Chapter 2 - The Art of the Ambush
That evening, Julian and Seraphina were busy popping champagne in "their" new home. According to the private investigators my father hired within hours of my phone call, Seraphina had already hired interior decorators to erase any trace of my existence.
I was resting in the sprawling, sunlit nursery of my parents’ estate, surrounded by a team of private neonatal nurses, when my father walked in holding a tablet.
“Do you want to watch?” he asked, a grim smile playing on his lips.
He handed me the screen. It was a live feed from the security cameras I had installed in the living room months ago—cameras Julian had completely forgotten about.
Julian and Seraphina were laughing on the velvet sofa, her Kelly bag resting on the coffee table. Suddenly, the front door was unlocked and pushed open. Four men in tailored suits—my father’s elite legal and security team—marched into the foyer.
Julian jumped up, spilling his champagne. “Who the hell are you? I’m calling the cops!”
The lead attorney, a ruthless man named Vance, didn't flinch. “Call them, Mr. Vance. It will save us the trouble of dragging you out. I represent Sterling Global Holdings. You are currently trespassing on our leased land. Furthermore, the quitclaim deed you filed is fraudulent, as the property title has an ironclad reversion clause.”
“Sterling Global?” Julian scoffed, turning pale. “What does a billionaire conglomerate care about my house?”
“They care,” Vance said coldly, “because the sole heir to Sterling Global is Clara Sterling. Your wife. Or, as of this morning, your soon-to-be ex-wife.”
Seraphina let out a shrill gasp, dropping her glass. Julian looked like he had been struck by lightning. He staggered backward, his eyes wide with a terrifying realization. The mousy, exhausted woman he had just discarded in a hospital bed was a billionaire heiress.
“You have exactly ten minutes to vacate the premises before we press charges for trespassing and forgery,” Vance stated, checking his Rolex.
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I watched on the tablet as Julian’s perfect, arrogant world began to crumble. He frantically tried to pack a suitcase, sweating and shouting at Seraphina, who was crying about her designer shoes. Ten minutes later, they were standing on the curb in the rain, the locks changed behind them.
“Checkmate, Julian,” I whispered to the screen.
