“It’s a marital asset purchased with my funds,” I replied. “And your little ultimatum helps my case.”
“That’s illegal!”
“I’m not kicking you out,” I said calmly. “A judge is.”
In the background, I heard voices—professional, firm.
Then someone said, “Sir, this is service of notice.”
“They’re taking my laptop,” Trent whispered. “They say it’s evidence.”
“Did you put the house under your business at any point?” I asked.
He stuttered. “My accountant suggested—”
There it was.
Naomi took the phone. “You’ve been served,” she said coolly.
When she handed it back, I spoke one last time.
“You don’t get to call me a dog and then panic when you realize I’m the one holding the leash.”
Silence.
Then, quietly: “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” I said. “You assumed.”
“Is there any chance you’ll stop this?” he whispered.
“No,” I replied. “But I’ll be fair.”
I ended the call.
Minutes later, a text appeared from an unknown number:
“He’s hiding something. Check the safe.”
My chest tightened.
The safe.
The one Trent always controlled.
And suddenly, I realized this wasn’t just a divorce anymore.
It was about what he’d been hiding inside the house he swore was his.
But three days later… he called me again—terrified.
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