My husband had no idea my annual income was $2.7 million when he screamed at me, “Hey, you sick bitch! I’ve already filed the divorce papers. Get out of my house tomorrow!”

I glanced at Naomi, who lifted an eyebrow, silently encouraging me to let him keep going.

“Who are ‘they’?” I asked.

“The bank,” Trent spat. “And a… security guy. He’s at the door with paperwork. Says he represents a ‘corporate client’ and that I have to vacate the property until a property review is finished.”

I almost laughed, but kept my voice neutral. “Property review,” I echoed.

His voice cracked. “What did you do?”

I leaned forward. “Trent,” I said quietly, “do you remember calling it ‘your house’?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Because it is!”

Naomi slid a folder across the table and tapped a highlighted section. I didn’t need to read it—but I enjoyed seeing it.

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