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Chapter 5 - The Eviction OrderBy Thursday morning, the neon orange dye on Corbin and Brielle had reached its peak luminescence. It was impossible to cover, impossible to hide, and impossible to explain away. Gossip had spread through their social circles like wildfire, turning both of them into total pariahs.

At 11:00 AM, a court deputy, two local police officers, and I pulled up to the gates of my estate in a convoy. I stepped out of my sedan, wearing a sharp tailored coat, and walked up the front steps.

I unlocked the front door using my primary master key and stepped into the foyer.

Corbin was sitting on the living room sofa, surrounded by takeout boxes, looking exhausted and disheveled. His bright orange face looked ridiculous against his rumpled business suit. Brielle was lying on the adjacent armchair, wearing giant sunglasses and a hoodie pulled tight around her glowing cheeks.

When Corbin saw the police officers file in behind me, he jumped to his feet.

"Nora! What is the meaning of this?!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "You can't just bring cops into my home!"

The court deputy stepped forward, pulling a formal legal document from his briefcase. "Corbin Vance? I am serving you with an emergency ex-parte eviction order and a temporary restraining order issued by the Superior Court."

Corbin gasped, staring at the paper. "Eviction?! This is my house!"

"Correction, Corbin," I stepped forward, holding up the certified deed. "This house is held exclusively under the Nora Vance Revocable Trust. The secondary mortgage you fraudulently attempted to execute via Sunburst Ventures has been frozen by federal order. You have zero legal claim to this property."

Brielle began to cry, her orange tears streaking through her caked-on foundation. "Corbin, do something! Where are we supposed to go?!"

"You have fifteen minutes to collect your personal clothing in clear plastic bags," the police officer instructed firmly. "Any electronics, jewelry, or high-value assets are subject to a corporate preservation order and cannot be removed."

"Nora, please!" Corbin fell to his knees on the marble floor, his orange hands clasped together in desperate pleading. "I made a mistake! I was stupid! I’ll get rid of Brielle, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll do whatever you want! Just don't do this to me!"

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I looked down at the man I had spent five years supporting, loving, and protecting. I felt no anger, no sadness—only a profound, liberating detachment.

"Your fifteen minutes started ten seconds ago, Corbin," I said quietly. "I suggest you start packing."

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