My husband changed the locks on our mansion while I was at my mother’s funeral, texting me: “You took too long to grieve. Pack your things
I tilted my head upward. Through the glass of the master bedroom window, two silhouettes were raising champagne flutes. David and his mistress.
They were toasting to the conquest of my castle on the very day I buried my queen.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t hammer my fists on the door.
Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed an encrypted frequency routing straight to an underground bunker three miles away.
A hyper-professional voice answered on the first ring: “Apex Command. Director Sarah, we are deeply sorry for your loss today. What are your orders?”
Staring dead at the man who promised to protect me as he clinked glasses with another woman, my voice turned to ice.
“Execute Protocol Eviction. Code Red. Full asset lockdown.”
In the very next second, deafening sirens ripped through the night, and the smug smile on my cheating husband’s face upstairs suddenly vanished…
Inside the master suite, I knew exactly how it was playing out.
