My Husband Adopted His First Love's Son

I gathered all our bank cards and calculated every piece of property and asset shared between me and Patrick. My goal was clear—I wanted him to walk away with nothing.

Before I could finish, I heard commotion outside. Patrick had returned, and he brought Ria and her son with him.

They were openly trying to take over my home.

I steadied myself, suppressing the surge of anger, and walked out of my room. My sudden appearance startled my in-laws.

"When did you get back?" my mother-in-law blurted out, clearly alarmed.

Ignoring her, I fixed my gaze on Ria.

Sensing the intensity of my stare, she hurriedly put on her innocent, helpless façade.

"I really have nowhere else to go. Andrea, if it bothers you, I’ll leave right now," she said timidly.

Ria’s act didn’t fool me. I saw her for what she truly was—a two-faced manipulator.

It struck me how her demeanor—delicate and pitiful—had always been the kind that men seemed to adore.

I didn’t explode in anger. Instead, I smiled.

"Oh, you had nowhere to go? Then you can stay. You can have my room—I’ll be out of town for a few days."

My words left them all dumbfounded. They looked at me as if I were a ghost.

Patrick, who seemed braced for a fight, was equally taken aback by my calm reaction.

Their disbelief didn’t bother me. In fact, I welcomed it. The happiness they felt now would only make their eventual downfall that much sweeter.

I left the house without another word, their confused stares burning into my back.

In truth, I wasn’t going out of town. I just didn’t want to stay under the same roof as them. Sitting in my car, I started looking for buyers for the house.

Selling the house wasn’t going to be easy. For Patrick’s family, this house was their anchor in San Fransisco—a symbol of stability. Even though my parents had bought it, the painful memories I had here outweighed any attachment I felt. Selling it would be a way to cut ties and give them a lesson they’d never forget.

The location was prime, so I hoped to find a buyer quickly. But after three days, there wasn’t a single response to my listing.

Desperate, I decided to step up my efforts. I stationed myself outside a real estate agency, keeping an eye out for someone wealthy but pliable—a buyer who would make the process easy.

Luck was on my side. A man pulled up in a modest car, exuding an air of urgency. Modesty in a vehicle often signals someone cautious with their money—someone who might also be easier to negotiate with.

After preparing my pitch, I approached him. "Excuse me, sir, could I have a word with you?"

When he looked up, I realized I recognized him—it was Karter Miles, a lawyer I’d met at the courthouse.

"Mr. Miles, what a coincidence..." I said awkwardly, memories of our first encounter flashing back. That day, I had been at my lowest, clutching my stomach in pain, waiting fruitlessly for Patrick.

"Indeed, quite the coincidence. What brings you here?" he asked, his tone was neutral but curious.

Not wanting to divulge too much, I brushed it off with a vague excuse. Karter didn’t seem convinced. After finishing his errand, he approached me again.

"I know a bit about your situation," he said. "If you trust me, I might be able to help."

His offer gave me pause. After some thought, I decided to confide in him, sharing my plan to sell the house.

To my surprise, Karter agreed to help.

We carefully mapped out the next steps, ensuring the process would be both swift and seamless. With the plan set, I returned home to inform Patrick.