I slowly opened the door, only to find him standing there with a dark, furious face, surrounded by four men in black who all radiated hostility.
Oliver gave me this smug, entitled look.
"Therese," he sneered, "did you really think hiding out at home was going to save you?"
Without waiting for me to say a thing, he pushed past me and barged into the house like he owned it.
I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed, not even bothering to stop him.
He stalked through the living room, eyes scanning everything—the marble sculptures on the shelves, the antique porcelain, the calligraphy, the paintings.
With each glance, Oliver's expression grew more sour.
"Huh," he finally scoffed. "Now it makes sense. No wonder you had the nerve to max out my card. Guess you've had some top-tier sugar daddies coaching you all this time."
He pointed toward a shelf, a familiar mocking grin spreading across his face.
"How many men did you scam to fill this place up like a damn museum?"
I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
Then Oliver strutted over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain teacup as if it were a dirty sock, and sneered.