Chapter 4 - Packing Up the Queen
By 4:00 p.m. that afternoon, the festive, sparkling holiday atmosphere of the estate had completely evaporated, replaced by the harsh, abrasive sound of packing tape being ripped from cardboard dispensers.
Lorraine had tried calling three different family lawyers, only to be told by each one that Arthur Vance’s ironclad trust was airtight, unassailable, and already fully registered in Travis’s name at the county courthouse. Realizing her legal options were non-existent, her arrogant facade finally crumbled into bitter, venomous rage.
She slammed a designer suitcase onto the guest bedroom bed, throwing silk blouses and heavy wool sweaters haphazardly inside while I stood leaning against the doorframe, watching her dismantle her own kingdom.
"You think this makes you clever?" Lorraine spat, not bothering to look at me as she shoved a handful of diamond-encrusted bracelets into a velvet pouch. "You and your little bastard child. You manipulated him! You poisoned my son against me!"
"Nobody poisoned Travis against you, Lorraine," I replied calmly, my arms crossed over my chest. "You did that all by yourself every single time you looked down your nose at a little girl who just wanted a grandmother. You built a house of cards out of cruelty, and you're shocked that a gentle breeze knocked it down."
"Get out of my room!" she shrieked, whirling around with a fury that made her face turn purple. "Get out of my sight!"
"Actually, it's our room now," I reminded her with a sweet, placid smile. "In fact, Travis is already downstairs having the master suite prepared for Zia. She wants to paint her bedroom walls lavender. I think you'd hate the color."
Lorraine let out a guttural sob of pure frustration, grabbing a porcelain figurine from the nightstand and hurling it directly at my feet. It shattered into a thousand pieces against the hardwood floor. I didn't flinch. I just turned on my heel, stepped over the broken shards, and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her rapidly shrinking pile of belongings.
Downstairs, the house felt lighter, as if a toxic, suffocating fog had finally been vacuumed out of the air.
Zia was sitting at the grand piano in the living room. Travis stood behind her, his large hands guiding her tiny fingers gently across the ivory keys, teaching her how to play a simple holiday melody. The sunlight poured through the tall bay windows, catching the crystal chandelier and scattering warm, dancing beams across the room.
When Travis saw me walking down the grand staircase, he looked up, a soft, profound smile spreading across his face. He left Zia playing her song and met me halfway down the steps.
"Is she packed?" Travis asked quietly.
May you like
"She's throwing tantrums like a toddler," I laughed softly, resting my head against his shoulder. "She'll be gone before dark."
Travis wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, pulling me close against him. "Good. Because as of tomorrow, this house isn't an estate anymore. It's just a home."
