And they weren’t guests.
I answered calmly on the fourth ring.
“Who the hell is at my house?” he shouted.
I leaned back in my chair while the ink dried beside me.
“Those would be representatives for the new owners,” I replied evenly. “You shouldn’t leave them waiting.”
Silence.
Then panic.
“You can’t do this!”
I almost smiled.
“Can’t?” I repeated softly. “Interesting word.”
Then I told him the truth he should’ve remembered long ago.
“I had every legal right to sell it. The same right I had when I bought it. The same right I still had yesterday… when you hit me thirty times in a house that never belonged to you.”
His breathing changed instantly.
“You’re bluffing,” he whispered.
“I already signed the papers.”
And then I hung up.
By sunset, his entire world was collapsing.
The locks were being replaced.
The household staff was confused.
The illusion was dead.
But the mansion was only the beginning.
Because once investigators started digging, they discovered Ryan had been using the property as proof of personal wealth to impress investors and secure partnerships.
A mansion he didn’t legally own.
Without it, the image he built began crumbling overnight.
That evening, he stormed into my apartment furious and desperate.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.
I stared at him calmly.
“You hit your father thirty times,” I replied. “And somehow I’m the villain?”
He immediately started justifying it.
Claimed I provoked him.
Claimed I embarrassed him.
Claimed I pushed too far.
That was the exact moment something inside me finally died permanently.
“What do you want from me?” he snapped.
I looked him straight in the eye.
“I want you out of that house by Friday,” I said quietly. “I want you to face every consequence you earned. And I want you to remember every number from one to thirty before you ever raise your hand at another human being again.”
Within a week, everything collapsed.
