Chapter 3 - The Influencer’s Morning
The sun rose crisp and golden over Elm Ridge, burning away the remnants of the storm.
In the master suite of the colonial home, Daniel Hayes woke up with a triumphant stretch. He rolled over, checked his Rolex on the nightstand, and chuckled to himself.
It was 7:30 AM. Emma had been out of the house for over ten hours.
He picked up his phone, fully expecting to see dozens of frantic missed calls, tearful text messages begging for forgiveness, and voicemail notifications pleading for him to open the door.
Instead, the screen was completely blank.
No calls. No messages.
Daniel scowled, tossing the phone onto the silk duvet. “Stubborn little bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see how long her pride lasts when her checking account starts hurting.”
He threw on an Italian cashmere robe and strolled downstairs, the rich aroma of hazelnut coffee wafting through the hall.
In the kitchen, Patricia was already presiding over the stove, wearing an apron embroidered with *Queen of the Castle*. Vanessa sat at the marble island, fully made up with ring lights mounted on tripods around her, broadcasting to her sixty thousand social media followers.
“Good morning, my successful boy!” Patricia beamed, placing a porcelain cup in front of him. “Did you sleep well knowing that ungrateful woman is finally learning her place?”
Daniel took a sip, leaning back against the cabinetry. “She hasn’t called yet. Probably sleeping in her car at a Walmart parking lot with the boy. She’ll come crawling back by noon on her knees.”
“Honestly, Dan, you should make her sign an agreement before you let her back inside,” Vanessa piped up, adjusting the angle of her camera to catch the morning sunlight. “Like, yesterday was so toxic. I was trying to film an aesthetic morning vlog, and she had the nerve to say I should carry my own plate? She completely ruined my engagement numbers for the evening.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Patricia crooned, stroking Vanessa’s highlighted hair. “When Emma crawls back, she’ll be doing all the laundry and serving breakfast in bed to make up for her insolence. She forgets that without your brother, she’d be living in a trailer park.”
“I’m cutting her allowance in half,” Daniel declared loudly, soaking in the adulation. “She needs to understand that everything in this house—every brick, every appliance, every luxury—belongs to me. I earned it. She’s merely a guest.”
Vanessa turned to her phone screen, flashing a practiced, pearly-white smile. “Hey, besties! Welcome to my morning routine in our family estate! Don’t you just love natural lighting in a million-dollar home? Drop a comment if you want a full house tour today!”
Just as Vanessa began demonstrating a five-step serum application, a loud, sharp knocking echoed through the house.
It wasn’t the hesitant tap of a defeated wife. It was heavy, rhythmic, and authoritative.
*BANG. BANG. BANG.*
Patricia frowned, holding her spatula in mid-air. “Is that her already? Don’t you dare open that door too quickly, Daniel. Let her wait on the porch for ten minutes so she remembers how cold it was.”
“No,” Daniel smirked, heading toward the foyer. “I want to see the look on her face right now. I want to see her broken.”
He strode to the double oak doors, unlocking the brass deadbolts with a flourish and pulling the door wide open, his practiced sneer ready.
“Well, Emma, have you finally decided to—”
Daniel’s voice died in his throat.
Standing on the porch was not a shivering, weeping woman.
Standing on the porch were two uniformed deputies from the County Sheriff’s Department, alongside a stone-faced man in a tailored charcoal suit holding a red-tabbed clipboard. Behind them in the circular driveway sat two heavy-duty industrial moving vans, an armed repossession truck, and a locksmith already pulling a set of power drills from a metal toolbox.
“Daniel Hayes?” the deputy on the left asked, his hand resting casually on his utility belt.
Daniel blinked, the color draining from his face. “Yes? What the hell is this? Do you know who I am?”
The man with the clipboard stepped forward, extending a crisp, blue-stamped packet of legal documents.
“Mr. Hayes, I represent Sovereign Asset Holdings. We are the legal representatives of the new property deed holder. As of 8:00 AM this morning, your license to occupy this residence has been formally revoked.”
The deputy stepped in, his voice cold and unyielding.
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“You have fifteen minutes to gather essential personal medications and clothing. Anyone remaining on the property after eight-fifteen will be arrested for criminal trespass.”
***
