REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 54: Chapter 54
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The next day, of course, I texted the girls that it was time to send some drama.
Me: Emergency brunch. Expensive coffee. Bring chaos. No kids. Except Jaya, because she's basically my tiny wallet inspector.
I got there first with Jaya, who was busy interrogating a croissant like it owed her lunch money. She had one shoe off, blue juice spilled on her yellow green new dress, and was currently feeding a sugar packet to a plush rabbit.
Location: Café Très Pretensieux
Okay, I know I just made it up, but yes, I'm acting like the real Catherine now as I looked at the place with regal mama eyes. (A place that charged £11 for toast and had a chandelier in the bathroom)
Perfect chaos energy. Mylene arrived next—fresh-faced, hair blown out, zero under-eye bags like she slept on clouds woven by angels. “The nanny,” she said, sipping an oat milk matcha like it cured diseases, “is a gift from the gods. I even shaved both legs this morning.”
“Show-off,” I muttered, digging for a wet wipe.
Then came Jhing Jhing, Ivy in tow, pushing a stroller with one hand and a portable smart fridge manual in the other.
She looked like she hadn't slept since 2003. “Ivy hacked my fridge,” she announced dramatically. “Now it tells me what kind of mood I’m in based on how many times I open the door.”
Mylene blinked. “You okay?”
“No. The knock knock fridge said I’m emotionally unstable and suggested soup. The washing machine agrees.”
We ordered overpriced green lattes of koreans, one babyccino, and a £9 muffin we all stared at in silence because it looked too pretty to eat and yet not good enough to justify its rent.
I leaned in, swirling my coffee. “Okay. I may have lit Leon’s cigar at the school drop-off line yesterday.”
Mylene froze mid-sip. “You didn’t.”
Jhing Jhing gasped. “The Arturo Fuente?!”
“Yep.”
Even Jaya blinked at me. Ivy sneezed like it was timed.
I leaned back. “Alec’s men were watching. I made sure. I even did the lean.”
Mylene shrieked into her coffee cup. “OH MY GOD YOU DID THE LEON LEAN? The one with the hip pop?”
“With the lip twitching.”
“Bitch. You are bold.”
“Terrifying,” Jhing Jhing muttered, eyes wide with reverence. “Alec’s probably chewing drywall.”
“Good.”
I grinned and broke a muffin in half like it was a declaration of war.
“I want him obsessed,” I said. “I want him to see me and think, ‘is it Catherine or the brother I want to murdere after high school biology class?’”
Mylene raised her hand. “We need more breadcrumbs.”
“More ghost echoes,” Jhing Jhing agreed.
“Okay, okay,” Mylene tapped her phone. “How about this. You show up somewhere only Leon would go. Like—”
“His private cigar lounge?” Jhing Jhing supplied.
“Ooh. With a whiskey bottle signed by Leon’s ex-accountant.”
We cackled.
“OR,” Mylene said, slapping the table, “borrow his old cologne. The Guerlain Homme one.”
“Jesus,” I said. “That smell would haunt a man.”
Jhing Jhing leaned in. “Do you have any old recordings of Leon?”
“Yes, I asked the cousin of a friend that knows a friend who has a friend that knows about Leon…”
I am THE recording.
“Lovely.” They shrieked again.
“Also,” I added sweetly, “I changed my ringtone to ‘Dancing Queen.’ The one Leon used to play on repeat before he sent people to the afterlife.”
The table fell silent in reverent chaos.
“Girl.” Mylene whispered. “How the hell did you get such intel? Are you sure you’re not selling your soul to the devil?”
“You’re unhinged.” Jhing Jhing clutched her latte.
I grinned. “Of course not.” I am the devil….with pink sass.
The waiter came to drop off the bill, visibly afraid of the sheer estrogen-based anarchy at the table.
“Tip’s already paid,” I smiled, slipping him a hundred-pound note and a wink.
“Sorry about the kids’ crumbs,” Mylene added as Jaya kicked sugar packets across the floor.
The man nodded like he’d survived a war.
We left in chaotic silence—heels clicking, strollers wobbling, muffin crumbs trailing us like a warning sign.
Then.
We laughed, loud and unfiltered.
The kind of laughter that rolls from your ribs when you know someone else is suffering far away, probably curling into a silk-lined corner of their expensive shame.
But even as I laughed, even as I sipped the perfect pink water bottle of war, I could feel it crawling just beneath my skin.
A hollow rage. Deep. Personal. I hated Alec. I hated that I was breathing the same air as him. That after everything he had taken, everything he had destroyed, he still dared to exist.
He should’ve been dust by now.
Forgotten. Like a bad name in a worse dream.
But no.
He was still here.
And somewhere, not far from this overpriced café, Alec Darrow was probably screaming into a pillow stuffed with guilt, vintage goose feathers, and Chanel No. 5.
Just as I intended.
And it was only Thursday.
Me: Emergency brunch. Expensive coffee. Bring chaos. No kids. Except Jaya, because she's basically my tiny wallet inspector.
I got there first with Jaya, who was busy interrogating a croissant like it owed her lunch money. She had one shoe off, blue juice spilled on her yellow green new dress, and was currently feeding a sugar packet to a plush rabbit.
Location: Café Très Pretensieux
Okay, I know I just made it up, but yes, I'm acting like the real Catherine now as I looked at the place with regal mama eyes. (A place that charged £11 for toast and had a chandelier in the bathroom)
Perfect chaos energy. Mylene arrived next—fresh-faced, hair blown out, zero under-eye bags like she slept on clouds woven by angels. “The nanny,” she said, sipping an oat milk matcha like it cured diseases, “is a gift from the gods. I even shaved both legs this morning.”
“Show-off,” I muttered, digging for a wet wipe.
Then came Jhing Jhing, Ivy in tow, pushing a stroller with one hand and a portable smart fridge manual in the other.
She looked like she hadn't slept since 2003. “Ivy hacked my fridge,” she announced dramatically. “Now it tells me what kind of mood I’m in based on how many times I open the door.”
Mylene blinked. “You okay?”
“No. The knock knock fridge said I’m emotionally unstable and suggested soup. The washing machine agrees.”
We ordered overpriced green lattes of koreans, one babyccino, and a £9 muffin we all stared at in silence because it looked too pretty to eat and yet not good enough to justify its rent.
I leaned in, swirling my coffee. “Okay. I may have lit Leon’s cigar at the school drop-off line yesterday.”
Mylene froze mid-sip. “You didn’t.”
Jhing Jhing gasped. “The Arturo Fuente?!”
“Yep.”
Even Jaya blinked at me. Ivy sneezed like it was timed.
I leaned back. “Alec’s men were watching. I made sure. I even did the lean.”
Mylene shrieked into her coffee cup. “OH MY GOD YOU DID THE LEON LEAN? The one with the hip pop?”
“With the lip twitching.”
“Bitch. You are bold.”
“Terrifying,” Jhing Jhing muttered, eyes wide with reverence. “Alec’s probably chewing drywall.”
“Good.”
I grinned and broke a muffin in half like it was a declaration of war.
“I want him obsessed,” I said. “I want him to see me and think, ‘is it Catherine or the brother I want to murdere after high school biology class?’”
Mylene raised her hand. “We need more breadcrumbs.”
“More ghost echoes,” Jhing Jhing agreed.
“Okay, okay,” Mylene tapped her phone. “How about this. You show up somewhere only Leon would go. Like—”
“His private cigar lounge?” Jhing Jhing supplied.
“Ooh. With a whiskey bottle signed by Leon’s ex-accountant.”
We cackled.
“OR,” Mylene said, slapping the table, “borrow his old cologne. The Guerlain Homme one.”
“Jesus,” I said. “That smell would haunt a man.”
Jhing Jhing leaned in. “Do you have any old recordings of Leon?”
“Yes, I asked the cousin of a friend that knows a friend who has a friend that knows about Leon…”
I am THE recording.
“Lovely.” They shrieked again.
“Also,” I added sweetly, “I changed my ringtone to ‘Dancing Queen.’ The one Leon used to play on repeat before he sent people to the afterlife.”
The table fell silent in reverent chaos.
“Girl.” Mylene whispered. “How the hell did you get such intel? Are you sure you’re not selling your soul to the devil?”
“You’re unhinged.” Jhing Jhing clutched her latte.
I grinned. “Of course not.” I am the devil….with pink sass.
The waiter came to drop off the bill, visibly afraid of the sheer estrogen-based anarchy at the table.
“Tip’s already paid,” I smiled, slipping him a hundred-pound note and a wink.
“Sorry about the kids’ crumbs,” Mylene added as Jaya kicked sugar packets across the floor.
The man nodded like he’d survived a war.
We left in chaotic silence—heels clicking, strollers wobbling, muffin crumbs trailing us like a warning sign.
Then.
We laughed, loud and unfiltered.
The kind of laughter that rolls from your ribs when you know someone else is suffering far away, probably curling into a silk-lined corner of their expensive shame.
But even as I laughed, even as I sipped the perfect pink water bottle of war, I could feel it crawling just beneath my skin.
A hollow rage. Deep. Personal. I hated Alec. I hated that I was breathing the same air as him. That after everything he had taken, everything he had destroyed, he still dared to exist.
He should’ve been dust by now.
Forgotten. Like a bad name in a worse dream.
But no.
He was still here.
And somewhere, not far from this overpriced café, Alec Darrow was probably screaming into a pillow stuffed with guilt, vintage goose feathers, and Chanel No. 5.
Just as I intended.
And it was only Thursday.
End of REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS Chapter 54. Continue reading Chapter 55 or return to REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS book page.