**Overhearing My Husbands Sister Plotting to Steal My Flat I Gave Her a Taste of Her Own Medicine**
Sophie shoved the dirty plates into the dishwasher and hit the quick-wash button. The Friday dinner had gone off without a hitchJames had wolfed down her famous beef and ale pie, and even Emily, who usually turned her nose up at anything that social climber cooked (as she referred to Sophie behind her back), had helped herself to seconds.
Off for a shower, James called from the hall. Got footie with the lads tomorrowearly night for me.
Go on, then, Sophie waved him off, scrubbing the countertop.
Emily was sprawled in the lounge, glued to her phone. Shed turned up the night beforeclassic Emily, no warning, just a mountain of shopping bags and her usual pinched expression. Just popping in for the weekend, as if she hadnt done this a dozen times before.
Fancy a cuppa? Sophie asked, leaning into the doorway.
No, Emily snapped, not bothering to look up.
Sophie shrugged and retreated. Three years of marriage had thickened her skin against her sister-in-laws barbs. James always said, Ems just pricklygive her time. Dont take it personally.
The shower hummed to life upstairs. Sophie flicked the kettle on and reached for her favourite mugthe one with the chipped rim from their honeymoon. Then Emilys voice floated in from the lounge:
Mum, hi. Yeah, Im at theirs No, shes cooked her usual slop Listen, I spoke to the solicitor.
Sophie froze, mug halfway to her lips. Emily had dropped her voice to a whisper, but in the quiet flat, every word carried.
Yes, legally Since Gran left the flat to James, not both of them That idiot hasnt a clue she can be taken off the deed Jamesll sign anything if you spin it right
The mug slipped from Sophies fingers and shattered on the tiles.
What was that? Emilys voice sharpened instantly.
Dropped my mug, Sophie managed, ice flooding her veins.
The flattheir three-bedroom in Kensington, the one Jamess gran had gifted them. *For you two to start your life,* shed said. And now this viper was scheming to boot her out?
Typical, Emily huffed, appearing in the doorway. Butterfingers, as usual.
Got distracted, Sophie muttered, crouching to gather the shards, grateful Emily couldnt see her face.
Use the dustpan, for Gods sake.
Sophie fetched it robotically, hands trembling.
Why the shaking? Its just a mug, Emily sneered.
Startled me, thats all, Sophie lied.
Oh, right. Our delicate little daisy, Emily snorted, flouncing back to the sofa.
One thought hammered in Sophies skull: *They want me out. Of my own home. Thats why Emilys here.*
James emerged, whistling *God Save the Queen* off-key.
Mug casualty? He grinned. Weve got a dozen more.
Yeah, Sophie forced a smile.
He kissed her forehead and vanished into the bedroom.
That night, Sophie lay awake, staring at the ceiling while James snored beside her. Tell him? He adored Emily, always made excuses. Complain to her mother-in-law? She was clearly in on it. The woman had never warmed to Sophie, though she hid it behind stiff smiles.
*Ill handle this myself,* Sophie decided by dawn. *But how?*
She tiptoed to the kitchen at sunrise, hands shaking so badly she missed the sugar bowl twice.
Right. Think, she whispered.
Her gaze landed on a solicitors card pinned to the fridgeMr. Thompson had helped their neighbour with a messy divorce. Sophie grabbed her phone.
Morning! Mr. Thompson? Sophie Whitmore hereLucy from number 12s neighbour. She kept her voice low, eyes darting to the door. I need urgent advice. Today at one? Brilliant.
James shuffled in, pillow crease on his cheek.
Youre up early, he mumbled, leaning in for a kiss.
Couldnt sleep. James, Im seeing a friend todayJenny. Ages since we caught up.
Jenny who?
From uni, she blurted.
Oh. Right. Im taking Em to the cinema. She fancied it.
*Of course she did,* Sophie thought.
The solicitors office smelled of leather and espresso. Mr. Thompson, a bespectacled man with a receding hairline, listened intently.
The flat was a gift from your husbands gran. Are you on the deeds?
Registered right after the wedding.
And whose names on the title?
Pardon?
The Land Registry documents. Deed of gift? Will?
Sophie blinked. James handled all that.
Mr. Thompson sighed. First, check who legally owns it. If its just James, youve a problem. If its joint, his sisters out of luck.
How do I check?
Request a title register online or at the council. Do it today.
Sophie returned with a plan. Emilys Louboutins tripped her in the hall.
Back so soon? Emily smirked from the kitchen. We wondered where youd vanished.
Friends place, Sophie said evenly.
James took me to the cinema, Emily drawled. Still picks those mindless action filmslike a teenager.
Sophie breezed past. In the bedroom, she pulled up the government portal, ordered the title register. Paid. Now to wait.
That night, with James snoring and Emily texting in the guest room, Sophies email pinged. The document loaded. Her stomach dropped.
*Proprietor: Whitmore James Edward.*
Emily was rightlegally, the flat was his alone. Her blood boiled. *Not happening.*
At dawn, she rang Mr. Thompson.
Youve been registered over three years?
Nearly.
Then youve occupancy rights. Plus, furnishings and renovations are marital assets. Got receipts?
Every one.
Then youve a strong case. Gather proof. And *dont* sign anything they shove at you.
The next two days, Sophie played the dutiful wifesmiling, cooking, pretending nothing was amiss. Meanwhile, she scavenged receipts: the Italian sofa, the boiler replacement, the bespoke kitchen. Scanned their prenup, bank transfers, even the painters invoice.
On Monday, Emily announced shed popped in for another week.
Sudden holiday, she simpered at James. You wont turf your own sister, will you?
Stay as long as you like! James laughed.
Sophie gritted her teeth.
That evening, Emilys hushed call floated down the hall:
Mum, its sorted Yes, Ill stay No, hes clueless Papers are ready Jamesll sign, he always does
Sophies fists clenched. *Game on, love.*
The next day, she took leave, visited the notary, then the council. By evening, she had a fat folder and a steely resolve.
Darling, why not invite your parents this weekend? she asked over shepherds pie. Been ages.
Emilys head jerked up, eyes narrowing.
Smashing idea! James beamed. Em, Mumll be chuffed youre here.
*Thrilled,* Emily muttered.
Saturday, Sophie cooked like a woman possessedroast beef, Yorkshire puds, sticky toffee pudding. *Last supper,* she thought grimly.
By six, the table groaned. Jamess parents arrivedCharles, gruff as ever, and Margaret, her smile brittle.
Youre looking well, Sophie, Margaret said, the lie smooth as silk.
Thanks, Sophie smiled back.
James raised his wine. To family!
To family, Sophie echoed.
Emily caught her eye and smirked. *Just wait.*
Actually, Sophie said brightly, theres something we need to discuss.
Silence. Emily went pale.
Soph? James frowned.
I overheard Emily and your mum plotting to have me removed from the deeds. To kick me out.
*What?* Margaret gasped. James, shes lost the plot!
Word for word, Sophie said coolly. Emily said, *That dim cow hasnt a clue,* and that youd sign anything if they asked *just right.*
Emily shot up. You were *eavesdropping*?
Overheard while cleaning. But the point isyou tried to steal my home.
*His* home! Margaret snapped. Gran left it to *James*!
