When I arrived at our estate in the gated community of Laurel Heights, I did not walk in as a grieving wife.
I entered as the sole owner of the property and the woman who held all the power.
I changed into a sharp white suit and called my lead attorney, requesting private security for the property.
Then I instructed the staff to pack every single one of Caleb’s belongings into boxes and place them neatly by the front gate.
Two hours later, Caleb arrived in a taxi, disheveled and sweating through his expensive linen shirt.
His parents followed in another car, though I noticed that Tessa was nowhere to be seen.
Caleb rushed to the iron gate and began shaking it furiously.
“Open this gate right now, Lydia, because this is my home and you have no right to lock me out,” he shouted.
I walked slowly down the driveway, holding a thick black folder.
“Actually, Caleb, this house belongs to a holding company that was established long before we met,” I said calmly.
I reminded him that he had never bothered to read the legal documents he signed.
Margot pushed forward and pointed a finger through the bars.
“You are an ungrateful child, especially after my son gave you his prestigious name and a place in society,” she hissed.
I met her gaze without hesitation.
“The only thing your son gave me was a list of debts, while I gave him a life of luxury he could never have earned,” I replied.
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