Chapter 4 - The Eviction
The morning of the eviction was rainy and gray. I sat in the back of my father's armored town car, watching from across the street as the moving crew arrived at the penthouse building. I didn't want to be there, but Robert Vance insisted that my presence would legally finalize the recovery of the personal property.
Ethan and Vivian were standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by a mountain of cardboard boxes. Vivian was wearing an expensive fur coat, but it did nothing to hide how small and defeated she looked. She was screaming at the movers, but they ignored her, carrying out pieces of furniture that I had bought with my own money.
Ethan looked miserable. He was holding a single duffel bag, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. Even in the middle of losing his home, he couldn't stop looking at the screen, checking his game notifications as a coping mechanism.
I rolled down the window just an inch. The cool, damp air hit my face.
Ethan spotted the car. He recognized the license plate and ran over, banging on the glass. "Emma! Emma, please! Talk to me!"
My security guard opened the door from the inside, stepping out to keep Ethan at a distance, but I signaled that it was okay. I stepped out of the car, holding a black umbrella over my head. I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger, no love, just total indifference.
"Emma, you can't do this," Ethan begged, his hair soaked from the rain. "Where are we supposed to go? My mother has a medical condition! She can't live in a regular hotel!"
"Your mother managed to strike a woman who just gave birth, Ethan. Her health seems fine," I said coldly. "And as for where you go, that is no longer my concern."
"I am your husband!" he yelled, attracting the attention of several neighbors who were watching from their balconies. "We built this life together!"
"No, Ethan. I built this life. You just lived in it while playing your games," I replied. "You wanted a wife who would suffer in silence while you and your mother played royalty. You chose your mother's cruelty, and you chose your virtual match over your real life. Now, you can enjoy both without me interrupting you."
Vivian walked over, her face twisted in rage. "You ungrateful little brat! We gave you our family name! We allowed you into our social circle! You think you can destroy us just because of a minor family dispute?"
"Your social circle is already gone, Vivian," I said calmly.
As if on cue, Vivian's phone began to ring loudly. She looked at the screen and answered quickly. "Hello, Beatrice? Yes, I am glad you called, this horrible girl is—what? What do you mean the charity gala invitation is revoked?"
She hung up, only for the phone to ring again. It was another friend, then another. Within minutes, it became clear: word had spread through the elite community that the Caldwells had insulted and assaulted a daughter of the Whitmore family. In high society, reputation is everything. By touching me, Vivian had turned herself and her son into social lepers. No one would take their calls. No one would invite them to dinners. Their name was toxic.
"Emma, please," Ethan whispered, realized the true scale of the disaster. "What about the company? The repayment demand... I don't have that money. If you take the company, I have nothing."
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"Then you have exactly what you gave me when I was in that hospital bed," I said. "Nothing."
I turned my back on them, stepping back into the warm comfort of the car. The door closed with a solid, expensive thud, shutting out their shouts and the sound of the falling rain. As the car pulled away, I looked out the rear window. Ethan was sitting on one of the cardboard boxes, his head in his hands, while his mother continued to scream at the empty street.
