My Husband and His Pregnant Mistress Forced Me to Sign Divorce Papers Calling Me a Penniless Burden — They Didn't Know I Own the Empire He Claims as His
The next morning, I was still reeling from Ethan’s revelation when my doorbell rang. It was Victoria Carver, Julian’s mother, her face a mask of condescending displeasure. Behind her stood two burly men carrying a large toolbox.
“Maya, darling,” Victoria began, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so sorry this has come to this, but you know, appearances.”
She gestured vaguely at the apartment building. The address, a prime residential complex in the city center, had been my home with Julian for the past two years.
“What are you doing here, Victoria?” I asked, my arm braced against the doorframe. My mind was still on the bank transfer, not whatever domestic drama she was cooking up.
“Well, dear, since you’re no longer Julian’s wife, and this building is, of course, part of the Carver family portfolio, it’s simply impractical for you to remain.” She smiled, a brittle, strained expression. “We’re changing the locks. Just a little legal formality, you understand.”
One of the men stepped forward, jingling a set of new keys. He looked like he was about to push past me.
“You can’t do that,” I said, my voice quiet but firm.
Victoria let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Oh, but we can. Julian explained it all. This property, like so much else, belongs to his trust. You signed the divorce papers, remember? No assets.”
She smoothed the front of her expensive silk blouse, a tiny smirk playing on her lips. “I really thought you’d be gone by now. I’ve already arranged for a moving truck to pick up your things this afternoon.”
The implication was clear: I was homeless. A burden, just as Julian had called me.
I took a deep breath. This was a different kind of anger than the one Ethan had ignited. This was a personal attack on my security, a petty, vindictive move.
“Victoria,” I said, stepping back from the door, allowing her to take a step inside. “Before you waste these gentlemen’s time, perhaps you should verify your information.”
Her eyebrows arched, annoyed. “What information, dear? It’s all quite straightforward.”
I walked to the small, antique writing desk in the corner of the living room, a piece my father had loved. From one of the drawers, I pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder. The binding was embossed with ‘Bennett Family Holdings’.
I opened it, extracting a single, official-looking document. The paper was heavy, slightly yellowed with age, but the seal was crisp and clear.
“This is the deed to this entire residential complex,” I stated, holding it out for her to see. “Transferred into my father’s private trust, Helios Holdings, seven years ago. Long before Julian or the Carver family had any involvement.”
Victoria’s eyes widened, her smile vanishing. She snatched the document from my hand, scanning the legalese, her lips moving silently as she read. Her eyes darted from the deed to me, then back to the deed.
“This is impossible,” she stammered, her voice suddenly losing its condescending edge. “Julian specifically said…”
“Julian was mistaken,” I interrupted, a sliver of satisfaction piercing through my anger. “My father bought this building years ago as part of his early real estate ventures. When he established Helios Holdings, he transferred all his personal properties into it for estate planning.”
Helios Holdings. The same entity that owned 85% of Apex Dynamics.
Victoria’s face was a mixture of shock and dawning horror. Her perfectly coiffed hair seemed to droop. The two burly men behind her exchanged uncomfortable glances, their toolboxes suddenly looking heavy.
“So,” I continued, stepping towards the now-silent men, “it seems you’ll have to charge the Carver family trust for wasted services today. Or perhaps Julian can cover it out of his frozen accounts.”
Victoria’s jaw worked, but no words came out. The men, clearly sensing the shift in power, slowly began to back away, their eyes on Victoria, awaiting direction.
“You’re not changing any locks,” I finished, my gaze firmly fixed on Victoria. “And you’re certainly not sending a moving truck for my belongings. This is my home, Victoria. And it will remain my home.”
She stood there, defeated, clutching the deed like it was a foreign object. The sweet facade had crumbled, revealing only impotent rage. The lockout had spectacularly backfired.
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