He had rehearsed this. He had built an entire psychological fortress where he was the noble patriarch doing the right thing, and I was the barren, hysterical villain standing in the way of true love. He wanted me to cry. He wanted me to slap him so he could call me abusive.
Instead, I walked past him, my heels clicking sharply against the wood. I went into the master bedroom, pulled my heavy Rimowa suitcase from the closet, and began tossing my tailored suits inside.
Ben shadowed me, his confidence swelling as he misread my silence for surrender. “Stop acting like this,” he sneered, leaning against the doorframe. “It is absolutely ridiculous, Kate. This is my house just as much as it is yours. You’re just going to have to learn to share.”
I paused, holding a silk blouse. I turned slowly, locking my eyes onto his. “You really believe this is your house?”
He blinked. A microscopic tremor crossed his jaw. In his arrogance, he had conveniently forgotten the ironclad deed resting in the wall safe behind my side of the bed. The deed that bore only one name: mine.
I zipped the suitcase, walked back into the living room, and opened the mahogany console table drawer. I pulled out the heavy keyring holding the spare house keys, the gate remote, and the tiny brass key to the wall safe. I dropped them onto the glass coffee table. The loud, sharp clack made Maya flinch.
“You have until tomorrow morning to remove every single one of your things, and her things, from my property,” I said, my voice dropping an octave.
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