I never told my boyfriend’s snobbish parents that I owned the bank holding their massive debt. To them, I was just a “barista with no future.” At their yacht party, his mother pushed me toward the edge of the boat and sneered, “Service staff should stay below deck,” while his father laughed, “Don’t get the furniture wet, trash.” My boyfriend adjusted his sunglasses and didn’t move. Then, a siren blared across the water. A police boat pulled up alongside the yacht… and the Bank’s Chief Legal Officer stepped aboard with a megaphone, looking directly at me. “Madam President, the foreclosure papers are ready for your signature.” – usnews 0/2

And as of Tuesday morning, Vantage Capital had acquired Sovereign Trust.

I tapped the screen, checking the status of the filing. Approved. The lien was active. The breach of contract—due to three months of missed payments and failure to maintain insurance—was flagged in red.

Victoria stood up, swaying slightly. She walked toward me, the ice in her empty glass clinking. She stopped inches from my face. I could smell the expensive gin and the stale scent of desperation.

“You’re staring into space,” she hissed. “It’s rude.”

“I was just checking something,” I said calmly.

“Probably your bank balance,” she scoffed. “Make sure you have enough for the bus ride back to the city.”

She feigned a stumble. It was a clumsy, theatrical movement. Her wrist flicked, and the remnants of her martini—sticky, sweet alcohol—splashed across my sandals and the hem of my dress.

“Oops,” she smirked, stepping back. The malice in her eyes was sharp and bright. “Clean that up, would you? You’re used to mopping floors at that coffee shop you talk about, aren’t you?”