Madison ground her teeth and dug her long nails into her palms, vowing to take revenge on Catherine for everything she'd done. "I swear to god she'll regret it," Madison muttered. "She'll pay for everything she's doing to us."

"What are you muttering about?" Melanie snapped. "Come help me with your dad."

​​

Madison turned and looked at her dad. He was sitting in a foldable hospital wheelchair. His face and clothing were wrinkled and rumpled, and his shirt hung strangely on his frame—in just three days, he'd lost a lot of weight. She took him by one arm, and her mom took him by the other. Together they helped him stand and walk to the car.

"Well, hurry up," Melanie snapped. "Get in the car, Madison."

She sighed and got into the backseat. Perched on the edge of the leather seats, she leaned forward and patted her dad on the shoulder.

"How are you?" she asked.

He shook his head, "I'm fine."

"Are we going to move?" she asked.

"We have no choice," he replied, his voice sounding small and sunken.

"What do you mean," she asked. "What's wrong with you, guys? Are you letting Catherine bully you around now? Please, she's the stupidest girl I know."

"She's a twit," Melanie snapped. "But, she has Sean Blair behind her now."

"So?" Madison asked.

"So, we have to do as she says," Lawson sighed. "The Blair family is not to be trifled with."

"I don't care who they are," she whined. "I don't want to move. They can't force us out of our home."

Both of her parents were silent, and she leaned back in the seat, fuming. She'd always loved the mansion. Even when she was just a girl, and they came to visit—it had felt like being inside a fairytale. Though James had invited her to come and stay whenever she liked, she'd never felt at home. It was Catherine's house—not hers. That had all changed when James died, and she couldn't imagine leaving the beautiful house.

"Where will we go?" she asked miserably.

"Back to the flat," Lawson said. "Thank god, I never sold it."

"The flat?" Madison wailed. "But it's so small and old!"

"And what?" Melanie asked. "Would you prefer to live with Maria and her bratty son? Could you face her over the breakfast table and still enjoy your tea? No, we will not live like beggars with that whore."

The car pulled up in front of the mansion, and Madison helped her dad get out of the passenger seat. He leaned on her heavily as they walked toward the front door, but once they were inside, he seemed to regain some strength. He freed himself from her grip and jogged up the stairs two at a time toward his office.

Madison peeked into the living room and found Maria and her son cleaning the floors. She rolled her eyes. The house had maids, but there they were, bent over with mops and brooms in their hands. Idiots—they didn't even know how to enjoy what they had.

"Madison, stop wasting time and go back to your matters," Melanie snapped. "I don't want to spend another second here with these people."

Madison stalked up the stairs toward her room, determined to leave nothing behind. She dragged several large, Louis Vuitton suitcases out from a closet and began to pile her clothing inside—taking no care to fold it. She ripped item after item off the hangers and threw them into the suitcases—her anger grew every second.

Doors slammed, and she heard heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. She ignored it and continued packing.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Lawson's voice shouted. "Stop that! Put it down!"

She opened her door and peeked into the hallway. A dozen men in black marched down the hallway, carrying paintings and sculptures in their gloved hands. They moved like ants, swarming over everything, taking everything.

"What's going on?" Madison shouted.

"I'm taking what's mine," a cool female voice sounded.

Madison turned—Catherine stood behind the men, a calm, victorious smile on her face.

***

Catherine smiled calmly at Madison—enjoying the way her cousin's cheeks flamed with anger. Madison pushed her way between the men, dodging and sidestepping them as they carried Lawson's art down the hall to the stairs.

She ignored Madison and flagged one of the men. He rushed over, and she made a sweeping gesture down the hall, "When you finished with the study, check the other rooms."

"Yes, ma'am," the man said. "The jewelry too?"

Madison's eyes widened, and her lips curled into a horrible snarl. Catherine smiled and shrugged, "No, leave the jewelry. I don't want anything they've dirtied."

Madison muttered something under her breath, but Catherine ignored her. She dodged past the men and jogged down the stairs into the living room. Another team was working to take the paintings off the walls as Samuel and Maria continued to clean.

"You don't have to clean anymore," Catherine said, gently taking Maria's arm.

"I know," Maria said. "But I've gotten used to it. Besides, it won't feel like my home again until I know for myself that everything has been properly cleaned."

Catherine shrugged and walked to a corner of the room to warn the men to be more careful with one of the large canvases. She watched carefully as they lifted the huge piece from the wall and carried it toward the door. She stared at the blank wall—the wallpaper was darker where the painting had hung—the rest of it had faded in the sunlight.

"You'll want to redo the walls, I suppose," she said to Maria. "I'll send a designer to show you some options."

Before Maria could respond, there was a commotion at the door. The men carrying the giant canvas had paused—there seemed to be an obstacle. Catherine sighed and walked toward the door—ready to help them move the huge piece. She was surprised to find Lawson standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his body shaking with rage.

"Move," she said.

"No," he said, his jowl shaking. "You can take the rest of my pieces, but not the Kandinsky. I refuse to let you take my Kandinsky."

Catherine rolled her eyes, "Trust me, I don't want it. It's hideous."

"Then let me have it," Lawson said.

"No," Samuel said, walking toward them. "It's not yours. You bought it for my father's money."

"No, I didn't," Lawson wailed. "Sure, some of the others, maybe. But I bought this with my own money!"

"You mean the money you stole while in charge of the company?" Samuel asked. "The painting is ours. My sister has explained everything very clearly—but maybe she'll give this one back to you if you give her the money you owe."

Lawson scoffed, "It's not worth 50 million."

"Well then," Catherine said with a smile. "I guess we'll be keeping it."

"You heard her," Samuel said. "This big ugly canvas is ours now."

Lawson's meaty hands clenched into fists, and his eyelid twitches. He raised his hands like a boxer and stalked toward Samuel. Shocked, Samuel stood rooted to the spot as Lawson approached. At the last minute, he raised his thin arms and curled his hands into fists.

Lawson swung, and Samuel dodged, ducking under Lawson's fist. Catherine screamed, and Maria raced over. She threw herself between Lawson and Samuel and shoved Lawson's chest.

"Don't you dare touch him," she screamed. "He's a child!"

Lawson grabbed Maria by the shoulders and pushed her away roughly. Maria staggered, and Catherine caught her.

"Do something," Catherine shouted at the movers.

The men moved slowly and awkwardly, lowering the bulky canvas to the floor. Samuel backed away, trying to escape Lawson's fury. His back bumped into the canvas, and he looked in a panic over his shoulder—the huge painting was blocking the living room door. Lawson raised his fist, and Catherine screamed.

Samuel dodged the blow, rolling onto his side on the floor, and Lawson's huge fist smashed through the canvas. He roared in fury and pain like a wounded animal and pulled his fist from the ruined canvas.

"Help," Catherine screamed.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and then a clipped female voice shouted at the movers. The painting disappeared from the door, and Geoffrey charged into the room. She tackled Lawson, pinning his arms behind his back and driving her knee in his spine. He groaned but made no move to escape.

"You're nothing but a bunch of thugs," he muttered from the floor.

"And you're nothing but a thief," Catherine retorted. "Geoffrey, I'm sick of looking at him. Oversee the movers for me. I don't want to be here anymore."

"Of course, Mrs. Blair," Geoffrey replied.

"Maria, Samuel, don't let them bully you," she said. "If they try to do anything, call Geoffrey. Geoffrey, don't let anyone touch them."

"Of course," Geoffrey said.

Catherine turned her back and marched into the hallway toward the front door. As she walked away, she heard voices shouting and the sound of shattering glass. For a moment, she thought about going back inside to check, but she couldn't bear to be back in the house in the middle of the chaos.

She climbed into the waiting car and watched the house in the rearview mirror as they drove away, wondering if it would ever feel like home again.