Chapter 2

Damages?

Her twisted logic was borderline comical.

I jerked my arm back violently, yanking my sleeve free, and brushed off my jacket with disgust.

"How much do you want? Twenty bucks?

"That should buy you plenty of dollar-store petroleum jelly for your crusty feet."

Brenda shook with sheer fury, drawing in a breath to scream bloody murder.

Just then, the doorbell chimed.

The movers were here.

Three burly men in uniform stepped into the foyer. Seeing the explosive tension between us, they paused awkwardly.

"Mrs. Miller?" the lead mover asked cautiously.

I nodded calmly.

"Yes. Let's get started. Pack up everything in the living room and master bedroom first."

The second Brenda heard that, she threw herself flat onto the hardwood floor.

She slammed her palms against the floorboards, letting out an ear-splitting, dramatic wail.

"Help! Murder! The rich are abusing the working class!

"They're moving everything! They're stripping my home bare!

"I might as well just die right now!"

The movers exchanged uneasy glances, not daring to lift a single box.

They had seen these neighborhood disputes before. Nobody wanted to get dragged into a messy lawsuit or police report.

Looking down at Brenda rolling on the floor like a wounded beast, the last shred of my pity evaporated into thin air.

When I first hired her, it was purely out of sympathy.

A single mother raising a daughter, with an ex-husband drowning in gambling debt.

I wanted to give her a helping hand. Even though she lacked proper qualifications, I offered her an above-market salary.

Whenever she accidentally broke a porcelain bowl or scratched the furniture, I never docked her pay.

I had no idea that to someone like her, kindness looked like weakness. She saw me as an easy target.

Her behavior grew progressively worse.

It started with sneaking expensive snacks from the pantry, escalated to using my skincare collection, and peaked when she began feeding my toddler old scraps from the trash.

And now, she had the nerve to squat in my house and refuse to leave.

I pulled out my phone, unlocked it right in front of her face, and dialed 911.

The moment Brenda saw the emergency screen, her wails hitched for a beat.

Then she doubled down, screeching even louder.

"Call them! Go on, call the cops! I'm not afraid!

"I'm the victim here! You rich exploiters can't crush us forever!

"Let's see who looks worse when the whole neighborhood comes watching!"

Before I could hit the call button, the front door swung open again.

My husband, David, stepped inside holding our son, Leo.

David’s eyes landed on Brenda writhing on the floor, and his brow furrowed into a deep line.

Little Leo buried his face in his father’s shoulder, glancing at me with terrified eyes.

I let out a quiet breath and walked over to David’s side.

"Is everything settled over at the new place?"

David nodded, shifting Leo securely into his arms.

"All set. As soon as the boxes get there, we can unpack."

He cast a cold glance at Brenda and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"What’s her deal now?"

Before I could answer, a young woman burst through the front entrance.

She was wearing a skimpy tank top, heavy makeup, and holding her phone straight up, shoving the camera directly into David's face.

"Look at this, everyone! Take a good look at this filthy predator!"

Her sharp voice shattered the room like broken glass.

It was Brenda's daughter, Chloe Higgins.

Last night, she had shown up unannounced, claiming her lease expired and begging to crash on our living room couch for one night.

I hadn't thought much of it at the time and let her stay.

Who knew that the moment she finished showering, she deliberately walked around the living room wrapped in nothing but a tiny bath towel.

David had gone downstairs to grab a glass of water, ran into her by accident, and immediately turned back upstairs without a word.

I hadn't even confronted her about her cheap stunt yet, and here she was, playing the victim.

Chloe waved her phone violently, spit flying as she shouted into her livestream.

"This sick bastard laid his hands on me last night!

"If I hadn't run for my life, he would have ruined me!

"I'm pressing charges! I'm reporting him for assault!"

David’s expression turned utterly glacial. His grip around our son tightened protectively.

I stepped right in front of David, blocking her camera, and stared at Chloe with absolute disdain.

"Laid his hands on you?

"Chloe, have you looked in a mirror lately?

"With my husband’s standards, do you honestly think he’d look twice at trash like you?"