Chapter 4: The Signature That Wasn’t Mine
I drove home with one thought repeating in my mind.
Lucas tried to take my house.
Not emotionally.
Not symbolically.
Legally.
The person I planned to marry had attempted to change ownership of the one thing my parents gave me.
I parked outside and stared at the house.
The lights were on.
My house.
Full of people who believed they belonged there.
I walked inside.
Beatrice was sitting in the living room.
She looked surprised.
“Felicity.””
I ignored her.
“Where is Lucas?””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You don’t get to walk in here acting like this.””
I turned.
“Actually, I do.””
The room went silent.
“Because this is my home.””
She stood.
“You need to calm down.””
“No.””
I placed my bag down.
“I need the truth.””
Lucas came downstairs.
The moment he saw me, his face changed.
“Felicity.””
I held up the documents.
“What did you sign?””
He froze.
Beatrice looked between us.
“What is this?””
I looked at Lucas.
“You tried to add yourself to my house title.””
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
That was enough.
“You actually did it.””
“It wasn’t like that.””
“Then explain.””
He stepped closer.
“It was just for security.””
“Whose security?””
“Our future.””
“You mean your future.””
His voice became defensive.
“You were going to marry me.””
“And that gave you permission?””
“No.””
The honesty surprised me.
Then he continued.
“But I thought you trusted me.””
I stared.
“I trusted you with a key.””
My voice broke.
“And you turned it into a weapon.””
Beatrice stepped forward.
“You’re destroying your relationship over paperwork?””
I looked at her.
“Paperwork that says my home belongs to someone who never bought it.””
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re obsessed with ownership.””
I shook my head.
“No. I’m obsessed with honesty.””
Lucas looked exhausted.
“Can we fix this?””
I wanted to say yes.
That was the hardest part.
A small part of me still remembered the man who held my hand when my father was sick.
The man who brought me soup when I had the flu.
The man who promised we would grow old together.
But that man would never do this.
“Lucas,” I whispered, “when did you stop loving me enough to respect me?””
He looked down.
And that silence hurt more than any answer.
I walked upstairs.
I needed to see something.
Something inside me already knew.
My bedroom closet.
The guest room.
My office.
They had all changed.
My belongings had been moved.
My space had been erased.
Then I opened the drawer beside my bed.
Empty.
The jewelry box my grandmother gave me was gone.
I ran downstairs.
“Where is my jewelry box?””
Lucas looked confused.
“What?””
“My grandmother’s jewelry box.””
Nobody answered.
Then one of his cousins spoke quietly.
“Your mom put some things in storage.””
My heart stopped.
“Your mom?””
Everyone looked at Beatrice.
She sighed.
“It was taking up space.””
I stared at her.
“You moved my grandmother’s belongings?””
“It’s just a box.””
I walked toward her.
“No.””
My voice became calm.
“That box was the last thing my grandmother touched before she died.””
The room went quiet.
For the first time, Beatrice looked uncertain.
I looked at Lucas.
“Did you know?””
He didn’t answer quickly enough.
I nodded.
“You knew.””
I walked outside.
I didn’t cry.
Not anymore.
Something inside me had changed.
That night, I made one phone call.
Not to a lawyer.
Not to Hannah.
To my father.
Because there was something he had told me when he gave me the house.
Something I never understood.
The next morning, he arrived carrying a folder.
He looked at Lucas’s family standing outside my home.
Then he looked at me.
“You finally found out.””
I frowned.
“Found out what?””
My father opened the folder.
Inside was a document.
A document signed years ago.
He handed it to me.
“Your mother and I put a protection clause on this house.””
I read the first line.
May you like
And my hands started shaking.
Because it meant Lucas had made the biggest mistake of his life.
