REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

Later that evening, when the kids had been tucked in, and Aliya clutched her bunny like a lifeline, my burner phone buzzed.
A number I hadn’t saved—but I knew the pattern. Joe Smith. My ghost from the past. Hacker. Fixer. The man who knew things no one else should.
I stepped onto the balcony, away from the quiet hum of lullabies and bedtime murmurs.
“Talk,” I said.
A crackle on the line. “He found it.”
My breath didn’t hitch. My fingers didn’t even flinch. But my lips curled in a satisfied smirk.
“Found what?”
“The park. CCTV from a year ago—your body—collapsing. Then my friend, Leon—saved her. Mouth to mouth. Hospital records. He’s tearing his own files apart trying to stitch the story.”
I chuckled under my breath. The game was heating up.
I turned my eyes to the misty city below. Rain hadn’t fallen yet, but the air was swollen with it. Like everything might snap and pour.
“He’ll dig deeper,” Joe warned. “He’s... not sleeping. Rumor is he’s obsessed. Losing it.”
“Good,” I whispered. “Let him.”
Let Alec unravel the way I once did. Let him fall for the mystery he created. Because what hurts more than a brother you betrayed?
A woman you can’t have. And I had become both.
It was a week later when he returned the car.
Alec. Cleaned, polished. Repaired like new. Parked right at the curb outside our building like some gallant knight dragging a defeated dragon back to its queen.
I knew the minute he stepped out of that matte black sedan of his. Hair too neat. Cufflinks sharp. Tie twisted just right to look effortless. A calculated effort to look casual.
The weather was colder then, the wind sharper. I was in jeans and a hoodie, hair tied up. Kids yelling behind me about who spilled milk on whose homework.
He handed over the keys with a smile too slow, too soft. “Thought you might need her back.” Alec’s expression didn’t change; his lips still set in that hard line.
I stared at the SUV. I missed her, sure. But I didn’t like what the gesture meant.
He lingered.
I acted like a damsel again.
Thanks Netflix Christmas cringey drama.
I looked up at him, feeling the hot sting of tears pricking the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I need to show how happy I was, like I owed him so much that my life was not even enough to pay his chivalry.
I acted good.
My anger was my armour.
My pain was my weapon.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, calm, but carrying an edge of danger. “That coffee you promised,” he said. “Maybe now?” His eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and serious.
I tilted my head, giving him the kind of smile that said not today, sugar. “Sorry. Diapers, school, and disaster. Maybe next time. Thanks anyway. I owe you one.”
There was no next time.
There was no next time.
And he knew it.
I shut the door before he could ask again.
Because I knew men like him.
The obsessed ones. The clever ones. The ones who thought the world bent at their desire.
And I was no longer the woman who bent. I am Leon, the drama-queen-from-Netflix.
That night, I sat now in the living room, kids asleep, with a glass of wine in one hand and tomorrow’s grocery list in the other.
But I wasn’t thinking of eggs or bread.
I was thinking of Alec.
Of his obsession brewing like a storm. He wanted answers. I was the answer.
Leon Darrow in flesh.
In womanhood. In disguise.
But he didn't know that.
For him, I'm just Leon’s girl.
Let him come. Let him watch. Let him burn with the madness of questions he couldn’t solve.
Because soon, I’d give him a new obsession.
Desire.
And when he begged to understand who I really was, I’d make him choke on every drop of regret he tried to swallow.
The moment I saw the man again—the one who had been watching me from across the street for days—I felt a sick lurch in my stomach. He was standing too close to the playground gate. My children were inside, laughing and running, completely unaware of the way his eyes lingered, always a beat too long. I had warned him once already. But today, something in me snapped.
I pushed my stroller with force, my heart hammering in my chest. I could hear Jhing Jhing calling out behind me, but the ringing in my ears drowned out everything else. My babies—my heart—were in that playground. And this man had crossed a line.
He didn't flinch when I approached, but he underestimated me.
"Who sent you?!" I demanded, grabbing his collar. His eyes widened.
"I don't know what you're talking ab—"
I punched him. Hard. The pain in my knuckles was nothing compared to the fire in my veins. He stumbled backward, landing with a grunt.
My children, startled by the noise, began to cry.
Their terrified wails cut through the chaos like knives.
I saw Jhing Jhing running toward them, trying to scoop them into her arms, but the scene was spiraling.