I smiled.

“I sold my house.”

Patricia stared at me as though I had spoken a foreign language. “Your house?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Mine.

I purchased it before the marriage, with my own money.

I’m the sole owner on the title, and it’s specifically protected under the prenuptial agreement Ethan signed without bothering to read.” I watched that last part land on him, watched his jaw tighten as the memory surfaced — the document he had signed with a smirk, feeling powerful, never imagining it was a wall being built around my property and not his.

“You had no right,” Ethan said.