Chapter 2 - The Private Buyer
Molly’s headlights cut through the torrential rain ten minutes later. I climbed into the passenger seat, shivering violently, holding my sleeping newborn tightly against my chest.
Molly took one look at my pale face, my soaking wet clothes, and the heavy oak doors of the mansion that remained securely locked. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.
"I'm calling the police," Molly snarled, reaching for her phone. "He can't legally lock you out of a property you own, especially not three days postpartum."
"No," I said, my voice eerily calm despite the violent trembling in my hands. "Don't call the police. Call Jennifer. Tell her we aren't going to your house. We're going to her office."
"Tessa, it's midnight. You need to rest—"
"Molly," I interrupted, looking down at the innocent, sleeping face of my daughter. The last trace of the patient, accommodating wife I had been for three years vanished forever. "Drive."
An hour later, I sat in the glass-walled boardroom of my attorney’s firm. The heating was turned up to maximum, and I was wrapped in a dry fleece blanket, holding Ivy.
Across the polished mahogany table sat the "private buyer" Elliot had found.
His name was Vaughn Sterling.
Vaughn was the undisputed king of Denver real estate and private equity. He was a billionaire with a reputation so ruthless that entire boards of directors resigned rather than face him in a hostile takeover. He was also the man I had outbid for the Redwood Crest mansion five years ago. He had never forgotten it. And he had never stopped watching me.
Vaughn sat in a bespoke black suit, staring at me with dark, calculating eyes that missed absolutely nothing.
"The deed is clear, Mr. Sterling," Jennifer said, sliding the paperwork across the table. "The transaction can be executed by sunrise."
Vaughn didn't look at the contract. He kept his predatory gaze locked on me, taking in my exhaustion, the damp edges of my hair, and the tiny baby in my arms. A terrifying, lethal fury flashed in the depths of his eyes.
"Your husband locked you out in a storm," Vaughn murmured, his voice a vibrating, demonic rumble that commanded the entire room. "With his child."
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"He thought it would force me to sign over half my assets in exchange for the door code," I stated coldly. "I'm selling it to you instead. All cash. Twenty percent below market value."
"On one condition," Vaughn countered smoothly, finally picking up the pen. "I handle the eviction."
