REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 57: Chapter 57
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The butter was perfect. The pastry warm and crisp. And the coffee? Bitter. Sharp. Darker than the thoughts I had about Alec. Just like my brother’s heart—if he had one left at all.
The clouds above finally broke, sunlight slanting through the café’s crystal awning, casting golden bars over the marble table and glass teacups like divine prison stripes. The world lit up like it was proud of me. Proud of the ghost I had become. Proud of the game I was playing. I imagined the sun high-fiving a thundercloud while whispering, "Get him, girl."
“Let’s start Phase Six,” I said, my voice light, sugar-laced, but inside I was thrumming with something darker.
Rage. Vindication.
The taste of unfinished war on the back of my tongue.
“Which is?” Mylene asked, her diamond-crusted manicure tapping the table. Her hair—too glossy, too expensive, too victorious—bounced as she turned toward me. Everything about her screamed, I beat your casino, now I’m just playing for fun.
I grinned. It was slow.
Hungry.
Like a lion who smelled blood on the wind.
I wanted Alec unhinged. Confused. I wanted to slip into the edges of his mind and make him question every memory, every moment. I wanted him pacing his glass-walled office, whispering “Leon?” into the dark like a man haunted by a ghost he helped bury.
“Send him a bouquet,” I said, sliding my phone toward Jhing-Jhing who already had three florists saved under ‘Doom Petals.’
“Include Leon’s old signature card.” My voice lowered as I quoted it.
“To the brother who tried but failed. – L.D.”
Jaya cheered with her chocolate-smeared fingers high in the air like she just won a pageant. Ivy let out a heroic burp that echoed off the glass and made the influencer couple next to us grimace.
Outside, the weather had turned beautifully sinister. Sunshine pierced through gaps in the clouds like divine lasers aimed directly at Alec’s carefully constructed ego. A light breeze swirled the smell of freshly baked pastries, burned hopes, and the very real scent of caramelized pride. It was the perfect day for psychological warfare with a side of almond milk.
The moment Alec disappeared around the corner—his trench coat flapping like it was mad too—the café exhaled with me.
“Well, damn,” Mylene muttered, fanning herself with a café loyalty card she’d never use. “That man looked like he just saw your ghost… and married it… and the ghost took the house.”
I was still grinning, my croissant flaking triumphantly all over my overpriced leggings. “And again, Phase Five was now a success.”
“He looked pale,” Jhing-Jhing added.
“Like he just realized he was the side character in your revenge novel.”
“Mommy,” Jaya whispered, peering out the window, “is that man coming back with a bazooka?”
I blinked. “No, baby. That’s just how the poor man walks.”
Ivy, now using her marshmallows as poker chips to bribe the barista for extra whipped cream, snorted. “He looked like a farted secret.”
The table exploded in laughter.
Even the quiet barista, who’d been eavesdropping since Phase Two, chuckled behind the espresso machine.
The chaos resumed in waves.
Jaya tried to steal my lipstick. Ivy tried to climb the plant stand. Mylene was on her fourth coffee, eyes wide, heart rate matching the stock market.
Jhing-Jhing somehow FaceTimed her robot fridge to ask it how many eggs she had left. The fridge responded in a calm robotic tone: “Please stop buying organic air. You are over budget.”
We laugh so hard. It was refreshing. It was a good laugh.
Meanwhile, a man at the next table was furiously typing a screenplay titled “Love and Lattes: A Barista’s Reckoning” and paused only to look up at our table with the kind of wariness reserved for hurricanes and unpredictable divorcees.
I leaned in.
“Phase Six. It’s time.”
I grinned, reaching into my bag like a magician revealing the next trick. “The rose and the card.”
Mylene snapped her fingers. “Spray it with that cologne Leon used to wear! The one that smelled like sin and broken men!”
“Already done,” I said, sipping dark roast like it was vengeance.
Jaya, still sticky with cookies, saluted me like a tiny general.
Outside, the wind picked up.
Somewhere, Alec probably opened a window, saw the rose on his desk, and had to take his third anxiety pill of the morning.
He would never admit it—but the scent, the handwriting, the vibe—it would eat at him.
He would stay up all night reviewing handwriting samples.
He would call Mick or his ex-wife whatever.
He would interrogate florists. He would Google “can ghosts forge letters?” at 3 a.m. in his silent penthouse while staring at Leon’s last photo.
He would lose sleep. And maybe some hair.
And we?
We will be back here tomorrow, same café, same seat, same sugar-sticky kids—plotting the next phase.
The clouds above finally broke, sunlight slanting through the café’s crystal awning, casting golden bars over the marble table and glass teacups like divine prison stripes. The world lit up like it was proud of me. Proud of the ghost I had become. Proud of the game I was playing. I imagined the sun high-fiving a thundercloud while whispering, "Get him, girl."
“Let’s start Phase Six,” I said, my voice light, sugar-laced, but inside I was thrumming with something darker.
Rage. Vindication.
The taste of unfinished war on the back of my tongue.
“Which is?” Mylene asked, her diamond-crusted manicure tapping the table. Her hair—too glossy, too expensive, too victorious—bounced as she turned toward me. Everything about her screamed, I beat your casino, now I’m just playing for fun.
I grinned. It was slow.
Hungry.
Like a lion who smelled blood on the wind.
I wanted Alec unhinged. Confused. I wanted to slip into the edges of his mind and make him question every memory, every moment. I wanted him pacing his glass-walled office, whispering “Leon?” into the dark like a man haunted by a ghost he helped bury.
“Send him a bouquet,” I said, sliding my phone toward Jhing-Jhing who already had three florists saved under ‘Doom Petals.’
“Include Leon’s old signature card.” My voice lowered as I quoted it.
“To the brother who tried but failed. – L.D.”
Jaya cheered with her chocolate-smeared fingers high in the air like she just won a pageant. Ivy let out a heroic burp that echoed off the glass and made the influencer couple next to us grimace.
Outside, the weather had turned beautifully sinister. Sunshine pierced through gaps in the clouds like divine lasers aimed directly at Alec’s carefully constructed ego. A light breeze swirled the smell of freshly baked pastries, burned hopes, and the very real scent of caramelized pride. It was the perfect day for psychological warfare with a side of almond milk.
The moment Alec disappeared around the corner—his trench coat flapping like it was mad too—the café exhaled with me.
“Well, damn,” Mylene muttered, fanning herself with a café loyalty card she’d never use. “That man looked like he just saw your ghost… and married it… and the ghost took the house.”
I was still grinning, my croissant flaking triumphantly all over my overpriced leggings. “And again, Phase Five was now a success.”
“He looked pale,” Jhing-Jhing added.
“Like he just realized he was the side character in your revenge novel.”
“Mommy,” Jaya whispered, peering out the window, “is that man coming back with a bazooka?”
I blinked. “No, baby. That’s just how the poor man walks.”
Ivy, now using her marshmallows as poker chips to bribe the barista for extra whipped cream, snorted. “He looked like a farted secret.”
The table exploded in laughter.
Even the quiet barista, who’d been eavesdropping since Phase Two, chuckled behind the espresso machine.
The chaos resumed in waves.
Jaya tried to steal my lipstick. Ivy tried to climb the plant stand. Mylene was on her fourth coffee, eyes wide, heart rate matching the stock market.
Jhing-Jhing somehow FaceTimed her robot fridge to ask it how many eggs she had left. The fridge responded in a calm robotic tone: “Please stop buying organic air. You are over budget.”
We laugh so hard. It was refreshing. It was a good laugh.
Meanwhile, a man at the next table was furiously typing a screenplay titled “Love and Lattes: A Barista’s Reckoning” and paused only to look up at our table with the kind of wariness reserved for hurricanes and unpredictable divorcees.
I leaned in.
“Phase Six. It’s time.”
I grinned, reaching into my bag like a magician revealing the next trick. “The rose and the card.”
Mylene snapped her fingers. “Spray it with that cologne Leon used to wear! The one that smelled like sin and broken men!”
“Already done,” I said, sipping dark roast like it was vengeance.
Jaya, still sticky with cookies, saluted me like a tiny general.
Outside, the wind picked up.
Somewhere, Alec probably opened a window, saw the rose on his desk, and had to take his third anxiety pill of the morning.
He would never admit it—but the scent, the handwriting, the vibe—it would eat at him.
He would stay up all night reviewing handwriting samples.
He would call Mick or his ex-wife whatever.
He would interrogate florists. He would Google “can ghosts forge letters?” at 3 a.m. in his silent penthouse while staring at Leon’s last photo.
He would lose sleep. And maybe some hair.
And we?
We will be back here tomorrow, same café, same seat, same sugar-sticky kids—plotting the next phase.
End of REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS Chapter 57. Continue reading Chapter 58 or return to REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS book page.