As Spencer callously stretched his metal tape measure across the doorframe of the nursery, entirely ignoring my sleeping child inside, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw the heavy ceramic mug at Carla’s perfectly styled head and demand she get out of my house.

I simply took a slow, deliberate sip of my cold, bitter coffee.

The suffocating, agonizing grief in my chest instantly froze into jagged, brilliant shards of absolute, calculating rage. I looked at the legal folder on the counter, realizing that Carla wasn’t handing me an eviction notice. She was handing me the blueprint for her own total annihilation.

“Okay, Carla,” I whispered, my voice completely dead. “Have your lawyer set up the meeting.”

Chapter 2: The Gold Mine

Two days later. The conference room of Carla’s high-priced downtown legal counsel was a masterclass in intimidation.

The room was perched on the fortieth floor, encased in floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a dizzying, arrogant view of the city skyline. The air was thick with the smell of heavy legal paper, polished mahogany, and Carla’s cloying, expensive floral perfume.