Three Years Forgotten, Why Go Crazy When I Say Goodbye? novel Chapter 9

When she pulled up to the gates of Emerald Heights later that afternoon, the housekeeper looked thoroughly shocked. "What are you doing back here?"

Her tone was aggressively defensive, a sharp pivot from her earlier dismissal. Someone had clearly briefed her. Willow, on the other hand, was ice-cold. "This is my marital home. Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Your home? News to me." The housekeeper sneered. "The only people running this house are Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Sinclair. You're just some deranged squatter trying to stake a claim."

She moved to slam the heavy oak door. "Get the hell out before I call estate security."

Willow calmly wedged her heel against the threshold. "It sounds like Vivienne has fed you quite the story. But did she happen to mention that I'm violently unstable? That I have severe anger issues and a habit of lashing out when provoked?"

She slowly raised her hand, making a subtle, threatening gesture.

The bluff worked beautifully. The housekeeper paled, stumbling backward in terror.

Willow held back a scoff. She hadn't expected the woman to cave so easily over a fabricated threat. Vivienne must have spent years painting Willow as an absolute lunatic to the staff.

"Open the door," Willow demanded. "I'm only here for my personal belongings. Once I have them, you'll never see me again."

She was desperate to leave this toxic wasteland behind.

She had moved into this house full of hope, fully believing she would grow old with Julian. She had packed up all her irreplaceable treasures—childhood photo albums, keepsakes, and everything that held sentimental value.

If she was walking away, she was taking her history with her.

The housekeeper hesitated under Willow's lethal glare before finally stepping aside.

Once inside, Willow made a beeline for the master suite.

She had originally stored all her belongings in the master bedroom dressers, assuming they would share the space. But as she pushed the door open, her stomach dropped. The room had been completely renovated. The elegant furniture she had meticulously chosen was gone, and her drawers were completely empty.

"Where are my things?" she demanded, spinning to face the housekeeper who had been hovering over her shoulder like a prison guard.

"I have no idea," the woman replied with a smug shrug.

"No idea?" Willow let out a dark laugh. "Perfect. Then I'll assume you stole them. I'm calling the police right now."

She pulled out her phone and deliberately tapped the screen.

Realizing Willow wasn't bluffing, the housekeeper cursed under her breath and angrily escorted her up to the attic.

It was a cramped, suffocatingly tight space that reeked of damp mildew. Scanning the gloom, Willow found her precious mementos carelessly tossed into a filthy corner. Most were damaged or broken, and the surviving pieces were buried under a thick layer of dust.

It wasn't hard to guess who had orchestrated this petty vandalism. Taking a deep breath to reign in her temper, she grabbed a box and rapidly sorted through the wreckage.

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