Chapter 3 - THE DRIVEWAY CONFRONTATION
I walked down the long, manicured driveway, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The air was crisp, and the adrenaline humming through my veins made everything look hyper-real. As I approached the iron gates, I could hear the muffled sounds of shouting from inside the Range Rover.
Bryce was out of the car now, his face flushed an ugly shade of crimson. He was arguing with the head of security, a towering man named Miller. Behind Bryce, the doors of the vehicle opened. His mother, Eleanor, stepped out, clutching her pearl necklace with a look of absolute indignation. His father, Arthur, looked bewildered, while his sister, Samantha—sporting oversized sunglasses and a sour expression—crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
"Open this gate immediately!" Bryce barked at Miller, pointing a trembling finger. "I live here! This is my property!"
"I'm sorry, sir. You are not on the authorized access list," Miller replied, his voice a flat, impenetrable wall.
"Candice!" Bryce yelled as he finally spotted me approaching from the other side of the bars. His eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine rage breaking through his usually polished facade. "Tell these rent-a-cops to open the damn gate! My parents have been traveling all morning, and we are not doing this right now!"
I stopped two feet from the gate, taking a slow sip of my coffee. I looked at Eleanor, who was glaring at me as if I were a wayward servant, and then at Samantha, who rolled her eyes. Finally, my gaze settled on Bryce.
"You're right, Bryce," I said, my voice steady and carrying easily through the iron bars. "We aren't doing this right now. In fact, we aren't doing this ever again."
"What are you talking about?" he snapped, grabbing the bars. "Stop embarrassing me in front of my family and open the gate."
"I checked the temporary account this morning," I said quietly. The words hit him like a physical blow. I saw the immediate shift in his posture, the sudden stillness that overtook his angry flailing. His eyes darted nervously toward his parents, then back to me. "Seven hundred and ninety thousand dollars, Bryce. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
Eleanor gasped, stepping forward. "Bryce, what is she talking about? Why is she locking us out of your new house?"
"It’s not his house, Eleanor," I corrected her sharply, shifting my gaze to the older woman. "I bought it. With my money. From my business. Your son is a thief who has been siphoning my funds to play the role of a wealthy benefactor. And his bags are sitting right there on the sidewalk." I pointed to the two suitcases that Miller’s team had placed neatly outside the property line.
Samantha scoffed, taking off her sunglasses. "You are completely unhinged, Candice. Bryce told us you were having a breakdown from the stress of selling your company, but this is pathetic. Half of everything is his. It’s community property!"
"Actually, it isn't," I smiled, a cold, humorless expression. "The LLC is solely in my name, established before the ink on our marriage license was even dry. And as for the money Bryce stole? My lawyers are currently freezing his accounts, and I will be filing criminal charges for wire fraud by the end of the day."
Bryce’s face drained of color. The arrogant, barefoot man from the night before was completely gone, replaced by a cornered animal. "Candice, wait. Let's just talk about this. Don't make a scene. We can go inside and figure this out."
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"There is nothing to figure out," I told him, stepping back from the gate. "Your keys have been deactivated. If you attempt to scale this fence, Miller will have you arrested for trespassing. Have a nice life, Bryce."
I turned my back on them and began walking up the driveway. I could hear Bryce screaming my name, his fists rattling the heavy iron gates, but the sound quickly faded into the rustling of the wind through the trees. I had never felt more powerful.
