The drive back was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. Every turn, every red light, every passing car felt like part of a larger calculation now. I wasn’t just a passenger in my own life anymore. I was the one setting the pace, mapping the moves, deciding the rhythm. Natalie’s eyes were on me, calm but alert, reading the tension I didn’t need to speak.

“You handled that well,” she said finally, voice low, measured. “Better than I expected.”

I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “It had to be done,” I said. “I couldn’t let him—or her—think they could control the timeline. Not Friday. Not ever.”

Natalie nodded. “And now?”

“Now,” I said quietly, “we make sure the house stays mine. The accounts stay mine. Every document, every deed, every bank notice—it’s locked, flagged, secured.”