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“Annabella, go call Greta and tell her it's Joel,” I instruct her in a calm voice, even though my heart is pounding. The woman looks at me, puzzled. “Tell her it's Joel, not me, please.” She nods and briskly heads upstairs, leaving us alone.
When Greta hastily comes into view, her face twists with rage at the sight of Miriana. “Get out of my house!” she screams at her. It's still beyond me why she harbors such a deep-seated animosity toward her.
“Good morning to you too,” I respond, my voice steady, even though I can feel the anger simmering within me. Greta's demeanor shifts abruptly, and she dons a sickeningly sweet facade that doesn't suit her in the slightest.
“Love...”
I thrust the divorce papers toward her, which she observes with a puzzled look, only to rip them up in an outburst of anger. Miriana, ever the prepared one, hands her another copy as if she had anticipated Greta's reaction.
“Take your time reading those. You've got an hour to sign and clear out,” I tell her assertively, then make my way toward my library. “Annabella,” I call out to our housekeeper.
“Yes, sir?” She hurries over to me.
“Lock up the special edition volumes and sell the rest. You can keep the proceeds.” I gesture toward my collection. Annabella looks taken aback, but she nods and refrains from asking any more questions.
“What are you doing?” Greta chokes out. “Annabella, stop!” But she looks at me for affirmation, and I nod for her to ignore Greta and leave with the books as I unlock a hidden safe that even Greta was unaware of.
“You're out of your mind if you think I'm signing these!” Greta explodes as I stuff the briefcase with the documents, various files, and some cash. I zip it up, grab the Bentley's keys from the hook and hand them to Annabella. “Keep it or sell it, it's up to you. We'll transfer the ownership first thing tomorrow.” The property is all under my name, after all.
Greta's expression is a cocktail of shock and fury. “My car!”
“Nothing is yours,” I retort firmly. “I've worked my fingers to the bone so you could live like royalty, while you fucked around the globe with your lovers.” A good part of my inheritance has always been safe and away from her claws and I guess that’s one thing she didn’t like either.
“That's a lie,” she fires back, her voice filled with rage, “I gave you the best years of my life.”
I whirl around to face her. “You gave me nothing but deceit and manipulation. I suggest you sign those papers, unless you want to risk a court case, because I assure you, you won't have enough lifetimes to pay me back.”
Eventually, Greta signs the papers, the scratch of the pen against the paper so loud I'm sure it left a mark on the wooden desk. “This is all your fault!” she hisses at Miriana. “You home-wrecker, you should be ashamed!”
“Do you ever feel a sliver of guilt? Any remorse for exploiting and breaking a person?” Miriana retorts. “I thought you were in the midst of a self-reflection phase.” She slaps her forehead dramatically. “But then again, for that, you'd need a conscience and a heart - both of which you clearly lack.”
Her words ignite Greta's temper even further, and she lunges at Miriana, and I’m about to step closer. The forceful slap that Miriana lands on her sends Greta sprawling on the ground, leaving everyone in the room utterly speechless.
“I'm gonna report you!” Greta yells, down on her knees, glaring at Miriana with pure spite.
Miriana calmly extends her cell phone toward her. “Go ahead,” she dares her. “Please, make the call. 911.”
The guys hang back a chuckle, watching the drama unfold, their eyes creepily lingering on Miriana. Their smug grins tick me off. I clear my throat to get their attention, and one of them reluctantly helps Greta up and escorts her out. It's a pivotal moment, a chapter closing, and I feel a sense of liberation. I turn to Annabella, who has seen it all, “Please clear out the house and do whatever you want with Greta's and my stuff. If you need any paperwork, just let me know.”
“Thank you, sir, and I'm sorry.” Her remorse is palpable.
I then look at Miriana, and in her eyes, I find the solace and support I've been missing for far too long. “I'll only be taking a few old books and some family photos,” I tell her. “And that first edition you gifted me when I got my job here.”
She smiles warmly at me. “Are you sure? All this is yours, Dean.”
I shake my head, finally liberated from the nightmare that was Greta. It's time to turn the page on that part of my life and look forward to something better, free from the deceptions and falsehoods of my past. “I want a fresh start, and that means leaving the past behind.” I echo the words she once told me during a session. I had broken down, crying like I never had before, and she was there, cradling me like a child. When I woke up hours later, she was still there, gently stroking my hair. I was mortified. No one had ever seen that vulnerable side of me, but she had safeguarded it, protected it.
Chapter Twelve
Kyle
It's one of those ideal days for a backyard cookout surrounded by family and friends. The air is toasty and the settling sun hints at the final days of summer. The aroma of grilling meat fills the air, blending with the smoky scent of wood burning under the coals. It's a mood of cheer and celebration, amplified by the company of those we care about.
Music reverberates through the yard, and cold beers are the cherry on top. Despite recent events, we still find pockets of happiness and light-heartedness. Having faced this nightmare together, my bond with Dean has only grown stronger. Thanks to Miri’s and my network and connections, we've managed to speed Dean's divorce process, and soon he'll be officially free from that agonizing chapter of his life. We've ensured Greta can no longer harm him, and now he can focus on a brighter future. Maybe with us.
I watch Dean as he chats and laughs at something Miri shared, and I can't help but notice his transformation. He's happier, more carefree, and most importantly, I see my brother in him again. He's found himself and that brings me more joy than anything else. As I flip the meat on the grill, I catch Miriana's laughter mixing with that of her friends, and our eyes meet. I give her a wink and a nod, signaling that all is good. Dean approaches me with a tray of veggies to grill alongside the meat.
He hands me a cold one. “Sold my house,” he declares, raising his bottle for a toast. “Now for the adventure of finding a new one so I won't be underfoot anymore.”
