Chapter 1
On the day my divorce was finalized and I was forced out with nothing, my ex-husband, Peter Harrison, completely lost his mind. He began hurling my belongings one by one over the second-floor balcony, screaming that I was a shameless gold digger.
"You lived off my dime and slept under my roof, and now you think you're entitled to my house in the settlement," he roared, his face contorting with rage. "Get the hell out."
I reached down to pick up a shattered picture frame from the pavement just as a black Bentley pulled up to the curb. A cold, commanding voice cut through the chaos.
"What is all this noise?" Bryce Harrison asked. "Do you think making a scene like this is a good look?"
Peter's bravado vanished instantly. "Bryce, what are you doing here?" he stammered.
I clenched my fists, fixing my eyes on Bryce, who was stepping out of the car. He was Peter's older brother, the same person who had handed me the keys to this very estate years ago with a smile.
He ignored Peter entirely and looked straight at me. "Your name is the only one on the deed," he said calmly. "Peter is the one who needs to leave."
Keeping silent, I simply pulled out my phone and dialed the security guards.
*****
Security arrived quickly. Four guards were holding riot batons. The captain recognized Peter, and he recognized me. He looked torn.
"Mr. Harrison, Mrs. Harrison," he began, "what seems to be the..."
Peter acted as if his savior had arrived, pointing a finger at me. "You're just in time. Get this shameless woman out of here. She's trying to steal my house."
The captain's eyes flickered between me, Peter, and Bryce, finally settling on Bryce. "Mr. Bryce Harrison," he said, "what would you like us to do?"
Bryce didn't even give him a direct look. He strode toward me, his tall frame casting a long shadow that completely enveloped me.
"Michelle Green, this is your house," Bryce said. His voice was low and devoid of emotion, yet it carried an undeniable weight of authority. "You can have anyone you want removed."
A tighter grip on the phone sent nails biting into my palms. Refusing to show a hint of weakness, I lifted my head to meet his gaze, and my voice was as cold as ice. "I don't want to see either of them."
I turned to the security captain. "Please escort him off the premises," I said calmly, gesturing toward Peter. "He's trespassing and destroying my personal property. If he refuses to cooperate, I'll call the police."
Peter lost it completely. He lunged at me, trying to grab the collar of my shirt. "Michelle, you bitch. You bought this house with my money, and now you have the nerve to kick me out?"
Bryce's arm shot out, effortlessly blocking Peter. He grabbed Peter's wrist and, with a slight squeeze, had his younger brother crying out in pain.
"Bryce, let go," Peter yelped. "Are you really siding with an outsider against me?"
Bryce's voice was even colder now. "She's not an outsider. She's your ex-wife."
The words hung in the air, stunning everyone into silence, including me. I stared at Bryce's broad back, a suffocating pain tightening in my chest.
In three years of marriage, I had always been an outsider to the Harrison family. Hearing those words, "your ex-wife," from Bryce's lips now felt like the cruelest irony.
The guards snapped out of their stupor and moved in, restraining the still-struggling Peter.
"Let go of me," he bellowed. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
His shouts faded as they dragged him out of the gate. Finally, the world was quiet. I bent down, reaching for the shattered picture frame. A hand with long fingers got there first, picking up the largest piece.
It was Bryce. He stared at the black-and-white photograph of my late mother on the shard, keeping silent for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I snatched the piece from his hand, unwilling to witness his performance of compassion. "Bryce, I don't need your apologies or your sympathy. So you can drop the benevolent act and take your entire family and disappear from my life," I said, turning to leave.
His hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His palm was hot, his grip feeling surprisingly strong. "Michelle, just listen to me," he said.
"I have nothing to say to you," I shot back, struggling against his hold, but it was useless.
"There's a lot you don't know," he insisted. "About this house and about Peter."
I let out a cold laugh. "And why would I need to know? We're divorced."
My phone vibrated. It was a text from Peter: [Bitch, you think this is over? Let me tell you, the game is just getting started. I'm going to ruin you.]