I returned home.

The home Daphne and I had once decorated together with our own hands.

Now it was filled with a stranger's presence.

At the entryway sat a pair of limited-edition men's sneakers I didn't recognize.

On the coffee table in the living room lay a half-finished box of cigars—definitely not the brand I smoked.

The studio I treasured most, the one dedicated entirely to my design drafts, was locked shut.

I walked over and pressed my thumb against the fingerprint lock.

"Beep. Verification failed." The cold mechanical voice echoed in the quiet apartment.

My fingerprint had already been deleted.

My heart sank, little by little.

Instinctively, I moved toward the master bedroom. Inside the walk-in closet, the half that used to belong to me had been completely cleared out.

In its place hung rows of luxury men's clothing from brands I didn't recognize. Every piece carried the same gaudy, arrogant style that suited Ronan perfectly.

So while I had been away for half a month, my home had already become someone else's nest.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door.

Standing outside was the building's property manager, Gordon Pike, wearing a flattering smile.

Behind him stood Ronan.

"Oh, Mr. Cross, you're home." Mr. Pike's tone carried a hint of thinly veiled disdain.

"Here's what's going on. Mr. Ashford has just filed a complaint with property management. He says you're refusing to leave the apartment he rented and are interfering with his normal life."

Ronan crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the doorframe. The way he looked at me was the same way someone would watch a clown performing on a stage.

"My girlfriend has a soft heart. She let you stay here for a few days out of pity," he said with a sneer. "And you really started thinking you were the owner?"

He tilted his chin toward the manager. "Mr. Pike, when someone refuses to leave like this, what's the usual procedure?"

Mr. Pike immediately bent slightly at the waist, nodding eagerly. "Don't worry, Mr. Ashford. We'll handle it right away."

Then he turned toward me, his expression switching to a cold, official mask. "Mr. Cross, since you are not the resident here, please leave immediately. Otherwise, we'll have to call security."

I laughed in disbelief.

"Mr. Pike, you've worked in this building for five years. You're telling me you don't recognize me? My name is on the property deed of this apartment. Landon Cross. I'm the owner."

Ronan burst out laughing exaggeratedly, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Your name?" he mocked. "Landon, are you still dreaming?"

He pulled a document from his pocket and waved it in front of me. It was a printed lease agreement.

Clear black text across white paper.

The landlord: Daphne Sinclair.

The tenant: Ronan Ashford.

"Read it carefully," Ronan said. He tapped the contract against my face, humiliation gleaming in his eyes. "Black and white. Right now, I'm the legal tenant here.

"And you?" His smile widened. "You're just an illegal trespasser."

"Mr. Pike, what are you waiting for?" he said impatiently. "Call security and throw him out."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

This top-floor duplex was the apartment I bought with every dollar of the prize money after winning an international design award.

Back then, Daphne had said that women needed a sense of security. She said she would only feel loved if the property certificate carried her name alone.

I loved and trusted her.

Without hesitation, I had agreed. I thought it was proof of our love.

I never imagined it would become the very weapon she used to betray and humiliate me.

Amid the harsh static of the walkie-talkie, several uniformed security guards rushed over and surrounded me.

"That's him!" Ronan ordered arrogantly.

"Throw him out!"

"Mr. Ashford is the most respected resident in our community. Offending him means you're picking a fight with our entire property management!"

Travis Calder, the head of security, stepped forward with a vicious look and shoved my shoulder.

I staggered, my back slamming hard against the cold wall.

"What right do you have to touch me? This is my home!" I roared.

"Your home?" Ronan scoffed as he walked closer. "A loser who can't even produce a property deed thinks he owns this place?"

"Beat him," he ordered coldly. "If anything happens, I'll take responsibility."

The guards needed no further encouragement. Fists and batons rained down on me.

Ronan crouched beside me and leaned close, his voice low enough that only the two of us could hear.

"Your wife was screaming pretty sweetly in the car just now," he whispered. "She said you could never satisfy her."

His words burned into my dignity like red-hot iron.

I tried to fight back, but it was useless.

Within seconds, they forced me to the ground.

Someone twisted my arms behind my back. Another pressed a knee into my spine, pinning me in place so I couldn't move.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

At that moment, Daphne's scream came from the doorway. For a second, I thought my savior had arrived. I was wrong.

She rushed inside, not even looking at me.

Instead, she ran straight to Ronan, anxiously looking him over from head to toe.

"Ronan, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

The concern in her voice made it sound as if Ronan were the victim.

Ronan slipped an arm around her waist and pointed at me with a wounded expression.

"Daphne, look at him. He went crazy and broke into our home, attacking people."

Mr. Calder immediately chimed in, "That's right, Miss Sinclair. We saw it with our own eyes! If we hadn't stopped him, Mr. Ashford might have gotten seriously hurt."

Only then did Daphne turn her head toward me. I lay on the floor, barely able to lift myself. Her gaze was colder than poison.

"Landon, are you done causing a scene? Do you have to make things this ugly before you're satisfied?"

I looked at her, my heart tearing apart inside my chest. "Daphne... this house is our marital home. Have you forgotten? Back then, you said once we had this home, we'd truly settle down in this city. You said you loved me..."

"Marital home?" She suddenly laughed. The sound was full of ridicule and disdain. "Landon, did you forget? We never even registered our marriage."

My mind went blank with a sharp buzzing sound.

"Back then, I asked you to schedule the appointment. Every time you said you were busy, that it didn't matter if it was a day or two later. So... so you were lying to me from the beginning?"

She looked at me coldly, as if I were nothing more than a stranger. "Lying to you? I just hadn't figured out how I was supposed to spend my life with a poor man. You and I were just playing around. Now I'm bored with the game. Understand?"

Each word was a hammer smashing apart the last fragments of hope inside me.

Seeing this, Ronan grew even more arrogant. He walked over and planted his foot on the back of my hand, grinding it down hard.

"You hear that, loser?" He lifted his foot suddenly and drove a punch into my face. "Now get the hell out of here."

Pain exploded across my vision, turning everything black. The taste of thick blood filled my mouth.

The guards stepped forward again. They grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the door like a dead dog.

My dignity.

My love.

Everything I had.

In that moment, they crushed it all beneath their feet.

They dragged me roughly toward the elevator lobby. Every violent tug pulled at the wounds across my body.

Ronan still wasn't satisfied. He chased after us and drove several brutal kicks into my stomach.

"That's for harassing Daphne again!

"That's for not knowing your place!

"Aren't you a designer?" he sneered. "Let's see how you draw after this."

He planted his foot on the back of my right hand. The hard heel of his leather shoe twisted slowly.

Blinding pain exploded through my nerves, darkening my vision.

These hands had once drawn countless designs for Daphne. They had created one-of-a-kind jewelry just for her. They had sketched the dream home we planned to build together.

Now her new lover was trampling them in the most humiliating way possible.

In the struggle, a rolled-up set of drawings slipped from the inner pocket of my jacket and fell onto the floor.

It was the wedding gown sketch I had stayed up several sleepless nights designing for Daphne.

Ronan noticed. He bent down and picked it up, unfolding it with a mocking grin.

"Oh? Are these those worthless drawings of yours?"

He laughed lightly, then pulled his hands apart.

Rip.

The design I had treasured like a masterpiece was torn to shreds. The fragments scattered across my face like falling snow.

"Trash drawn by trash belongs in the garbage."

The noise had drawn attention from the hallway.

A few neighbors cracked open their doors and peered out, pointing and whispering.

"So that's him. I heard he's a kept man living off Miss Sinclair. She dumped him, and he still won't leave."

"Tsk. Looks respectable enough. Didn't expect he'd be this kind of person."

"Serves him right. Of all people to mess with, he had to provoke Mr. Ashford."

Their whispers were like steel needles piercing my ears.

Meanwhile, Daphne, the woman I had once held so carefully in my hands, stood coldly in the doorway. She watched as I was beaten, observed as I was humiliated.

She slowly walked toward me.

For a moment, I thought there might still be the faintest trace of pity.

There wasn't.

She simply opened her purse, pulled out a thick stack of cash, and tossed it onto my face like garbage.

"That should be enough for you to disappear from my world." There wasn't a trace of warmth in her voice. "Landon, don't let me see you again. You disgust me."

In that moment, my world collapsed completely.

I lay sprawled across the cold floor, battered and filthy.

Around me were Ronan's arrogant laughter, the neighbors' whispers and pointing fingers, and Daphne's icy stare.

Humiliation and rage slammed violently against my chest, ready to explode.

Using the last of my strength, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my blood-stained phone. My fingers trembled from the pain.

Still, I dialed the number I knew by heart.

The call connected.

"It's me." My voice was hoarse, but eerily calm.

Ronan's laughter stopped abruptly. He smirked like he was watching a show. "Oh? You've got backup?"

I ignored him.

Into the phone, I spoke slowly, word by word, "The annual investment review of Apex Capital has been moved up to tonight. The location will be the Stellar Club, right downstairs from my building.

"Notify Victor DeHaven of the DeHaven Group. And his precious son. Bring every board member."

Then I paused.

"Tell them this. I, Landon Cross, will personally preside over the meeting."