Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 180

Chapter 175: Make a choice

Logan’s POV

Another pause.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll file the response Monday. He replied as I nodded my head, relaxing a bit. Sedona thought she could do whatever she wanted and I would let her. She wouldn’t let me see her, refuse to talk to me, call hooligans she kept under the guise of them being self appointed bodyguard and she had the guts to fight for custody. I would show her why she should never mess with me.

“Good,” I said.

“Logan.” He paused one more time as if remembering something else as he spoke. “The stalking complaint is going to require a response too, they have already filed one and it’s registered in the database. We need to get ahead of that before it becomes-”

“I’ll call you Monday,” I said.

I ended the call.

Stood in the hallway.

She’d filed behind my back.

She was in Seattle getting better, building her life with her family and Dante Wells and whoever the second man was that I didn’t have a full picture of yet, but could clearly see was also an obstacle that I needed to take care of, and she’d filed a custody claim. She was trying to take Nick from me.

She’d been calling him. The card he’d made a card, he’d made a card in this house and hadn’t told me, had sent it to her without me knowing anything about it.

I thought about the call I’d had with him on the road in Seattle. Him asking if I’d found a way for them to talk, and me thinking he didn’t know she was reachable, me thinking she’d cut off all contact.

He’d known. He’d been calling her while I was in Seattle trying to find her. And he had refused to tell me that, that was why he wasn’t bothered or sad when I told him I wasn’t able to reach her and why he wanted me home. He was already communicating with her directly while I was struggling to get an audience with her.

I stood in the hallway with that.

She hadn’t wanted to see me at all.

But she’d called my son.

She’d called him and she’d sent him her number and they’d had three documented phone calls and now she had a lawyer and a filing and a stalking complaint with my name on it and medical records that Frank had apparently provided in support of her argument.

She’d been planning this while I was watching the house.

While I was sitting in the motel room trying to find the angle, trying to figure out what approach would work, she’d been assembling a legal case.

I thought about the garden.

The way she’d looked at me not angry, not broken, not the way I’d expected. Steady. Like someone who knew where they were going and wasn’t going to be moved from it by anything I said.

She’d known then.

She’d been building toward this already when I’d been standing in her parents’ garden trying to get her to come home.

I walked back into the kitchen.

Nick was still at the table with his tablet, the limited weekend screen time probably almost used up because he was terrible at tracking time. Mrs. Peterson’s sounds in the laundry room. The house doing its Sunday morning things.

Hooked at my son.

He was looking at me with Sedona’s eyes, which I’d always known and had never said to either of them. The way he took things in. The checking quality.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Come on. Screen time’s up.”

He didn’t argue, which meant he’d already clocked that the screen time was up and had been waiting for me to notice. He put the tablet on the counter and came to the table and sat down and asked if there was toast.

I made toast.

Stood at the counter while the bread went down, looking at the kitchen.

She’d been calling him. He’d been calling her.

And she thought she was going to get custody.

I’d refuse everything. Every term, every compromise, every arrangement she put forward. I’d fight it in Illinois, where the documents were filed, where I had home advantage, where her Seattle lawyers were operating in unfamiliar jurisdiction.

I was not losing my son.

Not to Sedona. Not to her lawyers. Not to a man I’d watched in a garden who moved with the specific confidence of someone who’d decided what he was there for.

The toast came up.

Nick asked for butter. I buttered the toast and handed it over to him while thinking about how Monday Morning would look like and the calls that I would have to make, and the fight I was going to have to prepare for.