Chapter 4

I glanced at Yara, sprawled on the floor, throwing a fit, then at the wall smeared with lipstick marks Briar had left behind. At that moment, whatever patience I had left finally snapped.

I walked over and picked up a few tubes of makeup Yara had wrecked, scattered across the floor.

"This lipstick? Tom Ford, discontinued shade. That's a cool 1,200 dollars," I said.

"And this serum? La Mer, brand new. That's 1,700 dollars," I added.

"And this wall? Eldorian designer paint. Fixing it is gonna cost me 35,000 dollars," I continued.

I tossed the broken lipstick tube right in front of Yara.

"Now, you've got two choices," I said.

"Option one: Get the hell out of here right now, and I'll let this slide for now.

"Option two: Stick around, and I'll call the cops. Theft and vandalism, big-time. You'll be making license plates for years."

My voice was calm, but Yara's face went ghostly pale in an instant.

She knew I wasn't messing around.

I had both the money and the power to put them away for good.

Just then, I heard neighbors sticking their heads out into the hallway, curious about all the commotion.

The noise was so loud that everyone on the floor was stirred up.

With dozens of residents from the building watching, the Ashford women were finally dragged out of my place by security, like they were nothing but trash.

I chucked their luggage, along with all those shoes that weren't even theirs, one by one out the window from the 28th floor.

Thud! Thud!

The sound of suitcases crashing onto the lawn below was dull, but weirdly satisfying.

"Jolie! You vicious witch! You'll get what's coming to you!" Margaret's curses drifted up from downstairs, shrill and distant.

I shut the door, cutting off all the noise from outside.

Then I pulled out my phone and found the number for the best locksmith in town.

"Hello? I need a new lock. Now. Immediately. The top-of-the-line fingerprint lock, the kind I can manage remotely, add or delete access whenever I want," I said.

An hour later, the brand-new smart lock was installed.

I added my own fingerprint, then opened the access list and found Caleb's name.

I looked at his name and, without a second's hesitation, hit delete.

Ding—His fingerprint was gone.

From this moment on, this home had nothing to do with him anymore.

Early the next morning, I got a call from the front desk at the company.

"Ms. Jolie, there's a commotion downstairs... Some people are calling your name and making a scene," the receptionist sounded nervous and awkward.

I strolled over to the big window and glanced down. Sure enough, those familiar faces I couldn't stand were right there.

Caleb showed up with his sniveling parents and a few guys who looked like his coworkers.

They were right at the entrance of my company building, unfurling a huge white banner with bold black letters.

The banner read: "Violent Wife Beats Husband, Disrespects In-Laws—Unforgivable!"

The words were so huge and dramatic, it was honestly ridiculous.

Margaret was on the ground, making a huge scene—dramatically slapping her thighs and wailing to the crowd, rattling off my so-called "crimes" for everyone to hear.

Caleb, his face still puffy from the beating, put on his best wounded expression, milking the sympathy from his oh-so-concerned coworkers.

Every so often, he'd turn to the onlookers and start whining, acting like some pitiful husband being tormented by a rich woman.

[Warning! Your reputation is tanking! Public image in shambles! Get down on your knees and apologize now. Fix this before it's too late!]

The system alerts were blaring in urgent red, flashing across my vision like crazy.

Seriously? They expected me to kneel and apologize?

I stared down at their ridiculous performance and let out a cold, angry laugh.

I went back to my desk and grabbed the office intercom.

"Have security set up a projector and screen in the lobby, hook it up to my phone. And send word to every department, cancel this morning's meetings. We're turning the whole thing into a front-row seat for the drama," I said.

A few minutes later, I donned a custom-tailored couture suit.

Wearing ten-centimeter heels, I strode into the company lobby, surrounded by top executives and bodyguards.

The lobby was already packed with employees and passersby, all eager to watch the drama unfold.

When Caleb saw me step out, he thought I'd finally caved. That smug grin instantly took over his face.

He shoved his way through the crowd, swaggering up to me like he was some kind of saint, acting all high and mighty.

"Jolie, scared now, huh? Well, it's too late! But since we were married, I'll give you a shot," he said.

He cleared his throat and cranked up his volume, making sure everyone could hear him.

"Just unfreeze my card, then get on your knees and give my mom a proper kowtow, admit you were wrong, and maybe I'll let it slide, just this once!" he shouted for the whole lobby to hear.

His coworkers jumped right in, making a scene and egging him on.

"Come on, Caleb treats you so well! Just swallow your pride and let it go!" one of them shouted.

"Every couple has its rough patches. Don't let things get ugly," another chimed in.

I looked at Caleb's smug, triumphant grin and didn't even bother to give him the time of day.

I simply lifted my hand.

Immediately, the security guards behind me dropped the huge projection screen, setting it up right in front of the lobby's glass wall.