Blurb：
When Avery Kenyon buys her dream apartment in Veridia City, her toxic family—led by manipulative matriarch Janice Kenyon and scheming Uncle Rick—invades to claim it. From sabotaging her ivory velvet sofa to demanding she *gift* her home for cousin Brayden’s future, their greed knows no bounds. But Avery fights back with razor-sharp wit, a Michelin-starred dinner trap, and a 911 call that exposes their cyberbullying lies.
Witness the high-stakes clash as Avery battles defamation, territorial tantrums (yes, Rochelle tries to "mark" her apartment), and a twisted plot to steal her deed. Will hollow Creek’s gossip mill destroy her reputation, or will her legal revenge with evidence-packed screenshots bring the Kenyon-Lowry clan to their knees?
A gripping tale of family betrayal, toxic entitlement, and one woman’s stand against gaslighting elders. Perfect for fans of *dysfunctional family dramas* and *underdog justice*.
Content：
§01Avery, I’m coming to Veridia City.
The voice on the other end of the line was my mother's, thin and sharp, a familiar prelude to an unreasonable demand.
And your Uncle Rick’s family is with me.
I stayed silent, leaning against the cool glass of my new, empty apartment, watching the city lights begin to twinkle below.
My silence was a mistake. It was always a mistake. It was an invitation.
"Clear out your master bedroom for them. They'll need the space."
Not a request. An order.
I took a slow breath, the smell of fresh paint filling my lungs. A smell of freedom, of a life I was building for myself, by myself.
"No."
The word was quiet, but it landed in the ensuing silence like a brick through a window.
"What did you say?" Janice Kenyon's voice crackled with disbelief.
"I said no, Mom," I repeated, my own voice firmer this time. "There are plenty of hotels in Veridia City. I can help you book one."
"Hotels? Are you out of your mind? He's your uncle! My only brother! You think I'd let my family stay in some sterile, soulless hotel when my own daughter has a brand-new apartment?"
I almost laughed. "This apartment is sterile and soulless *precisely* because I haven't moved in yet. It's an active construction site."
"Don't you get smart with me, young lady!" The shouting started, right on schedule. "After everything we've done for you, you think you can go to the big city and forget where you come from? You think you're better than us now, is that it?"
It was the same old script. The one she’d been reading from for twenty years. Any assertion of my own needs was a betrayal. Any boundary was an insult.
"This has nothing to do with being better," I said, my patience fraying. "This is about my home. A home I bought with my own money. Money I earned."
"Oh, your money!" she scoffed. "If it weren't for us feeding you, clothing you, raising you, you wouldn't have a penny to your name! We are the reason you have that fancy job!"
The call ended, as it always did, with her hanging up on me in a blaze of fury.
Minutes later, a notification popped up on my phone. A post in the family group chat. It was a photo of my new apartment key, the one I had excitedly posted on my private social media an hour ago.
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The End