“For how long?”

Diane folded her arms. “As long as necessary.”

I stared at my husband. “You made a permanent decision about my home while I was gone.”

“Our home,” Eric corrected.

That was when I said quietly, “Actually, Eric, we should discuss that.”

Diane stepped closer. “Oh, stop acting important. You married my son. Everything you have is half his now.”

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

Her expression hardened. “Excuse me?”

“I said they need to leave.”

The slap came immediately.

Eric flinched but did nothing.

Diane raised her chin. “Don’t like it? Get out.”

Something inside me went completely still.

I touched my cheek, then looked at Eric.

He finally spoke. “Maybe you should stay at a hotel tonight until everyone calms down.”

That hurt more than the slap.

I nodded once. “Fine.”

Diane smirked.

Kyle lifted his beer. “Problem solved.”

I grabbed my handbag and headed for the door.

Then I turned back.

“Enjoy the house tonight,” I said.

Eric frowned. “What does that mean?”

I gave him the first smile I had managed all evening.

“It means,” I said, “just wait until morning.”

What none of them remembered was that Eric had never contributed a dollar toward buying that house.

And what none of them knew was that six months earlier, after noticing something suspicious in our joint accounts, I had quietly transferred the property into a trust he could not touch. The deed, camera footage, and bank records were all waiting for exactly the mistake they had just made.

I didn’t go to a hotel.

I drove directly to the office of Maya Chen, the attorney who had handled my father’s estate and, more recently, my asset-protection plan.

At 9:14 p.m., I sent Eric one message: You have until 8:00 tomorrow morning to remove your guests voluntarily.

He replied with a laughing emoji.

Then Diane texted from his phone: Grow up.

Useful. I saved everything.