Chapter 3 - The Empty High-Rise
Dominic unlocked the door to our apartment at four in the afternoon.
He was in high spirits.
Lunch had been fantastic.
His mother had praised his success, and his sister had admired the luxury SUV.
He expected to walk into the smell of dinner cooking.
He expected me to be sitting on the sofa, nursing the baby, eager to hear about his day.
Instead, he was met with dead silence.
“Audrey?” he called out, dropping his keys on the entryway table.
“Audrey, I told you to warm up the leftovers!”
No answer.
He frowned, walking into the living room.
It was immaculate, exactly as I had left it before going into labor.
He checked the bedroom. Empty.
He checked the nursery. The crib was bare.
Annoyance flared in his chest.
He pulled out his phone and dialed my number.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself.
“She’s probably pouting at her friend’s house just to make me feel guilty.”
He tossed his phone onto the bed and walked back into the living room.
That was when he noticed the envelope resting on the glass coffee table.
It was made of thick, expensive parchment.
It hadn’t been there this morning.
Frowning, Dominic picked it up and broke the wax seal.
Inside was a single, typed letter from a top-tier Manhattan law firm.
It wasn't a divorce decree—it was an eviction notice.
The apartment, it stated, was owned by a subsidiary of Brooks Global Corporation.
Due to a violation of the residency agreement, the occupant—Dominic Vance—had exactly 24 hours to vacate the premises.
Dominic stared at the paper, his mind struggling to process the words.
Brooks Global?
Why would Charles Brooks’s company own this apartment?
We rented it from a private landlord. Or so he thought.
Before he could make sense of it, his phone began ringing from the bedroom.
He rushed back and snatched it up.
It was his mother, Victoria.
“Dominic, what is going on?!” she shrieked into the receiver.
“Mom? Calm down, what’s wrong?”
“The SUV! We just stepped out of the boutique, and a tow truck was hauling it away!”
“What?” Dominic felt his blood run cold.
“I tried to stop them,” Victoria cried indignantly.
“I told them it was my son's vehicle! The driver handed me a piece of paper and told me to take it up with the legal owner!”
“Who is the legal owner, Mom?” Dominic asked, a knot tightening in his stomach.
“Someone named Charles Brooks! Dominic, who is that? Why is his name on your car?”
The room seemed to spin slightly.
The apartment. The SUV.
Both tied to Charles Brooks.
“I... I don’t know, Mom. Let me make some calls. I’ll fix this.”
He hung up the phone, his breathing growing shallow.
He dialed my number again.
Straight to voicemail.
He texted me: Audrey, where are you? What is going on with the apartment and the car?
The text failed to deliver. I had blocked his number.
Panic finally began to seep through the cracks of his arrogance.
He had always thought I was simple.
A quiet girl with a modest background who was lucky to have him.
He had never questioned how we got this apartment for such a low price.
He had never questioned why my "contractor" father gifted us a $150,000 vehicle.
He walked over to the closet and threw open the doors.
All of my clothes were gone.
Every single trace of me, and of our son, had been wiped from the apartment.
May you like
It wasn't a tantrum.
It was an erasure.
