And really—what were the odds of a coincidence this precise?
The property deed matched the address. The engraving on the gold matched too, character for character.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the storefronts.
I pushed open the door and looked up at the three connected units.
The glass doors of what used to be a clothing boutique lay shattered across the sidewalk. Inside, workers were gutting the place, clearly prepping it for some kind of flower shop.
My brow furrowed. The previous tenant had signed a ten-year lease—nowhere near expiration. How could they possibly have been replaced?
And Patrick had never mentioned a word about changing tenants.
I quickened my pace and called out to one of the workers. "Who authorized this renovation?"
Before he could answer, a woman in a Chanel suit emerged from inside.
She looked me up and down with open contempt. "It's my shop. I'll renovate whenever I damn well please." Her voice was shrill, grating. "Who the hell are you to question me?"
I stared at her face.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
It was her.
The woman from the post.
I locked eyes with her, jaw tight. "These three storefronts are mine. What makes you think they're yours?"
She blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Yours? Honey, my husband gave these to me."
She fished her phone from an LV bag and pulled up her photo album. "Open your eyes wide and look carefully—whose name is on these deeds?"
Three property certificates filled the screen, lined up in a row.
Under "Owner," each one read: Louise Pruitt.
My mind went blank.
How? A transfer couldn't happen without my consent. And I'd checked the safe before leaving—every deed, every certificate was still there. Only the gold was missing.
Which meant these documents were almost certainly forged.
But forged papers alone couldn't evict a legal tenant. Someone with authority had made that happen.
Patrick.
When I didn't respond, Louise drew out a long, mocking "Ohhhh."
"You're the owner of that clothing store, aren't you?" She tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "My husband already told you—I wanted this space, and you were compensated. So why are you here making a scene?"
Her lips curled. "Unless the payout wasn't enough for you?"
I took a slow breath. Then I held up my phone, pointing at the man on my lock screen.
"This is your husband?"
Louise leaned in to look.
The color drained from her face.
Then she screamed.
"How dare you use my husband's photo as your wallpaper!" She jabbed a finger at me, voice climbing to a shriek. "He's the CEO of Langford Holdings! You think a delusional little fangirl like you has a chance with him?!"
"I'm warning you—I just gave him a son! A big, healthy boy! My mother-in-law adores him!" Her chest heaved. "Give up already!"
Passersby stopped. Heads turned. A crowd began to form.
And all I could feel was the sheer absurdity of it crashing over me like a wave.
I laughed.
Langford Holdings was my father's company—my family's legacy. He'd only entrusted it to Patrick to manage. Since when did that make Patrick the owner?
And the real joke? Patrick's doting mother—the woman who smiled so sweetly at me, who played the perfect mother-in-law—she'd known about this affair all along.
Which meant she'd approved of my daughter's gold being handed over to Louise.
But spending my money to keep another woman? That, I would not tolerate.
I snapped back to the present.
My hand moved before I could think.
Crack.
The slap echoed off the storefronts.
"Who are you calling a mistress?"
Louise stood frozen, palm pressed to her cheek, too stunned to react.
I looked down at her, eyes cold. "You're the one sleeping with someone else's husband, and you don't even have the self-awareness to be ashamed? You think that's something to be proud of?"
My voice hardened. "I'm ordering you to stop this renovation immediately. Or I'm calling the police."
The crowd swelled. Whispers rippled through the onlookers. Fingers pointed at Louise.
"Wait—so it's the wife confronting the other woman?"
