Georgette's POV

After spending a year abroad, I returned home quietly, hoping to surprise my fiancé.

But the moment I stepped into my house, I froze.

The place was filled with smoke, and an entire wall was covered with urns. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning.

Panicked, I fumbled for my phone to call my fiancé and ask what the hell was going on. But before I could even dial, a woman burst into the house.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “Can’t you see this house is for storing urns? You just barged in. What if you disturbed the spirits?”

Her words hit me like a slap. This was my house here, and she was using it to store urns?

“I’m the owner of this house. Who gave you permission to put urns in here?” I asked sharply.

But she only glanced at me with utter disdain and scoffed, “Owner? Please. This house belongs to my son-in-law.”

She smirked and added, “My son-in-law is Jerry Rodgers. Now get out, or I’ll have someone throw you out!”

I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me. Jerry, my fiancé, was her son-in-law?

——

I quickly called him, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. “Jerry, you’d better give me an explanation!”

His voice on the other end was cold. “Georgette, what's wrong again?”

“What the hell happened to my house?” I demanded.

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted, a little uncertain. “Your house? What could’ve possibly happened to it?”

“I’m standing in it right now,” I said flatly.

After I spoke, silence devoured him. Then finally, he spoke. “You’ve been gone for a year. I let someone else use it. What’s the problem? And besides, that house was supposed to be our marital home. Meaning it’s for us. I have every right to handle it.”

I almost laughed from the sheer absurdity of it. First of all, who said I even still wanted to marry him? And second, how could anyone think it was okay to turn a future marital house into a columbarium?

I clenched my jaw, furious. “Jerry, you better come here right now and explain this to me in person.”

Yet he only sighed impatiently and said, “Georgette, are you done with your drama? Fine, I admit I shouldn’t have loaned out the house, but it’s not like you were coming back. I’ll book you a motel. Go stay there. I’m busy these days. Once you’re done with your business, just leave.”

Then he hung up.

I stared at my phone, stunned and livid.

A few minutes later, I got a text from him, a motel booking confirmation. When I opened it, nearly laughed in disbelief.

It was for a cheap roadside motel, barely seven bucks a night.

Fuming, I called him back.

But to my surprise, a woman answered.

“Mr. Rodgers is in a meeting, Miss Payne,” she said smoothly. “Mr. Rodgers said you’ve been too spoiled, so that motel suits you just fine.”

Holding back my temper, I clenched the phone. “Put Jerry on. Now.”

But the woman only sounded more smug. “Mr. Rodgers is very busy. Oh, and just a friendly reminder. The motel’s a bit far from your place, so you might want to head there now. Wouldn’t want to miss check-in! And don’t forget, you have to check out by 6 AM tomorrow. If not, Mr. Rodgers will have to pay for an extra day.”

Georgette's POV

The voice on the phone only made me more furious.

My own house had been turned into a columbarium, and Jerry had the nerve to book me a seven-bucks motel, and even told me to check out first thing in the morning.

“Tell Jerry he needs to get back here immediately,” I said coldly. “And let him know I’m calling the police. Someone turned my property into a storage room for ashes, and I want answers.”

“Also,” I added, “I’ll be contacting the property management. I want everything in this place thrown out!”

I had barely finished speaking when that same woman snapped back through the phone.

“Georgette, I’m warning you. My mom has a heart condition. If you try anything and upset her, I’ll make sure Jerry deals with you!”

Her voice was filled with anger and arrogance.

Yet I didn’t respond. I just hung up, face cold, and immediately called the property management office.

I told them I was the legal owner of the property and needed them to step in.

But what they said next completely caught me off guard.

“Miss Payne,” the manager said apologetically, “a woman named Beatrice Hicks came to us recently. She had a copy of the property certificate and claimed she was the owner.”

I was stunned.

Dad had bought this house for me. The original title deed was with me overseas. There shouldn’t be any other property document out there.

But according to them, someone had shown up with what looked like an official deed and registered it in their system.

“Miss Payne,” the manager continued, “there’s smoke in that unit almost every day. We tried contacting the owner, but the woman said it’s her house, and she can do whatever she wants. She also showed us the title, so we had no choice.”

I listened in silence, my face growing colder with every word.

I firmly told them again that I was the rightful owner and that I had the legal documents to prove it.

Then I immediately called my secretary overseas and asked her to find the property deed and send me a picture of it as soon as possible.

Once that was done, I was just about to call the police when Jerry called.

“Georgette, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

His voice was full of frustration. “I only let Beatrice’s mom stay there for a bit. She’s an elderly woman who didn’t have a place to go. What’s the big deal? You’re seriously blowing this out of proportion over a house? I already booked you a motel, didn’t I?”

With even sharper tone, he added, “Stop acting like some spoiled princess. I’m not going to indulge you anymore!”

I stared at my phone, absolutely livid.

To him, this was a small issue?

My house had been turned into a columbarium. He shoved me into a seven-bucks motel and ordered me to check out early in the morning as well.

This time, I’d had enough.

“Jerry,” I said coldly, “you’d better show up at my house right now. Or deal with the consequences.”

Then I hung up.

Immediately, I called my father, who was still overseas, and finally let all my frustration spill out.

He listened quietly at first, but the moment I finished, his voice was seething with anger.

“What the hell is Jerry thinking? For years, I’ve helped support their family business for his sake because he was supposed to marry you.”

Angrily snorting, he added, “Well, if he doesn’t want to be my son-in-law anymore, then so be it. From now on, we’re done doing business with their family.”

Georgette's POV

“Georgette, you’re there all by yourself. I don’t want you getting taken advantage of,” my dad said urgently over the phone. “Don’t worry, I’m sending someone over right away.”

A few years ago, Dad’s company was doing exceptionally well, with a bright future ahead. So, he decided to relocate the business overseas. At the time, Jerry and I were already engaged.

Since I had a lot on my plate with the company abroad, Jerry and I agreed we’d get married once I wrapped up everything overseas and returned home.

I still remember the day I left. Jerry held my hand so tightly, clearly reluctant to let me go. He promised he’d wait for me and give me a perfect wedding when I came back.

But it had only been a year, and the man I returned to barely felt like the same person.

Now he treated me like I was just throwing a spoiled tantrum.

At this point, I wasn’t even angry anymore. I was simply disappointed.

Dad said he’d get our lawyer involved to handle the matter. After all, that house was a wedding gift from him to me, and the purchase record was still in his name.

As for the property title, it was with my team overseas, but my assistant had already sent me clear photos of it. That house was definitely under my name.

So, as for Beatrice showing up at the property management with her own title, claiming it was hers, I already had my suspicions.

About six months ago, Jerry told me he wanted to help manage the house while I was away. I didn’t think much of it. I assumed he just wanted to prepare our future home.

As such, I handed him the keys without hesitation. Later, he even asked me for a copy of the property title. Again, I didn’t think twice. I snapped a photo and sent it to him.

Now it was obvious. That photo had been used to create a fake deed. Beatrice must’ve used it to register the house as hers.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

While I was still waiting, fuming, Jerry finally showed up with Beatrice beside him.

He stormed over the moment he got out of the car and started yelling at me.

“Georgette, how long are you going to keep this up? So what if I let them stay in your house for a bit? Do you have to be so petty about it?”

He looked me in the eye, clearly furious. “Besides, that’s our marital house. I have just as much say in what happens to it. I let Beatrice’s mom stay there. What’s wrong with that? Would you really let an old woman sleep on the street?”

I stared at him, my expression turning cold with disbelief. Then I laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Jerry, if you want to play the good guy, use your own house. Why are you lending out mine? Do you even know what she’s doing in there?” I snapped.

He froze for a second, then said coldly, “She’s an old lady. What could she possibly do in it? Even if she broke a few things, I’ll just pay to have them fixed. What’s the big deal? And you dragged me out of work over this?”

Then he narrowed his eyes at me and said in an icy tone, “Georgette, you’re acting like a spoiled brat. I think... I need to reconsider our engagement.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

His father pleaded with mine to arrange this engagement since their business only stayed afloat because of our family. Without our support, their family would've crumbled years ago.

Back then, I actually thought Jerry was a good match, so I agreed to the engagement willingly.

But clearly, he believed I couldn’t live without him.