Chapter 3 - The Eviction
The dining room had become a courtroom, and Bellamy was losing every single argument.
"You can't throw me out on Christmas!" Bellamy shrieked, dropping the tearful act as her anger flared back up, ugly and raw. "My name is on the registry of this estate! I host the charity galas here! My parents are here! The children are upstairs!"
"The estate is held in an irrevocable asset trust created two years before I met you," Byron replied smoothly, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen once. "You have no legal interest in this house. None."
Within ten seconds, the heavy double doors of the foyer opened.
Two tall, broad-shouldered men in tailored dark suits stepped into the dining room. They were Byron’s private corporate security team—men he employed to protect his data centers, but tonight, they had a very different assignment.
"Marcus, David," Byron said, addressing the lead guard. "Please assist Mrs. Vance and her family in gathering their personal belongings. They have fifteen minutes to vacate the premises."
"Byron!" Evelyn gasped, standing up so fast her dining chair fell backward onto the Persian rug. "You are kicking us out into the cold on Christmas night?!"
"The gates will open in fifteen minutes," Marcus, the security chief, said politely but firmly, stepping toward the table. "I suggest you begin packing your small personal items now, ma'am. Your luggage will be loaded into your vehicles."
Bellamy looked around the room, frantically searching for an ally. She looked at her father, but Richard sat with his head in his hands, completely broken by the revelation of his son Julian's financial fraud. She looked at her brother, who was staring at his phone in terror, realizing his career was over.
Finally, she looked at me.
Her eyes burned with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You did this," she spat at me, her voice trembling with venom. "You pathetic, scheming old leech! You intentionally spilled that coffee! You set me up!"
I looked at my daughter-in-law. My cheek still throbbed with a dull, hot ache, but for the first time in six years, I didn't feel small. I didn't feel like the timid widow who stayed in the kitchen to avoid causing trouble.
"I didn't set you up, Bellamy," I said quietly, my voice ringing clear across the room. "I spent six years trying to love you because you were my son's wife. I swallowed every insult, every order, and every cruel comment because I wanted Byron to have a happy home. But you didn't want a family. You wanted servants. And tonight, you showed everyone who you really are."
"Get out of my sight," Byron commanded, stepping directly between me and Bellamy, blocking her view of me entirely. "If you speak another word to my mother, I will have security physically drag you down the driveway."
May you like
Bellamy looked at her husband. She saw the absolute finality in his eyes. The wealth, the status, the mansion, the country club memberships, the endless black cards—everything she had spent six years manipulating to secure was vanishing in real time.
Screaming in rage, Bellamy grabbed the edge of the dining table and tried to flip it, but the heavy oak didn't budge. Instead, she grabbed her crystal wine glass, smashed it against the floor, and ran out of the room, her high heels clicking wildly against the marble as her parents frantically followed behind her.
