Chapter 4 - The Mansion in Bel-Air
Ethan ran out of the corporate building like a madman, ignoring Chloe’s screams behind him.
He jumped into his Porsche and tore through the streets of Los Angeles, running red lights, his heart pounding in his throat like a jackhammer.
He couldn't go back to his Beverly Hills house—he knew now that the house had been purchased six years ago through a shell company controlled by Vanguard Holdings. The home he had boasted about, the $4.8 million estate he had claimed as proof of his self-made success, had been owned by Ava all along.
He drove straight to the gated gates of the Vance Estate in Bel-Air—a legendary twenty-acre compound surrounded by ten-foot stone walls that catered only to old-money royalty.
Ethan pulled his sports car up to the iron security gates and leaned out the window, frantically punching the call button.
“Open the gate! It’s Ethan Caldwell! I need to see my wife! Open the gate immediately!” he screamed into the intercom speaker.
A heavy security guard stepped out of the stone gatehouse, holding a clipboard and looking at Ethan with cold indifference.
“Mr. Caldwell,” the guard said through the iron bars. “You are currently trespassing on private property.”
“I’m her husband!” Ethan roared, slamming his palms against the iron bars. “Ava! Ava, I know you’re in there! Please! We need to talk! It’s all a big misunderstanding!”
Inside the gates, down the long winding driveway lined with ancient oak trees, a golf cart rolled up.
Arthur Vance stepped off the cart, holding an envelope. He walked slowly toward the iron gate, looking at Ethan like he was looking at garbage on the sidewalk.
“Arthur!” Ethan begged, sliding down to his knees on the wet pavement outside the gate. “Please, let me see her! I was wrong! I was stressed about the company! I didn't mean anything I said last night! Tell her I love her! Tell her I want our baby!”
Arthur stopped at the gate, pulling a document from the envelope.
“Ms. Vance has no interest in hearing your lies, Mr. Caldwell,” Arthur said sternly. “Furthermore, the doctors have placed her on strict bed rest. The stress you caused her last night put her into early Braxton-Hicks contractions. If you come within five hundred yards of this property again, I will have the private security detail detain you for felony harassment.”
“She’s my wife!” Ethan sobbed, tears finally spilling over his desperate, red-rimmed eyes. “You can’t keep me from my wife!”
“She was your wife,” Arthur corrected him. “Until you handed her a divorce petition and kicked her out into a storm at midnight so you could celebrate with your marketing assistant.”
Arthur slid the document through the iron bars, letting it flutter down onto the pavement in front of Ethan.
It was a formal legal notice from the Superior Court of California: an emergency restraining order signed by a presiding judge, barring Ethan from contacting Ava, approaching her residences, or making any inquiries regarding the unborn child without court supervision.
“It’s 11:30 a.m., Mr. Caldwell,” Arthur added, looking at his gold pocket watch. “You have exactly ninety minutes before Vanguard liquidates your company’s assets. I suggest you spend that time calling a bankruptcy lawyer.”
Arthur turned his back and walked away, his golf cart disappearing into the estate’s lush gardens.
May you like
Ethan sat in the dirt outside the grand iron gates of the Vance Estate, holding the court order, his expensive suit covered in mud.
The realization hit him like a mountain collapsing on his chest: Ava had never needed his success. She had never needed his money, his house, or his status. She had only ever wanted his love. And he had traded the greatest treasure in the world for a hollow illusion of power that was slipping through his fingers like sand.
