Julianne’s cruel laughter was abruptly cut short by the aggressive crunch of tires on gravel. A sleek, black Range Rover prowled up the driveway, braking sharply just inches from Maya’s scattered belongings.
Marcus scoffed, leaning over the stone steps with a mocking grin. “Who’s that? Your lawyer?” he sneered.
The heavy car door swung open. A man in his fifties, wearing a ruthlessly tailored dark suit with silver hair catching the sun, stepped out. He didn’t spare the couple on the stairs a single glance. Striding directly to Maya’s side, he produced a thick black folder.
Maya wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Then, her sorrow vanished, her posture straightening as a razor-sharp smile touched her lips. The vulnerability had been a flawless act.
“You were right about one thing, Marcus,” Maya said softly. “I was just borrowing this life. Long enough for you to forge those transfer deeds.”
The lawyer flipped the black folder open, turning it so the arrogant couple could see the embossed legal seal.
“By illegally claiming the Blackwood Trust, you successfully acquired this estate—along with its sixty-million-dollar hidden corporate debt,” the lawyer announced, his voice like cracking ice. “But the land underneath it? The *foundation*?”
Maya picked up her battered silver ring from the pavement and slipped it onto her finger. “I bought the land three years ago through a blind shell company. You own a bankrupt, worthless house sitting on my property. And I’m foreclosing.”
The lawyer stared dead-eyed at the couple on the steps. “She owns this villa. You have ten minutes to leave.”
The smugness instantly drained from Julianne’s face, replaced by pure, breathless panic. Marcus physically stumbled back, his illusion of absolute power shattering in real-time.
Maya stepped over her cardboard boxes. “Tick-tock.”