Chapter 3

She stepped aside and motioned for me to come in. I hesitated for a moment, then walked in anyway. The second I stopped in the entryway, I froze. The apartment had changed. Completely.

The open kitchen I'd spent four months designing was gone. The warm wood partition wall I'd picked out myself from online photos and had custom built was gone. The wall between the study and the kid's room was gone too.

In their place stood a solid gray wall, brutally dividing the once-open living and dining area in two.

The study and children's room had been opened into one enormous walk-in closet, filled with clothes and bags.

The oak-colored floor had been replaced with gray marble, icy underfoot like the floor of a shopping mall.

A giant curved sofa faced a wall-sized projection screen, while a Dyson air purifier hummed beside it.

Sophie asked proudly, "Looks nice, right? My boyfriend's designer spent three months on it. The marble floor alone cost over 13,000 dollars."

I said nothing.

I walked up to that solid wall and reached out to touch it. Gray paint. Smooth, cold, hard. "You tore out my kitchen," I said. My voice was so calm it sounded wrong even to me.

"Open kitchens trap too much smoke. It's not good for a kid," she said lightly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Besides, my boyfriend works in construction. He had connections. We got everything at cost. It didn't even cost that much."

"You tore down my wall."

"That wall was ugly. All that wood made the place look cheap."

"You turned my study into a closet."

"You never lived here anyway. The study would've just stayed empty. I needed a closet. I have a lot of clothes."

Every word out of her mouth tightened something inside me. "Sophie Lane," I said, using her full name, "you did all of this without my permission."

She turned to face me. The tear tracks on her face had not yet dried, but her expression had changed. She was no longer the pitiful single mother from moments ago, but a calm woman with an almost provocative air.

"I lived here rent-free for more than a year, but I spent 173,000 dollars improving this place. Instead of thanking me, you criticize me. Is that fair?"

"When I let you move in, we agreed you wouldn't pay rent. I never asked you to renovate. Tearing down my walls, changing the layout, replacing my floors—you did all of that without authorization. Legally, that's called—"

"What do you call it? Infringement?" She gave a faint, subtle smile, yet it was enough for me to clearly see the curve of her lips—the smile of someone certain she had already won.

"Emily, you still think law controls everything. Haven't you realized some things cannot be governed by legal rules?"

"Like what?"

"People's hearts." She pointed out the window. "Go ask the neighbors in this building. Ask the management office. Ask the parents at Max's preschool. In their eyes, who do you think owns this place?"

My heart sank.

"I paid the management fees, joined community events, and worked with the residents' committee. I know everyone here, while no one knows you."

I finally understood.

This was not an impulse. It was a carefully planned campaign carried out step by step.

She changed the locks to keep me out.

She renovated it to make the apartment look like hers.

She paid fees and joined community groups to establish herself as the owner in everyone's mind.

The rumors, tears, and single-mother image were all preparation for the day I tried to take my apartment back.

From the beginning, she had never intended to return it.

"Sophie," I said, steadier than I expected, "I'm asking you one more time. Whose apartment is this?"

She looked at me without answering. The air purifier hummed, and cold sunlight reflected off the gray marble.

Then she smiled.

Sophie said, "Emily, leave. Call before coming next time. This is my home, and I dislike uninvited guests."

"Your home?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin. "My home."

In that moment, everything I'd believed about friendship for the past fourteen years shattered like glass.