Chapter 8
T onya
Michael came back three days later. Only this time, he arrived alone, carrying a leather briefcase and wearing the smug expression of a man who held all the cards.
“You’ve got a lot of balls coming here,” I said.
He blinked at me. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him like that before.
"Get off my property," Kevin growled, looming behind me.
Michael quickly recovered. "Actually, I have some documents that require Tonya's immediate attention."
Against my better judgment, I stepped aside. Better to face whatever legal nightmare he'd cooked up than let him control the narrative from outside.
Michael settled himself at Kevin's kitchen table like he owned the place, spreading official-looking papers across the surface with theatrical aplomb.
"What is this?" I asked, hating the dread that was creeping over me.
"Liens and debt documentation. Your grandmother owed $47,000 in back taxes, and a hundred thousand in medical bills.
I've been paying those debts as your financial representative—creating creditor claims against the estate.
The cottage can't be transferred to you until these debts are satisfied. And since you have no independent income...” He smiled coldly.
"The property reverts to creditor ownership—namely, me. "
I stared at the documents. Official county seals, paperwork written in legal language that I was too panicked to fully process.
"I never signed anything giving you permission to do that."
"Of course you did, darling. You were so trusting, so eager to let me handle all the stressful details of our life together. You signed everything I put in front of you without reading it." His smile was cruel. "Very romantic, really. Such faith in my judgment."
Kevin leaned over my shoulder to examine the papers, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. "This is fraud. She didn't understand what she was signing."
"Actually, it's all perfectly legal. I made sure of that." Michael gathered the papers with satisfied efficiency. "The cottage and property will be transferred to my ownership by the end of the week. Tonya, you'll need to remove any personal belongings by Friday."
"No." The word tore from my throat like a battle cry. "That cottage is mine. We rebuilt it. I put everything into it—"
"Consider it rent for the time you've been squatting on my property."
"Your property?" I shot to my feet, fury overriding the shock. "My grandmother left that land to me. Her father homesteaded it in 1892. Four generations of my family lived on that mountain."
"And now it belongs to me." Michael's voice was silk over steel. "Unless, of course, you'd like to discuss alternative arrangements."
I stared at him, seeing the trap he'd laid with crystalline clarity. "What kind of arrangements?"
"Come home with me. Today. Honor your commitments as my fiancée, and I'll transfer the property back to you as a wedding gift. We'll call this whole episode a temporary breakdown brought on by pre-wedding stress."
The cottage. My sanctuary. The first place that had ever truly belonged to me.
"Tonya," Kevin said quietly, warning in his voice.
But I was thinking. Calculating. Trying to find some angle Michael hadn't considered, some way to outmaneuver him at his own game.
There had to be a way out of this that ended with Michael out of my life.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with possibility and threat as I thought desperately what to do. Would my parents give me a loan?
"I can give you everything, Tonya," Michael continued, his voice turning persuasive.
"The cottage, plus a penthouse overlooking Central Park.
Designer clothes, exotic vacations, a social circle that actually matters.
What can he offer you? This rustic cabin?
A life of manual labor and isolation? What kind of life are you really building here? "
"I need time to think," I said. There had to be a solution.
I felt Kevin go rigid behind me, felt the sharp intake of breath that preceded something between a growl and a curse.
"Time?" Michael's smile widened. "Of course. You have until Friday, after all."
KEVIN
I need time to think.
Four words that cut deeper than any blade, that confirmed every fear I'd carried since childhood. She was considering it. Actually weighing her options between the life we'd built together and whatever gilded cage Michael was offering.
"Get out," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "Now."
Michael gathered his papers with satisfied efficiency. "Of course. I'll leave you two to discuss Tonya's decision. I'm staying at the Mountain View Inn in Stowe until Friday. Call me when you've come to your senses."
The moment the door closed behind him, Tonya spun to face me, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Kevin, I wasn't—"
"Weren't what? Considering his offer?" I stepped back from her reaching hands, needing distance before I said something that couldn't be taken back. "Because it sure as hell sounded like you were thinking about it."
"Will you just wait and give me a minute to think. To process.” I grabbed my hair and tugged. This was crazy. “The cottage is everything to me. You know that. It's the first place I've ever truly owned, the first thing I've built with my own hands—"
"And I'm what? Nothing?" The words came out harsher than I intended, but the pain was too raw to filter. "What we've built together means nothing compared to fifty acres of dirt?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" I demanded. "Because from where I'm standing, you just told your ex-fiancé that you need time to decide between him and me. Over property."
"It's not just property!" Her voice cracked with desperation. "It's my independence. My proof that I can survive on my own. My—"
"Your escape route." The realization hit me like a physical blow. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? You're keeping your options open. Making sure you have somewhere to run when this gets too real."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I laughed bitterly. "You won't move in with me because you need your independence. You panic when Michael threatens to take your cottage. You hesitate when he offers to give it back. What exactly am I supposed to think?"
She flinched like I'd slapped her. "You're supposed to trust me."
"Trust you?" The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "You just told the man who abused you for two years that you need time to think about his proposal. What part of that should inspire trust?"
"I was trying to find a way to keep the cottage without—"
"Without what? Choosing me?" I ran a hand through my hair, trying to contain the fury and hurt that were tearing me apart. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"Kevin, please—"
"No." I stepped further back, creating more distance between us. "I've been here before. Foster families who kept me until something better came along. Group homes that promised stability until funding got cut. I've lived my entire life being someone's temporary solution, their backup plan."
"You're not my backup plan. If you just let me explain."
"Then prove it." The challenge hung between us like a blade. "Choose. Right now. Me or the cottage. Us or your precious independence. But don't ask me to compete with ghosts and real estate."
Tears were streaming down her face now, and seeing her pain should have softened my anger. Instead, it just reminded me how easily she cried when things got difficult. How quickly she folded under pressure.
"I love you,” she said miserably.
"No, you don't." The words felt like swallowing glass, but they needed to be said. "You love the idea of me. The fantasy of being swept away by some protective mountain man. But when reality hits, when choosing me means actually sacrificing something that matters to you, you hesitate."
"That's not true."
"Then choose." I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing myself to remain impassive even as my heart shattered. "Right now. Me or the cottage. Us or your independence. What's it going to be?"
She opened her mouth, closed it again, her face cycling through desperation and panic and something that looked like grief. The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we'd built and everything we were about to lose. "Why can’t I have both?”
I turned away from her, unable to look at her face any longer. “I've waited my whole life for someone to choose me first. I'm done waiting." I walked out of my own kitchen, leaving her standing alone among the wreckage of everything I'd thought we were building together.
Outside, the mountain morning was crisp and clear, the kind of day that usually filled me with peace. Instead, all I felt was the familiar emptiness of abandonment, the bitter confirmation that nothing good lasted.
Especially not for men like me.
I'd offered her everything—my home, my heart, my future. And when tested, she'd chosen fifty acres of dirt over forever with me.
The joke was on me for thinking this time would be different.
For thinking I was finally worth choosing.