Page 111 of False Promises

“What?” I asked. “Why are you not leaving?”

He opened his hand. “Gimme your phone.”

“No. I won’t. You have no right.”

He lifted his brow, waiting.

I placed my device in his hand. He plugged it into his own phone with what resembled a charger and tapped a few keys before handing it back.

He had scrapped everything. It was back to its default settings. I tried to access the cloud, but it was empty too. All the proof I had accumulated, gone.

A surge of rage built up inside me. “Carter put you up to this, didn’t he? Stealing everything from me wasn’t enough? He had to humiliate me even more. It’s all part of his plan. He’s dangerous. You shouldn’t trust anything he says.” I had nothing else to lose. “Can’t you see you’re being played? Help me, Taylor. I’m scared of him. I need protection.”

“The movers will be here in a few minutes. Get out of my way, Savannah.”

The beast turned his back on me, ignoring all my pleas and cries.

“You can’t do this. You’ll all pay for it. It’s wrong.”

* * *

“No, you can’t touch that. It’s mine.” I yanked a blue vase from the man in charge of removing every single item from our apartment. My apartment. The one I was entitled to. Because I deserved it.

A small, chubby man climbed a stepladder to unfix the chandelier in the dining room. My breath hitched in my lungs. No. Not this.

“Stop,” I screamed. “Get your filthy hands away from those crystals. Do you know how much they’re worth? No, you do not. Because if you did, you wouldn’t manhandle them this way.”

The man acted as if I’d said nothing. My heart bled at the sound of the expensive pieces of ice clinking together.

The moment the man’s feet touched the floor, I maneuvered to steal the overpriced light from his hands. I stood a few inches taller than him, but his shoulders were wider than mine. And his hands bigger. Could I match his strength if I ever needed to?

“Lady, this does not belong to you. Please step away,” he said in a strained voice.

“This…This…” I motioned to the room around us. “All of this belongs to me. You have no right to barge in here and take them away. I’ll sue you. Every one of you. And you’ll lose your jobs and everything you own. Do you hear me? You’ll lose everything.”

A man in his late forties joined us with a pad in his hands. He flipped the pages. “According to the copy of the receipts I have here, everything in this apartment belongs to a certain Mr. Hills. They have all been put in his name, so technically, you own none of it.”

He shrugged and turned around.

My hands cupped my trembling heart.

My head became light from the lack of oxygen due to my hasty breathing.

I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Those were mine. I chose every décor element myself. I owned all of this. I didn’t care what those stupid receipts said.

“All of you, get the hell out of here. Now. Or you’ll have to deal with my lawyers,” I yelled at the top of my lungs, my fingernails cutting into my palms.

I stomped my feet.

I let out a murderous shriek, but no one looked my way, too busy destroying my dream.

I was about to strangle the chandelier-man—he was the only one smaller than me—when a strong hand clutched my elbow and pulled me back.

“What?”

He harrumphed. All the hair on my back stood on end. I closed my eyes. In the commotion, I had forgotten he was still here.