Chapter 10 - The Eviction"You have fifteen minutes, Mr. Cole," Deputy Vance said, pulling a pair of timer cuffs from his belt and setting them on the entry table with a heavy clack. "You may pack one bag of personal clothing and essential toiletries. Mrs. Cole’s legal representation will arrange a supervised time for you to retrieve any personal property belonging exclusively to you at a later date."
"Fifteen minutes?!" Julian yelled, his composure breaking entirely into panicked hysteria. "Are you insane?! This is my life! All my things are here! My suits, my watch collection—"
"Fourteen minutes and thirty seconds," the deputy replied coldly, looking at his wristwatch. "If you are still inside this residence at twelve-fifteen, I will arrest you for violation of an active order of protection and criminal trespass."
"Sloan! Please!" Julian lunged toward me, his face twisted in a pathetic, desperate plea. "Sloan, talk to me! We can fix this! It was a mistake! I was stressed about Mom's birthday! I didn't mean to lock the door—it was an accident!"
"An accident?" Darcy scoffed, stepping into his path with her arms crossed. "You yelled 'Cook them or get out of my house' through an oak door, Mr. Cole. That's not an accident. That's a recorded confession."
Julian turned to the crowd of guests, his hands outstretched. "Please! Someone say something! This is a misunderstanding! Mrs. Gable, you know me!"
Mrs. Gable set her champagne glass down on the edge of the dining table with a sharp, disgusted click. She looked at Fiona, then at Julian, her lip curling in disdain.
"I think we should leave," Mrs. Gable announced to the room, grabbing her mink stole from the chair. "Come along, everyone. It seems the party is over."
Within two minutes, the twenty-five guests streamed toward the front door in a hushed, horrified rush, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Fiona as they exited into the private elevator lobby.
The social standing Fiona had spent a decade building—the illusion of aristocratic grace and wealth—was destroyed in front of the exact people whose admiration she craved.
"My party..." Fiona whimpered, sinking down onto the edge of the velvet sofa, her blue silk gown pooling around her like spilled paint. "My sixty dishes..."
"Get up, Fiona," I said, standing over her.
She looked up at me, her eyes red, filled with a mixture of hatred and absolute defeat.
"Deputy Vance," I said without looking away from her. "Does the protection order cover guests or family members assisting in unlawful occupation?"
"It covers anyone residing on the property without the primary owner's consent," the deputy stated clearly. "Mrs. Cole senior must vacate the premises alongside her son."
"You heard him," I told her softly. "You have twelve minutes to take your purse and get out of my home."
Julian rushed down the hallway toward the master bedroom, frantically pulling open drawers and jamming shirts into a duffel bag, his breathless panicking echoing off the high ceilings.
Fiona stood up slowly, her hands trembling so hard she could barely hold her leather handbag. She looked around the expansive, light-filled penthouse—the Italian marble, the sweeping view of Lake Michigan, the luxury she had claimed as her own for five long years.
May you like
"You're a monster," Fiona whispered, her voice venomous, though tears of humiliation spilled down her cheeks. "You ruined my son's life."
"No, Fiona," I replied, standing tall, my hands resting comfortably in the pockets of my wool coat. "Your son ruined his own life. I just stopped paying for it."
