They Wanted My House, Now They Have Prison

Georgia's POV

Looking at that greedy crowd, I felt the anger in my chest rising like wildfire.

So this was Jordan’s idea of an apology?

He brought me here just to guilt-trip me in front of his whole family like I was some easy target he could manipulate.

Fed up, I set my knife and fork down and stood up.

“Everyone,” I said calmly, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Everything you’re talking about, I never agreed to any of it. I’m not gifting a cent, and I’m certainly not handing over anything that belongs to me.”

At that, the smile on Ms. Dawson’s face disappeared instantly. She slammed her glass to the ground and pointed at me, screeching, “How dare you play me like this?! You shameless woman! You’re going back on your word in front of all these people?!”

The relatives also quickly turned hostile.

“What kind of girl is this?”

“Doesn’t even keep her word!”

“Jordan, this is the girlfriend you brought home?”

Panicked, Jordan grabbed my arm and whispered, “Georgia, don’t make a scene. Everyone’s watching.”

But I yanked my arm away and let out a bitter laugh. “Jordan, I gave you the benefit of the doubt because of everything we’ve been through. But you brought me here for a setup. From now on, if you so much as come near me again, I’ll take back everything I’ve ever given you.”

With that, I turned and walked out.

That night, I had just finished showering and was getting ready for bed when the doorbell rang.

I peeked through the peephole and nearly lost it.

There was Mrs. Dawson at my doorstep, holding that baby in her arms. And behind her, Jordan stood awkwardly with a massive suitcase.

Despite seeing them, I didn’t respond. I had no intention of opening the door.

But the next sound made my blood run cold. I heard a key turning in the lock.

Damn it! I forgot to take back the spare key I once gave Jordan.

The door then swung open, and Mrs. Dawson strutted in like she owned the place.

She looked around and announced boldly, “Well, since you refused to pay for the postpartum center, I’ll just move in. You can take care of me during my recovery instead.”

Then she turned to Jordan and barked, “Go change the sheets in the master bedroom. Georgia can sleep on the couch tonight.”

I felt my blood pressure spike. “This is my home! Who do you think you are—"

Before I could finish, she marched straight into my bedroom.

She flung open my closet and started pulling out my designer bags and jewelry.

“These things are way too flashy. I’ll hold onto them for you.”

“Put that down!” I yelled as I rushed over to stop her, but Jordan grabbed my arm and held me back.

“Georgia,” he said softly, “we’re family now. Why make a big deal out of this?”

I was about to explode when I saw Mrs. Dawson walk over to my nightstand and pick up the framed photo of my late parents.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and commented, “Why would you keep this in the bedroom? It’s so unlucky!”

And then she moved like she was about to toss it into the trash can.

At that very moment, my vision went red.

“Don’t you dare!”

I ripped free from Jordan’s grip and lunged toward her, snatching the photo back.

Suddenly, she let out a dramatic wail and collapsed to the floor, still cradling the baby. “Help! She hit me! Jordan, you saw that, right?! She pushed me! I just gave birth, yet she attacked me while I was holding the baby!”

Before I could react, Jordan shoved me hard, sending me stumbling backward.

I slammed into the corner of the wall, and pain shot through my back.

But he didn’t even look at me.

Instead, he crouched down beside his mother and worriedly asked, “Mom, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

Mrs. Dawson groaned dramatically, clutching her waist. “My back… She pushed me so hard, I think it’s broken…”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll help you lie down and rest.”

Jordan helped her up gently, then turned to me with a cold expression.

“You should go stay somewhere else for a few days. We’ll talk after my mom calms down.”

Stunned at how far this had gone, I let out a dry laugh.

“Jordan,” I said flatly, “this is my house.”