Chapter 4 - Eviction Notice From The Man Who Owns Nothing
I was discharged from the hospital six days after surgery. Keira drove Mason, Elsie, and me back to our gated residence in Oakridge Estates in her black Range Rover.
As we pulled into the circular driveway, I noticed Blake’s vintage Porsche 911 parked outside the three-car garage. Next to it sat a sleek white sports car with personalized vanity plates: SERENA1.
"He brought her into my home," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
"Adrienne, let me call the sheriff right now," Keira insisted, her hand instantly reaching for her phone.
"No," I replied, holding up a hand. "I want to look him in the eye when the reality hits him."
I stepped out of the vehicle, holding Elsie securely against my chest in a soft carrier, while Keira took Mason by the hand and guided him gently toward the garden patio away from the front entrance.
I pushed open the double mahogany doors.
The entrance foyer was cluttered with designer shopping bags, empty champagne flutes, and a rack of couture clothing that certainly didn't belong to me.
Blake emerged from my formal dining room holding a glass of scotch. He was dressed in a designer cashmere sweater, looking completely at ease. Behind him walked Serena Pike, draped in an expensive silk kimono robe that belonged to my personal wardrobe collection.
"What are you doing here, Adrienne?" Blake asked, his voice dripping with condescending irritation. "I told Hayes to instruct you to check into an extended-stay hotel until we finalized the property division."
Serena leaned against the dining archway, crossing her arms with a smug, theatrical sigh. "Adrienne, darling... making a scene in front of the neighbors isn't going to change anything. Blake has outgrown this dynamic. We’re redecorating the main suite for a broadcast shoot this weekend."
I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice. I stood tall despite the dull ache in my core.
"Serena," I said smoothly, "you have exactly ninety seconds to take off my silk robe, gather your cheap makeup kits, and vacate this property before I have you arrested for criminal trespassing."
Serena let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Arrested? Blake owns this estate, sweetie."
Blake stepped forward, planting himself aggressively between me and the stairs. "Don't embarrass yourself, Adrienne. You have no legal standing here. I’m the primary provider. I built the equity in this house."
"Is that what you told her, Blake?" I asked calmly.
I reached into my handbag and pulled out a certified legal document bearing the official seal of the King County Property Records Department.
"Read page four," I said, tossing the document onto the glass console table.
Blake frowned, picking up the paperwork with obvious reluctance. Serena leaned over his shoulder, her smirk lingering—until her eyes hit the highlighted clauses.
"What is this?" Blake stammered, the color beginning to drain from his face. "This says Highland Horizon LLC is the sole registered owner of the title."
"Highland Horizon LLC is an independent corporate trust," I stated evenly. "It holds the title deed, the land rights, and the fully paid mortgage. I am the sole managing director of Highland Horizon. You, Blake, are an unauthorized guest."
"That’s impossible!" Blake barked, his voice cracking. "I paid the down payment in 2018!"
"With a $120,000 personal loan from my private trust, which you defaulted on three years ago," I reminded him. "You don't own the house. You don't own the furniture. You don't even own the bed you slept in last night."
Serena’s eyes widened, darting between Blake and the document. "Blake... what is she talking about? You told me you owned the Oakridge property outright!"
"I... there’s an administrative error! Hayes will clear this up in ten minutes!" Blake shouted, his arrogance quickly turning into frantic panic.
"Hayes won't be clearing anything," Marcus Vance’s deep, commanding voice echoed through the open foyer.
Marcus walked through the front doors accompanied by two uniformed King County Sheriff’s deputies.
"Mr. Sterling, Ms. Pike," Marcus said, flashing his bar certification and a signed emergency writ of possession. "You have twenty minutes to collect your personal clothing and leave the premises. If you are still on the property at forty-five minutes past the hour, you will be escorted out in handcuffs."
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Blake’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson. "Marcus Vance? Adrienne, how the hell can you afford Marcus Vance?! He charges fifteen hundred dollars an hour!"
"I afford whatever I want, Blake," I whispered, holding Elsie close. "Now get out of my house."
