Chapter 7 - The Desperate Corner
Two weeks later, the Miller family estate—a sprawling twenty-acre property with a thirty-room Mediterranean-style mansion—was officially transferred back into my name by court order.
The grand iron gates, which had once been locked against me, swung open as my simple sedan pulled up the long, winding drive. Chloe sat in the back seat, staring out the window at the manicured lawns and fountains with wide, curious eyes.
"Is this where we live now, Mommy?" Chloe asked quietly.
"It’s our house now, sweetie," I said, turning off the ignition. "Your grandfather built this for us."
As we walked up the front marble steps, a car pulled into the driveway behind us.
It wasn't the police or Logan. It was Mark—my ex-husband.
He stepped out of his sports car, wearing a rumpled suit, looking pale and desperate. The man who had abandoned me three years ago, who had called me "worthless" and stripped me of my dignity in divorce court, walked toward me with his hands raised in surrender.
"Nora!" Mark called out, his voice cracking. "Nora, please! You have to talk to me!"
I pulled Chloe behind my back, my posture immediately going rigid. "Get off my property, Mark. You have no right to be here."
"Nora, listen!" Mark pleaded, coming to a halt at the bottom of the steps. "The FBI came to my house yesterday! They’re freezing my accounts! They know about the five hundred thousand dollars Evelyn paid me! They’re threatening to charge me with conspiracy and perjury!"
"You took money to ruin my life, Mark," I said, my voice dripping with cold disgust. "You abandoned your own daughter for a paycheck from Vanessa."
"I was stupid! They manipulated me!" Mark cried, taking a step up the stairs. "Evelyn told me if I didn't help them, she’d make sure I never worked in this city again! I did it because I was scared! Nora, please... we were married for five years. Think of Chloe! You can't let them put her father in prison!"
Chloe stepped out from behind me. She looked at her father—the man who hadn't called her on her birthday, who hadn't visited her once in three years.
"You aren't my father," Chloe said, her small voice ringing out sharp and clear in the open air. "My mommy took care of me. You took Grandma’s dirty money."
Mark froze, looking at our eight-year-old daughter as if struck in the face.
"You heard her," I said, holding Mark’s trembling gaze. "If you ever come near my daughter or my property again, I won't just let the FBI handle you—I will use every million I have to make sure you get the maximum sentence possible. Get out."
Mark opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of heavy engines interrupted him. Two black security SUVs belonging to Vance Security pulled up right behind his car. Four imposing guards stepped out, standing quietly by the doors, waiting for my signal.
May you like
Mark looked at the guards, looked at the massive estate behind me, and finally realized that the helpless woman he had discarded was gone forever.
Without another word, he turned, got back into his car, and sped away down the driveway.
