CHAPTER 3: The Honeymoon is Over
Two weeks later, the afternoon sun beat down on the marble steps of the Grandeur Heights apartment building. Sloan Harper, deeply tanned and draped in a designer silk jumpsuit she had charged to Noah’s credit card, tapped her foot impatiently.
"Noah, hurry up with the bags! The doorman isn't even helping," she snapped, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.
Noah struggled up the steps with four massive suitcases, sweating through his linen shirt. "I don't know where Marcus is. Usually, he's right at the front."
They reached the heavy brass-and-glass double doors of the building. Noah punched the access code into the security keypad.
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. Access Denied.
Noah frowned. He tried again. Access Denied.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, you can't even remember a simple code?" Sloan huffed, pushing him aside and typing the numbers herself. The red light flashed again.
Before Sloan could throw a tantrum, the glass doors opened from the inside. But it wasn't Marcus the doorman. It was a towering, broad-shouldered security guard in a dark suit.
"Can I help you?" the guard asked, his tone polite but firm, blocking the entrance.
"We are moving in," Sloan said haughtily, trying to push past him. "Penthouse 4A. My mother-in-law vacated it. Now, be a dear and get a cart for these bags."
The guard didn't budge. He pulled a tablet from his jacket. "Name?"
"Noah and Sloan Harper," Noah said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "There must be a mistake with the keypad."
"No mistake, Mr. Harper," the guard replied, scrolling on his screen. "The owner of Penthouse 4A terminated the previous tenant's lease two weeks ago. The property is strictly off-limits. Furthermore, your names have been added to the building’s restricted access list."
Sloan’s face contorted in outrage. "Restricted? Do you know who my husband is? His mother lived here! We are taking over the lease!"
"The owner has explicitly forbidden your entry, ma'am." The guard handed Noah a sealed envelope. "I was instructed to give you this."
Noah ripped the envelope open. Inside was a single, crisp sheet of paper. It was a formal eviction notice from Harper Holdings LLC, along with a key to a low-budget storage facility on the outskirts of the city. Pinned to the notice was a handwritten sticky note.
You wanted me to understand my place. I found it. Now it’s time you find yours. — L.
"Noah, what does it say?" Sloan snatched the paper, her eyes widening as she read it. "What is Harper Holdings? What did that miserable old woman do?!"
"She... she must have lost the apartment," Noah stammered, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. "We don't have anywhere to go, Sloan. I didn't renew the lease on our old place because we were supposed to move here."
"Well, call her!" Sloan shrieked, drawing the attention of pedestrians on the sidewalk. "Call her right now and tell her to fix this! We are not sleeping in a hotel like commoners!"
Noah pulled out his phone, his hands shaking slightly. He dialed Laya's number. It rang once before a sterile automated voice filled the line: "The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service."
Noah stared at the screen, the reality of the situation slowly creeping up his spine. The woman who had packed his lunches, paid his college tuition by working double shifts, and endured his wife's endless abuses... had simply vanished.
"She changed her number," Noah whispered.
"Unbelievable!" Sloan screamed, kicking one of the expensive suitcases. "She ruins my wedding day by making a scene, and now she ruins this! You need to fix this, Noah. You’re a CEO! Throw money at it!"
May you like
"I... I can't," Noah admitted quietly. "The wedding drained my personal accounts. I was waiting for my Q3 CEO bonus to clear."
Sloan looked at him with pure venom. "Then you better go to your office and demand an advance. Because I am not spending my first night back from Santorini sitting on a sidewalk."
