After 28 Lockouts, I Finally Locked Him Out Chapter 03

After 28 Lockouts, I Finally Locked Him Out Chapter 03

That night, Julian didn’t come to our bedroom.

Over the past five years, he’d done this every time we had a conflict. He would freeze me out and wait for me to surrender, then restore my access like an act of charity.

But this wasn’t an argument.

This was the end.

At six the next morning, the alarm went off as usual.

Normally, I would have already been downstairs making breakfast, reviewing Julian’s and Leo’s schedules, and replying to urgent trust emails.

Today, I turned off the alarm and went back to sleep, holding Maya in my arms.

When I woke again, sunlight was streaming into the room.

It was almost nine.

The house was quiet, with only the faint sound of traffic in the distance.

Soon, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall, and the bedroom door was pushed open.

Julian stood in the doorway, the belt of his robe hanging loose, his hair a mess, his expression furious.

“Why did my executive assistant just wake me up about an urgent capital injection notice? Clara, what the hell are you doing?”

I ignored him, lowering my head to smooth Maya’s hair.

He strode to the side of the bed.

“Are you still throwing a tantrum? Over a summer camp fee?”

He shoved his phone in my face.

On the screen was the trust app.

“Look. Your access has been restored. Now get up and do your job.”

His tone was exactly what I’d expected.

As if he were granting mercy to a child.

I didn’t take his phone.

I picked up my own, unlocked it in front of him, and tapped the blue icon for the Westwood Family Trust.

I didn’t look at the pending items. I went straight to my personal settings and found the option no one ever touched.

“Request Temporary Account Freeze.”

A pop-up appeared.

“Confirm submission? During the freeze period, you will be unable to perform any operations.”

I tapped “Confirm.”

The anger on Julian’s face slackened into stunned disbelief.

“What… what is this?”

“It means exactly what it says.” I set my phone down. “From now on, everything related to the trust will be automatically forwarded to your assistant. I’ve already set the auto-reply: ‘Please handle directly.’”

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe.”

I got out of bed and went to the closet to find clothes for Maya.

He stared at me for a few seconds, as if trying to gauge how far I would take this. In the end, he must have decided it was just another play for attention.

“Leo’s school has a family donor dinner tonight. I have a board call and can’t get away. You go.”

“I’m not going.” I didn’t look up. “I have plans.”

“Plans?” His voice dripped with contempt. “Clara, what could you possibly have that’s more important than the Westwood family’s reputation?”

I turned and looked at him.

“I have an appointment with a lawyer.”

His expression froze.

“A lawyer?” He seemed to find the idea absurd, but a flicker of panic entered his eyes. “Over this? Clara, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

He stepped toward me, his voice low and menacing.

“You will regret this.”

With that, he turned and slammed the door behind him.

I made Maya her favorite blueberry pancakes, then took her to a gallery in Back Bay.

We spent the afternoon looking at paintings.

Maya held a small guide and carefully told me the story behind each piece.

My phone rang.

It was Julian.

I walked to the window and answered. It was noisy on his end, like he was at some event.

“Leo twisted his ankle playing squash at the club. He’s on his way to Mass General now. The board members are all here with me; I can’t leave. Go to the hospital.”

He said it so casually.

As if this morning had never happened.

As if I were still the person who would clean up all his messes.

“Have his mother go,” I said. “I’m not his mother.”

The other end went silent for a few seconds.

Then Julian’s voice rose, sharp and incredulous.

“Clara, what kind of attitude is that? He’s hurt, and you won’t even go see him?”

I looked down at the stream of people on the street below and found the whole situation so absurd I almost laughed.

“Julian, you always thought I didn’t do enough for Leo,” I said. “Now you can see what it actually looks like when I don’t care.”

I hung up.

When I turned, Maya was standing in front of a bright oil painting, watching me.

Her eyes were very calm.

No panic. No fear.

I walked over and crouched in front of her.

“Mom,” she asked softly, “are we free now?”

I pulled her into my arms.

“Yes. We’re free.”