That evening, Cassie returned to the penthouse at Lexington Square, which was now legally registered in her name through the Lumina Trust. Donnie the doorman stood at full attention and opened the glass doors with a wide, genuine smile of welcome.
“It is a pleasure to have you back home, Miss Miller,” the old man said, dipping his head in a gesture of sincere loyalty. Upstairs, she found Wesley’s fiancée frantically packing her designer suitcases in the middle of the living room while a team of movers stood by.
Cassie calmly handed the woman a formal eviction notice and informed her that every company-issued credit card in her possession had already been deactivated. Wesley came charging into the room a few minutes later, looking disheveled and smelling of expensive bourbon.
“Cassie, we can find a way to fix this if we just sit down and remember the life we built together from nothing,” he pleaded desperately. “I remember everything quite clearly, Wesley, including the fact that I paid the first year of rent while you were still trying to find your footing,” she countered.