They Called Me a Squatter in My Own Home

Three days after my father’s death, I was home, planning his funeral. A woman and a group of bodyguards stormed in.

She shoved me, hard. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed. "Get out of my house! Now!"

I froze, stunned. A new housekeeper? Maybe my brother Liam hired her.

I kept my voice calm. "This house is mine. Liam knows that. If you have a problem, take it up with him."

Her face twisted into a mask of rage. Then she slapped me.

"Yours?" She scoffed, looking me up and down with disgust. "This is my boyfriend Liam's house. And you look like you don't belong here. I don't know if you're the new maid or the cook, but I don't care. Get the hell out. Now."

My blood ran cold. I pulled out my phone and texted my assistant.

[Tell Liam to get home and handle his girlfriend. Now. Or he won't see a dime of the family money.]

...

"One hour!" she shrieked, pointing at me. "Pack your shit and get out! Stop squatting in my mansion!"

Her mansion? The whole thing was absurd.

"This house is in my name," I said, my voice pure ice. "Please leave. Immediately."

"In your name?" Amber snorted. "Hah! You've got some nerve!"

She spun around and ran out the front door, onto the manicured lawn.

"Everyone, get a load of this!" she shrieked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "We've got a squatter pretending she owns the place!"

A lady stopped walking her dog.

A man looked up from his roses.

A few kids on bikes circled closer, curious.

"Look at this trash!" Amber shrieked, jabbing a finger in my direction. "She trespassed in my house, and now she refuses to leave!"

Every eye in the neighborhood was on me.

I watched, speechless. This woman was putting on a show for the entire neighborhood. Murmurs and whispers rippled through the onlookers. I didn't have time for this circus.

I pulled out my phone to call my brother, Liam Sterling. I tried a dozen times. No answer.

Dad had just died. I didn't want a huge scene.

I put my phone away and looked at the woman preening on my lawn. "I’m Liam’s sister, Stella Sterling." I tried to be patient. "I’ve been away on business trip, so it makes sense you haven't met me. Don't make this a bigger deal than it is. I just want my father to rest in peace."

My name should have shut her up.

But she moved in close, like a shark that smells blood.

"You think I don't know?" she hissed, her eyes narrowed. "My boyfriend, Liam, is the sole heir. He doesn’t have a sister!"

She lunged forward, grabbing my arm so hard her nails dug into my skin. "I know exactly who you are," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper right by my ear. "You're the little slut from Liam's social media."

"You hovered around him while his father was dying, crying those fake tears."

"It was all a pathetic performance, wasn't it? Trying to play the victim so he'd feel sorry for you. So he'd make you his little kept woman and you could get a piece of the Sterling fortune."

I winced and yanked my head back.

I stared at her caked-on makeup. Then it hit me. This was Liam’s mysterious girlfriend. The one he’d always refused to let me meet.

It seemed he knew he had terrible taste.

She was here for me, and I needed to get rid of her. Fast.

"My ID is in my car. I'll go get it—"

I turned toward my Mercedes in the driveway. Before I took two steps, two burly men grabbed my arms from behind.

"Not so fast, pretty girl," one of them sneered, his face covered in tattoos. "The lady isn't finished with you."

The neighbors just watched the show. More phones came out to record.

"Let go of me!" I struggled. "This is private property! You're trespassing!"

"Shut up! What trick are you trying to pull, bitch? Trying to run?" Amber followed us back inside, slamming the front door behind her.

Her eyes scanned the grand foyer I had designed myself, glowing with greed. The marble floors. The crystal chandelier. The custom Italian furniture.

"Nice place," she licked her lips. "No wonder you don't want to leave."

Her gaze finally landed on the shimmering crystal piano in the middle of the room.

My heart seized.

That was my piano. The one I’d played my whole life.

A gift from my father on my sixth birthday.

Custom-made by a master German craftsman. The only one in the world.

My name was engraved on it.

"Wow, a crystal piano?" She sauntered over and dragged a blood-red fingernail across the keys.

It made a jarring, ugly sound.

"Pretentious bitch," she sneered. "Got all the nice toys, don't you?"

She scanned the room. Her eyes locked onto a heavy brass sculpture by the fireplace.

A flash of insane malice glinted in her eyes. She snatched the sculpture, hoisting it high above her head.

"I bet this was expensive," she taunted.

"No—!" The word tore from my throat, shaking with terror.

CRASH!

She brought the heavy brass sculpture down with all her strength. Right onto the delicate crystal lid of the piano.

A sickening crunch echoed through the room.

A gaping hole shattered the piano's perfect, transparent surface.

Countless shards of crystal exploded outwards, along with splintered keys.

Each fragment caught the light, a blinding glare. Just like my heart, shattered into a million pieces.

"Oops," Amber said, her face a mask of fake shock. Then, the mask dropped, replaced by a triumphant, cruel smile. "My bad," she cooed.

She closed the distance between us and yanked my head back by the hair. Her sharp nails dug into my scalp.

Pain exploded behind my eyes, and my vision swam with black spots.

"Now," she sneered, "time to put you back to where you belong."

The two men dragged me toward the basement. My knee slammed against a stair, a dull, throbbing pain shooting up my leg.

They shoved me into the cold, dark wine cellar.

The heavy door boomed shut. It sealed me away from my world.