They Collared the Wrong Man

The week before my thirtieth birthday, my fiancée, Chloe, transferred five million dollars from my primary investment account.

I told myself she was planning some kind of extravagant surprise. For a full day, I let myself live in that warm, hopeful delusion.

Then, on the morning of my actual birthday, she sent me a text. A measly happy birthday GIF and a $5.20 Venmo payment with the note: “Love you 5ever! <3”

I stared at the notification, a cold knot forming in my gut. I didn't say a word. I just declined the payment.

That evening, I was on the guest list for a major networking gala hosted at a private estate in the Hamptons. When the Uber pulled up to the address, my blood ran cold. It was my own estate, Hawthorne Manor. My late mother’s house.

But it was wrong. Horribly wrong. The elegant, understated entrance was now a gaudy monstrosity of gold-leaf and spotlights, an ostentatious display that had the other guests murmuring in envious whispers. This kind of spectacle must have cost a fortune. I assumed, foolishly, that this was Chloe’s grand gesture, the reason for the five million dollars. Swallowing my unease, I pushed through the gilded doors.

The first thing I saw was Carter Shaw, Chloe’s childhood friend, holding court in the center of the grand hall. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like my custom Tom Ford tuxedo, the one that cost fifty grand.

1

“An estate like this has to be worth north of twenty million,” a guest near me gushed. “The owner must be some kind of royalty. The extravagance is unreal!”

“Isn’t that Carter Shaw?” another replied. “His family’s in finance, but I didn’t know they had this kind of money. No wonder he’s always saying cash is no object.”

I stood frozen at the entrance, a bitter taste in my mouth. I looked at Carter, preening on the makeshift stage, and then at the unrecognizable rooms around me. This place was my inheritance, a sanctuary my mother had designed herself with a quiet, coastal elegance. Now, it was a grotesque caricature of new money.

So this was it. This was the five-million-dollar surprise. She hadn’t just spent my money; she had desecrated my home. The hand-carved Hawthorne sign my mother had commissioned for the front gate was gone. The ancient maples she’d planted were uprooted, replaced by garish, imported palm trees.

Carter spotted me. A smirk played on his lips as he sauntered over, champagne flute in hand. “Ethan,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember putting you on the list.”

He gestured vaguely around the room. “Chloe and I are hosting a rather exclusive event tonight. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself by overstaying your welcome.”

The casual way he said ‘Chloe and I’ sent a spike of ice through my veins. “My house,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You don’t get to make the guest list.”

Carter blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about? This estate was a gift. From Chloe. What right do you have to call it yours?”

I was fighting a war on two fronts: one against the roaring inferno in my chest, the other to keep my voice steady. “This house is mine. Are you having trouble understanding English? You and Chloe vandalized my property, and I will see you both in prison for it.”

He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound. He looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Ethan, are you still dreaming? What a big shot. You really think you’re something, don’t you?” he sneered. “Chloe Lane is the heiress to Lane Industries. She’s out of your league. If you had any real power, you wouldn’t still be some glorified office drone, grinding away for a paycheck.”

He gave a subtle nod, and two hulking security guards materialized at his side, boxing me in. Before I could react, they slammed me to the marble floor. A knee pressed into my back, pinning me. Carter’s polished Italian loafer came down on my cheek, grinding my face into the cold stone.

“Since you’re still so sleepy, allow me to wake you up,” he hissed, his face a mask of triumphant rage. “This house is mine. Something a broke loser like you could never afford in a million lifetimes.”

A sharp, burning pain flared across my face. “It’s my house!” I yelled, my voice muffled against the floor. “The sign at the gate… my mother had it carved… It said ‘Hawthorne’!”

Carter chuckled. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back towards the entrance, forcing my head up. He pointed at the new, hideous plaque bolted over the gate. “Open your damn eyes,” he spat. “It says ‘Shaw Manor.’”

The beautiful, hand-carved letters my mother had so loved were gone. I trembled with a rage so profound it left me breathless. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking, and called Chloe.

2

It rang. And rang. Finally, she picked up.

“Ethan, I’m in the middle of something important,” Chloe’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Unless you’re dying, don’t call me.”

She hung up.

The dial tone blared in my ear. I could feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back in a hot, shameful tide.

Carter heard the click. He burst into another round of laughter. “Go on! Call again! Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t want to hear from you unless you’re dead. Tough break.” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of expensive champagne. “She’s out getting me a birthday present. You should just give up.”

I stared at him, the pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. “Your birthday? You’re celebrating your birthday in my house?” I struggled against the guard’s grip. “I can prove it. The deed to this house is in my name.”

Carter’s response was a sharp slap across my face. The sound echoed in the foyer. “Don’t you dare try to pull that crap with me,” he hissed, his eyes glinting. “Chloe is a Lane. She wouldn’t give me someone else’s property, especially not some pathetic loser’s. Now take a good look in the mirror and realize what a charity case you are.”

Just as I was about to retort, the roar of a sports car engine cut through the night. A moment later, Chloe swept in, poured into a tight red dress that clung to every curve. She moved with a practiced sway, walking straight past me and into Carter’s arms.

“Happy birthday, Carter,” she cooed, her voice honey-sweet. “I poured my heart and soul into this place for you. Do you like your gift?”

I watched, paralyzed, as the woman I was supposed to marry, the woman I had loved for years, wrapped her arms around another man. It felt like watching a movie of someone else’s life.

This was the same woman who had gently massaged my stomach when my stress-induced ulcers flared up, the one who insisted on brewing bitter herbal remedies because she said they were good for me. This was my Chloe. But the woman here tonight wouldn’t even grant me a single glance.

Carter saw me staring. He shot me a triumphant, cruel smirk before turning back to Chloe, his expression melting into one of a pouting child. “Chloe, darling,” he whined, pointing a finger at me. “This lunatic showed up out of nowhere. He keeps saying this house is his. I’m scared.”

He clutched her arm theatrically. “Is he going to try and take my birthday present away? I don’t want that. I love the house you gave me.”

Finally, Chloe’s gaze fell on me. It was flat, cold, and utterly devoid of recognition. “Let’s see who would dare try to take something from you,” she said, her voice like ice.

She crouched down, her expensive perfume filling the air around me. She looked at my face, bloody and pressed to the floor, as if I were a piece of trash someone had tracked in.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice laced with disgust. “This estate is mine. It was a gift for Carter. Now get the hell out of here before I have you thrown out.”

The sheer audacity of her lie stole my breath. “You’re lying,” I choked out, gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “This is Hawthorne Manor!”

My words seemed to jog a memory in one of the nearby guests. “You know, I think he might be right,” the man murmured to his wife. “I remember this place being the old Hayes estate. What’s going on here?”

Carter heard him. “Don’t listen to him!” he shouted, his voice ringing with panic. “Chloe doesn’t know him! He’s just some grifter trying to crash a high-society party for contacts and free champagne!”

3

A few of Carter’s friends quickly chimed in.

“Exactly! Look at him. Does he look like he owns a place like this? He’s dressed like he sleeps on the street.”

“Get out of here, you bum!” another one yelled. “Don’t dirty up Mr. Shaw’s beautiful home. We could sell you for parts and you still wouldn’t cover the cost of one of these rugs.”

That was it. I would get the deed. I would shove the proof of ownership in their smug, ignorant faces. I struggled to my feet and made a break for the study.

I didn’t make it two steps. Carter lunged, grabbing me by the hair and slamming my head against the heavy oak door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes.

“You piece of trash,” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Did I say you could enter my house? Are you deaf? I told you to get out!”

I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple. My vision swam. Through the haze, I could see Carter’s triumphant sneer.

“Carter,” I ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret this.”

My defiance only seemed to fuel his rage. He kicked my legs out from under me and I crumpled to the floor. Then the fists started flying, hammering into my ribs, my stomach, my face.

“Regret this? You think you’re in a position to threaten me?” he grunted with each blow. “Let me teach you the rules. When you’re on my property, you’re nothing but a dog. It’s time you learned how to crawl.”

An excruciating pain radiated through my limbs until I didn't have the strength to even lift an arm to defend myself. I was a puppet, and he was pulling the strings.

When he finally ran out of steam, he stood over me, breathing heavily. A cold smile spread across his face. “You know, Ethan, my new estate could use a guard dog. I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you have the job.”

He snapped his fingers. One of the security guards produced a thick leather dog collar and fastened it around my neck. The metal buckle was cold against my skin.

Carter circled me, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Wait,” he said, his eyes lighting up with a fresh wave of cruelty. “Dogs don’t wear clothes. Get them off him.”

“You’re a monster, Carter!” I screamed, a raw, desperate sound.

A moment later, I felt cold air on my skin as my clothes were torn away. The crowd that had gathered was watching me like a sideshow attraction. Phones were out, cameras flashing. Humiliation washed over me, a chilling tide. I was forced onto all fours like an animal, the shame a physical weight. I stared at Carter, my hatred a burning coal in my chest. I wanted to tear him apart.

“Carter Shaw,” I rasped, my voice thick with blood and fury. “I will burn you to ashes for this.”

He just laughed. He placed a foot on my back, pressing me down. “A dog’s bark is worse than its bite,” he announced to the crowd. “I want everyone to see what happens when a stray wanders onto my property. I want you all to see him beg.”

The sound of our confrontation drew more people out from the main party. They saw me, bloody and bruised, a collar around my neck, and some of them had the decency to look shocked.

“What’s happening here?” a woman whispered. “That’s a person. How can they treat him like that?”

“You don’t get it,” someone next to her replied smugly. “He brought it on himself. Trying to claim a house that isn’t his. He’s getting what he deserves.”

Carter, soaking in the attention, puffed out his chest.

I saw my chance.

With every last ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and sank my teeth into his hand.

I bit down with the force of years of suppressed frustration and a moment of pure, primal rage. I felt a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. I tore away, spitting his severed pinky finger into the dirt of a nearby potted plant.

The color drained from Carter's face. He clutched his maimed hand, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he stared at me with eyes full of murder.

Just then, Chloe returned, her face a mask of concern. The sight of Carter’s mangled hand made her gasp. She looked around frantically.

“Someone call an ambulance! Now!”

4

Carter, cradling his bleeding hand, pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe… it was him! I was just talking to him, and he… he attacked me! He just jumped up and bit me!”

Chloe’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes filled with a loathing so intense it felt like a physical blow. “You bastard,” she spat. “You’re even more vicious than I thought. I underestimated you.” Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “If they can’t reattach Carter’s finger, I will have you chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs.”

I looked up at the woman I was supposed to marry, this beautiful stranger who was defending another man while condemning me. The pain in my heart was a physical agony, a deep, shuddering tremor that threatened to stop my breathing altogether.

Tears blurred my vision. “Chloe,” I choked out, the words tearing at my raw throat. “I’m your fiancé.”

This was the girl who had held my hand and promised me forever. But somewhere along the way, the promise had been corrupted by money and power, turning us into strangers.

I struggled to my feet, my body screaming in protest. “This estate is mine,” I said, my voice shaking. “A week ago, you transferred five million dollars from my account.”

For the first time, a flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed her face. She looked away. “What are you talking about? This is my estate. I gave it to Carter. I never took your money.”

Her denial was a fresh stab in the wound. I forced myself to speak, dredging up the past she was so desperate to bury. “Have you forgotten, Chloe? Have you forgotten that it was my money that saved your family’s company from bankruptcy? It was my investment that made you CEO of Lane Industries.”

“Oh, shut up!” she snapped, cutting me off. “Are you ever going to let that go? It was a business deal, Ethan. A small one. I’d forgotten all about it.”

I fell silent. She was right. The sweet, ambitious girl who had wanted to build a life with me was gone. In her place stood this cold, ruthless creature.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked past her, into the study. I went directly to the antique safe hidden behind a bookshelf and pulled out the file containing the property deed. I walked back out and held it up.

“Then why don’t you take a look at this,” I said, my voice flat. “See who the real owner of this estate is.”

Chloe let out a short, mocking laugh. She snatched the folder from my hand and opened it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Ethan, you really are pathetic. You just don’t know when to quit.” She turned the document around for me to see. “Why don’t you take a look and see who the owner is.”

I looked. And my world tilted on its axis. There, on the line marked ‘Owner,’ was her name: Chloe Lane.

How? When did she do this? When did she forge the documents and steal my mother’s house from me?

The people around us craned their necks to see. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their expressions shifting from morbid curiosity to outright contempt for me.

“Well, that settles it,” one man said, shaking his head. “I almost felt sorry for him, but it turns out he’s just crazy. Does he just go around picking out nice houses and claiming they belong to him?”

“No!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “That’s not true! This is my house!”

Chloe and Carter exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee. “You’re delusional, Ethan,” Chloe said sweetly. “You claim this house is yours. Do you have any proof?”

“If you can’t prove it,” Carter added, his voice a low growl, “the only way you’re leaving this house tonight is in a body bag.”

The circle of guards tightened around me, their knuckles cracking in the tense silence. They were ready.

I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. This was it. I was trapped.

Just as their hands were about to fall on me, a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the doorway.

“Stand down! Since when did Ethan’s property become yours to claim?”

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