing over me as I put distance between myself and those two imbeciles.
I started the day feeling great after seeing Mila, but now my mood has completely soured, all thanks to that pathetic bitch Lucia. Kaden better have a solid plan in place because if this all blows up in his face, I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to help him.
CHAPTER 3
Jason
It’s late Saturday afternoon when the doorbell rings, announcing Mila’s arrival. She’s fifteen minutes early for her first shift, her punctuality already a promising sign, and something about that brings a small smile to my face.
I open the door to find her standing there, dressed casually in a bright yellow T-shirt and white denim shorts that enhance her golden, toned legs. Her warm, whisky-brown eyes shimmer as she offers me a shy smile, while a butterfly hairclip pins back one side of her dark, shoulder-length hair. In that moment, I can’t help but be struck by how beautiful she looks.
I quickly snap out of it before she catches me gawking and flash her a wide grin. “Miss Rivera! Bright and early once again. I’m seriously impressed!” I step aside, giving her space to enter. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” she says softly as she steps past me and pauses to wait. I close the door behind me and lead us towards the kitchen, calling out for Jake as we pass the flight of stairs. A moment later, he bursts from his room and barrels down the stairs like a hyperactive baby rhino, nearly stumbling over the last step in his rush to meet us.
I grab him by the shoulders to steady him before he faceplants onto the floor. “Woah! Slow down, son, you’re going to bust a lip again,” I warn him.
He looks up at me with the same green eyes as mine, his sandy blonde curls a wild, tangled mess, and an orange smear stainsthe corners of his mouth. There are only ever two ways you’ll find my kid—either up to no good or passed out on some random surface after stuffing his face with too much food.
“What were you doing in your room?” I ask my five-year-old with a look of suspicion.
He shrugs casually. “Playing Super Mario and eating Cheetos Puffs.”
“Didn’t I tell you that’s not proper food?” I reply, raising an eyebrow at him.
