Chapter 24
Jaya’s birthday was coming.
And I was not okay. I stood in the middle of my very clean, very beige living room, holding a pink unicorn paper plate with shaking hands and muttering like I’d just been asked to plan the Olympics.
“A party?” I mumbled to myself. “With… balloons? Kids? Games?”
I was sweating like a fugitive in a TSA line.
I had faced global smugglers, buried weapons in dead zones, laundered millions across continents with nothing but a flip phone and a lipstick knife — but this?
This was parental hell.
“JHING!” I screamed into my phone like it was on fire. “I NEED HELP.”
She and Mylene arrived at my house in matching green Crocs and clipboards. They looked too serious, like it was about dead dinosaurs or something related to world peace.
“I got this,” Jhing Jhing said with military-grade confidence.
“First, color theme. Unicorns or dinosaurs?” Mylene asked, sipping a juice pouch she stole from my fridge.
“Can’t we just give the kids snacks and throw them in the backyard?”
They both stared at me like I had suggested sacrificing a puppy.
“NO.”
Next thing I knew, my house was covered in catalogs.
Balloon swatches.
Disney Theme sample books.
And Disney Cake testers.
“Cake comes in four tiers now?” I gasped. “It’s for a toddler! She eats crayons!”
Jhing Jhing didn’t blink. “Are you crazy? She’s your girl now. And your girl deserves a Disney cake the size of a smart car.”
“But…”
“No buts. Sure you can afford it, right?” Mylene asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it's a four layered Peppa Pig cake.”
Meanwhile, Jhing had created a guest list spreadsheet. There were tabs. Color codes. Backup RSVPs. I hadn’t used Excel since my alias hacked a Belgian bank.
I told the moms that my second lottery win helped fund the event.
“It wasn’t a lot. You know. Just enough for a small party. And a backup generator. And a face-painting clown imported from France.”
THE DAY OF THE PARTY
It was mayhem.
Pink Pig, Unicorns and dinosaurs had fused into one chaotic hybrid theme: “PIGUNICOSAUR MAYHEM” — a glitter-drenched apocalypse of cuteness. God. My head ached so much I could have used vodka but here I was, holding a pink little piggy cup with green blue liquid that tastes like wet cotton candy-sugar and diabetes.
The backyard had become a war zone of bouncy castles, bubble machines, and inflatable axolotls (I still don’t know why those were there). Mylene manned the face-painting table with a trembling brush.
Jhing Jhing was shouting in three languages, trying to herd kids away from the chocolate fountain and peanut butter sandwich.
I was dressed in a pastel blue and pink hoodie that said “PIGGY PARTY SQUAD” — I hated it.
My kitchen counters were buried under pink 60 juice boxes, 100 blue and green cupcakes, two coolers full of pink soda, and three platters of organic, gluten-free, soy-hugged, nut-free snacks that no child wanted. Cookies, nuts, chips, fries and I swear I saw candies the size of my head.
But the kids were having the time of their lives.
Jaya was screaming with joy, covered in rainbow cake, one shoe missing, riding a balloon pink piggy like a horse.
Aliya was trying to convince other girls to start a cult made of glitter glue and lollipops.
Maya had a face painted like a lion, roaring at every adult who came too close.
For once, the chaos was worth it.
Until he showed up.
It was close to sunset. The kids were winding down. The clown had just finished his final magic trick — pulling a rubber chicken from someone’s pants — when the front gate slammed open.
A tall man, shirt wrinkled, hair greasy, eyes glassy and wild, stormed in like he owned the place.
“JAAAAAAKE!” he bellowed.
A little boy holding a rainbow cupcake dropped it.
“Daddy?”
“I told you not to come!” the boy’s mother whispered, standing behind me, pale.
He marched across the yard, stinking of cheap whiskey and anger.
“You think I’m gonna let you steal my son?” he screamed, shoving through the crowd. “You rich pricks think I don’t matter?”
Parents froze. Kids whimpered.
And then—he slapped Mylene hard when she raised her brow at him.
Her face whipped sideways. She stumbled, holding her cheek in stunned silence. The bounce house deflated like a dying animal. Jaya screamed.
I blacked out for half a second. Because when I came to — I was already moving.
Like death wearing mom-pink jeans.
“Hey!” I roared.
He turned toward me, just as my fist collided with his jaw. A clean, sharp snap echoed through the backyard.
The crowd gasped.
“WHAT THE—?”
“You don’t touch my friend,” I growled, grabbing a bubble wand and smashing it across his shoulder. He tried to swing at me, but I ducked low — instinct and training kicking in.
My knee met his stomach.
He doubled over.
I grabbed a decorative balloon stand, spun, and smashed it across his back like I was in an underground gladiator match.
Kids were crying. One kid was cheering. I think it was mine.
He lunged again, swearing and bleeding from the lip.
But I sidestepped and—
POW!
—landed a roundhouse kick.
His body flew sideways, landing in the unicorn cake.
He didn’t get back up. The music stopped.
Silence fell. Then someone clapped.