Chapter 1
Jameson laughed out loud,
a harsh,
grating sound that echoed violently off the pristine,
custom marble walls of my beautiful kitchen.
"Are you completely delusional,"
he asked,
taking a heavy,
threatening step toward me,
his fists clenched tight at his sides.
"This is my house,
I bought it with the hard-earned money from my own business,
the exact same business you just saved from bankruptcy."
I slowly shook my head,
feeling a deep,
warm,
immensely satisfying sense of absolute control wash over my entire body.
"First of all,"
I whispered,
turning my cold,
unforgiving gaze toward his terrified mistress,
"take off my robe,
right now."
Brooke scoffed loudly,
rolling her heavily mascaraed,
fake-lashed eyes,
and wrapped her thin arms defensively around her chest.
"Or what,"
she challenged,
her voice trembling despite her brave,
arrogant attempt at defiance,
"are you going to call the local police on me for simply wearing some cheap,
tacky silk."
"It is vintage,
custom-made silk imported directly from Milan,"
I corrected her,
my voice remaining eerily,
dangerously calm,
"and if you do not remove it this exact second,
my private security team will forcefully remove it for you."
Brooke looked over at Jameson for support,
but he was suddenly completely distracted by the loud,
heavy sound of synchronized footsteps echoing from the main hallway.
Four massive,
intimidating men dressed in sharp,
tailored black suits entered my kitchen in perfect unison,
their professional expressions completely blank,
stoic,
and absolutely terrifying.
"Second,"
I continued smoothly,
completely ignoring the sudden,
choking panic spreading rapidly across my cheating husband's pale face,
"you do not own this house,
Jameson,
you never did."
His mother suddenly dropped the thick,
crumpled newspaper she was holding,
staring at me with wide,
horrified,
bulging eyes.
"What in the world are you talking about,"
Jameson demanded,
his voice suddenly shaking,
losing all of its previous,
arrogant confidence.
"The legal deed to this property is officially in the name of a private holding LLC,"
I explained patiently,
speaking slowly as if I were addressing a particularly slow,
foolish toddler,
"a highly secure company that I exclusively own,
manage,
and control entirely on my own."
Jameson staggered backward,
hitting his hip hard against the sharp edge of the marble island,
gasping for air as the devastating truth slowly began to sink in.
"You are legally recognized as a mere tenant,"
I smiled brightly,
"and I formally filed your immediate eviction papers over thirty days ago."
"That is completely illegal,"
his father shouted from the corner,
pointing a trembling,
wrinkled finger directly at my face.
"It is perfectly legal,"
I replied smoothly,
"especially since Jameson secretly forged my signature on a second mortgage application last year,
which legally nullified his non-existent equity in this estate."
The heavy,
May you like
suffocating silence in the room was suddenly broken by a sharp,
piercing sound.
