But the woman was already inside.

Cream heels clicked across my marble foyer like she had rehearsed the sound. She was young, no older than twenty-six, with glossy dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a designer handbag hanging from her wrist like a trophy.

Amber Vale.
My ex-husband’s new wife.

Behind her stood two men in cheap suits trying to look official, and a sheriff’s deputy whose expression clearly said he would rather be anywhere else.

Amber smiled at me with the kind of sweetness that always carries poison beneath it.

“Naomi,” she said slowly, as if my name amused her. “You might want to sit down for this.”

I didn’t move from the base of the staircase. One hand rested lightly on the banister.

“You entered my house without permission,” I said. “Say what you came to say.”Actually, this mansion belongs to my daddy’s company now.”

She lifted the envelope in her hand and shook it slightly.

Through the open door, I could see a black SUV idling at the curb. Across the street, curtains shifted. Of course. Amber would never stage a humiliation without an audience.

The deputy cleared his throat. “Ma’am, these are civil papers. I’m just here to keep the peace.”

“I appreciate the clarification,” I said.

Amber stepped closer and pushed the envelope toward me.

“Foreclosure transfer. Asset seizure. Notice to vacate. Effective immediately, pending enforcement. My father acquired the debt package connected to this property and several others in Ashford Crest.”