Six weeks before my wedding, my future mother-in-law demanded my ATM card and PIN to pay for the ceremony, and when I refused, my fiancé locked the front door while she shoved my pregnant body against a wall. “Give me the card, or the wedding is canceled,” she hissed. They thought trapping a four-month-pregnant woman would make me surrender, but they had no idea what I was about to do.

The townhouse was magnificent—four bedrooms, a rooftop terrace, high ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the public garden.

It was also entirely mine.

I had bought it three years before I even met Julian, using the initial equity payout from my agency's first major acquisition. When Julian moved in, he had contributed nothing toward the down payment or the mortgage, though he had happily allowed his friends to assume he was the one providing for us.

At 8:15 AM, the front door downstairs rattled violently.

I was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping a cup of decaf herbal tea and reviewing ultrasound printouts from my doctor’s appointment earlier that week. The tiny, blurred gray shape of my baby’s profile stared back at me.

Tap, tap, tap.

The pounding grew louder, accompanied by a muffled voice screaming my name.

“Maya! Open this goddamn door right now!”

It was Julian.

He didn't use his key because he no longer had one. At 2:00 AM, Daniel’s security team had remotely revoked his smart-lock access code.

I didn't rush. I took another slow sip of my tea, walked calmly down the hallway, and unlocked the heavy wooden front door, pulling it open just a few inches while keeping the security chain latched.

Julian looked like he had aged ten years overnight. His expensive tailored suit was wrinkled, his hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild with panic. Behind him stood Eleanor, clutching her designer handbag like a shield, looking ready to commit murder.

“Have you lost your absolute mind?!” Julian roared, slamming his fist against the doorframe. “My corporate cards are declined! My office doors are chained shut by the building landlord! The bank just called saying our credit line has been instantly recalled! Do you have any idea what kind of humiliation I just went through trying to buy coffee this morning?”

“Oh,” I said mildly, tilting my head. “Did your card get declined? That’s so embarrassing.”

“Don’t play games with me!” Julian shrieked, his face turning a furious, blotchy red. “Unlock this door right now and let me inside! And you better call your bank and fix whatever stupid glitch you caused, or—or I swear to God I’ll call off the wedding permanently!”

I let out a quiet, genuine laugh.

“Julian,” I said, resting my hand against the door chain. “Did you hit your head when you fell over the side table last night? Because you seem confused. The wedding was canceled the moment your mother shoved a pregnant woman against a drywall.”

Eleanor shoved her way past Julian, pressing her face against the gap in the door. Her expression was pure venom.

“Listen to me, you ungrateful little gold-digger,” Eleanor snarled. “You live in our social circle because of my son! Without Julian, you’re just a sad, bloated, single mother running a glorified blog agency! You’ll crawl back on your knees by noon begging for his forgiveness, or we’ll make sure your reputation in this city is ruined forever!”

I stared at her for a long moment, feeling a profound wave of pity for how pathetic they both were.

Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thick, legal envelope sealed with a red wax stamp. I slid it through the narrow gap in the door chain, letting it drop onto the welcome mat at their feet.

“What is this?” Julian muttered, looking down suspiciously.

“That is a formal thirty-day eviction notice for this property,” I said clearly. “And attached to it is a civil lawsuit filed by Ashcroft & Vance Legal on behalf of my corporate holdings, demanding the immediate repayment of four hundred and eighty thousand dollars in uncollected personal loans you fraudulently channeled into FunnelTech over the past three years.”

Julian’s jaw dropped so low I thought it might unhinge. “Four—four hundred thousand? That was an investment! You said it was a gift!”

“I never signed a gift affidavit, Julian,” I smiled coldly. “And since your startup has zero assets and negative revenue, our lawyers are going to seize your personal assets—your car, your watch, your clothes, and every piece of electronics you own—to satisfy the debt.”

I reached for the door.

“Have a nice morning,” I said.