Page 1 of Her Puck Daddies

Chapter 1

AVA

I’ve spent my life avoiding trouble. The moment voices sharpened with anger, whether it was my mom or one of her sketchy, pot-dealing friends, I disappeared. Slipping under the bed, tucking myself into a closet, pressing into any shadowed corner that could swallow me whole. Out of sight, out of harm’s way.

I learned early that chaos was a storm best dodged. In fifth grade, when a food fight exploded in the cafeteria, kids hurled mashed potatoes and milk cartons with wild delight. But I didn’t join in. I ducked beneath the table, arms wrapped around my knees, waiting for the storm to pass. Senior pranks in high school? Count me out. I wasn’t the kid who laughed at detention stories—I was the one who made sure I’d never have one to tell.

I never look for chaos, but somehow, chaos always finds me. Like a bloodhound with my scent locked in its nose, it tracks me, relentless and unyielding.

And right now, trouble is waiting for me on my phone screen.

Voicemails. Texts. Emails. A furious flood, all from Dean “Dino” Masters, the man I was stupid enough to marry at nineteen and the one I’ve just served with divorce papers. His words reeked of desperation, but nothing could erase the fact that Dean was never a real man—just a lying, cheating coward who mistook manipulation for love. Maybe if I’d had a dad around, I’d have known what a real man looked like. But I didn’t. So, I fell for the first one who pretended to be.

Dean refuses to let go, stubbornly clinging to the idea that I haven’t really walked away. I’ve muted his notifications now, something I should’ve done after the first few enraged messages he sent. Hell, if I’d been smarter, I would have seen this coming and cut him off the moment I smeared my good riddance message across his office windows.

But for the first time in a long time, I’m not drowning in regret.

Because the words I left him with? They will always be mine.

‘DEAN MASTERS HAS THE TINIEST OF COCKS.’

Even now, I can’t help but smile at the thought of those words stretched across the pristine glass façade of the Effortless Massage and Tranquility Center, his beloved business… where I was also his employee. A bold, white-lettered truth bomb, impossible to ignore.

Does he deserve it? Without a doubt, even if it’s not true. His cock is perfectly average, but I don’t care. He earned that insult, not just for the years of verbal abuse that stripped me down until I barely recognized myself. Not for the weeks of unpaid work, his desperate attempt to keep me tethered and powerless. No. What sealed his fate was the moment I walked in on him, balls deep in a client, her body tangled with his in a mess of betrayal and sweat.

Did he really think he could screw her in our place of work and never get caught? That I wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t feel the final, breaking snap of the rope he’d tied around my throat?

Seeing him like that didn’t break me.

It set me free.

The weight I carried for too long shattered, and its place rose something sharper, stronger. I had been suffocating in his lies, drowning in his deceit. But now, I could finally breathe. And with that first, liberating exhale came the sweet taste of revenge.

Yes, some might call scrawling that message in white shoe polish childish. Maybe I didn’t have to sink to his level. Maybe it threw gasoline on an already raging fire.

But dammit, it was my battle cry.

Because not only are those words about him. They’re about me. Reclaiming the power he stole from me, piece by piece, over the past two years. And I’d be an idiot to think he’d be any different for the next woman. Men like him don’t change. So, in a way, that message wasn’t just mine. It was a warning, a shield for the next woman in line, the next victim he’d try to break.

I can still hear his insults and cruel words. What started out as underhanded comments became gaslighting and worse.

“These shirts don’t smell like they should. Did you even bother to add the goddamn detergent?”

“What? You’re too stupid and fat to make the bed right? The comforter goesoverthe pillows, notunder.”

“What part of lightly toasted bread don’t you understand? You’re burning it deliberately, aren’t you, you selfish cunt. Do it again. I dare you.”

This was my soon-to-be ex-husband’s specialty—keeping me trapped in a cycle of fear, keeping me constantly on edge. When you’re afraid of the person you share a home with, nothing feels safe. You forget what it’s like to eat without a knot in your stomach, to take a shower without flinching at the sound of footsteps. Even bedtime, your supposed refuge, becomes abattlefield, because how do you sleep next to someone whose rage is always waiting to ignite?

So when I wrote those words on his office windows, it wasn’t just an act of defiance. It was an exorcism, purging all my demons at once.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t the one shrinking.Hewas.

Because Dean Masters no longer controls me. No longer dictates my fear, my choices, my life. I am no longer his to intimidate, no longer his to manipulate.

And damn, does that feel good.

Besides, within the next few minutes, I’ll being leaving Newark for good.