Chapter 8
"What do you mean, you know?"
Sienna pulled her knees to her chest. In the dim apartment light, she looked nothing like the confident woman from the penthouse.
"I'm not stupid," she said quietly. "Do you think I didn't wonder why my father suddenly encouraged me to 'follow my heart' when I mentioned a Kensington Corp executive? My father has NEVER supported anything I've done. Ever."
She laughed—bitter, hollow. "When I was eighteen, I wanted to be a painter. He said I was wasting his money. When I got into law school, he said I wasn't smart enough. But the day I mentioned Nolan? Suddenly he was dad of the year. 'Go for it, sweetheart. You deserve happiness.'"
I stayed silent. Let her talk.
"At first I told myself—maybe he's changed. Maybe he's finally proud of me for landing someone 'important.'" Her voice cracked. "Then I found the burner phone."
"Nolan's?"
"In his jacket. Three months ago. He was in the shower. I saw messages—from my father. Talking about board seats. Asset transfers. Timeline."
"You READ them?"
"I photographed them." She met my eyes. "All of them."
My heart hammered. "Sienna—if you have those messages—"
"I know what they're worth." She unfolded from the couch and paced to the window. "But you have to understand my position. I'm pregnant. My father controls my trust fund, my apartment, my health insurance. If I turn on him, I have NOTHING."
"If he succeeds," I countered, "and takes Kensington Corp apart, you think Nolan stays? You think any of them keep their promises?"
She was quiet for a long time.
"Nolan told me he loved me," she finally whispered. "When we were alone—when there were no games, no agendas—he told me I was the only real thing in his life." She turned. "Was that a lie too?"
I thought about my own marriage. The sweet words. The tender moments. The careful construction of a life that was really just a trap.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I know he threatened to put my mother in prison tonight. Using fabricated evidence. He's not who either of us thought he was."
Something hardened in her face. "Your mother. Earlier today—when she called me a—" She stopped. "She said things."
"She did. She was wrong to say them that way." It cost me something to admit that. "But she was protecting me. The way your father has NEVER protected you."
Direct hit. Sienna's eyes welled.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"The photos. The messages. Everything you have." I stepped closer. "In exchange, I'll make sure you and the baby are taken care of. Independently. No strings to your father, no dependence on Nolan."
"You'd do that? For the woman who slept with your husband?"
"I'd do that," I said, "for the woman brave enough to photograph the evidence and keep it. You've been waiting to use those photos. You just needed someone to hand them to."
She stared at me. Tears fell, but she didn't wipe them.
Then she went to the bedroom and came back with a phone. A cheap prepaid—not hers.
"I bought this the day I found the messages. Transferred all the photos. Kept it hidden." She held it out. "There's seventy-three messages between Nolan and my father. Dates. Plans. Financial details."
I took the phone. My hand trembled.
"Sienna—once I use these, your father will know it was you."
"I know."
"He'll cut you off."
"He already has." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I just didn't want to admit it. A father who uses his daughter's body as a chess piece—he cut me off a long time ago."
We stood there—two women destroyed by the same man, holding a phone between us like a grenade.
"One more thing," she said as I turned to leave.
I stopped.
"The baby." She put her hand on her stomach. "I don't want Nolan involved. At all. Can your lawyers make that happen?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Then we have a deal."
I walked out of that apartment holding seventy-three reasons to burn my husband's world to the ground.
And I was going to use every single one.
Sienna pulled her knees to her chest. In the dim apartment light, she looked nothing like the confident woman from the penthouse.
"I'm not stupid," she said quietly. "Do you think I didn't wonder why my father suddenly encouraged me to 'follow my heart' when I mentioned a Kensington Corp executive? My father has NEVER supported anything I've done. Ever."
She laughed—bitter, hollow. "When I was eighteen, I wanted to be a painter. He said I was wasting his money. When I got into law school, he said I wasn't smart enough. But the day I mentioned Nolan? Suddenly he was dad of the year. 'Go for it, sweetheart. You deserve happiness.'"
I stayed silent. Let her talk.
"At first I told myself—maybe he's changed. Maybe he's finally proud of me for landing someone 'important.'" Her voice cracked. "Then I found the burner phone."
"Nolan's?"
"In his jacket. Three months ago. He was in the shower. I saw messages—from my father. Talking about board seats. Asset transfers. Timeline."
"You READ them?"
"I photographed them." She met my eyes. "All of them."
My heart hammered. "Sienna—if you have those messages—"
"I know what they're worth." She unfolded from the couch and paced to the window. "But you have to understand my position. I'm pregnant. My father controls my trust fund, my apartment, my health insurance. If I turn on him, I have NOTHING."
"If he succeeds," I countered, "and takes Kensington Corp apart, you think Nolan stays? You think any of them keep their promises?"
She was quiet for a long time.
"Nolan told me he loved me," she finally whispered. "When we were alone—when there were no games, no agendas—he told me I was the only real thing in his life." She turned. "Was that a lie too?"
I thought about my own marriage. The sweet words. The tender moments. The careful construction of a life that was really just a trap.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I know he threatened to put my mother in prison tonight. Using fabricated evidence. He's not who either of us thought he was."
Something hardened in her face. "Your mother. Earlier today—when she called me a—" She stopped. "She said things."
"She did. She was wrong to say them that way." It cost me something to admit that. "But she was protecting me. The way your father has NEVER protected you."
Direct hit. Sienna's eyes welled.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"The photos. The messages. Everything you have." I stepped closer. "In exchange, I'll make sure you and the baby are taken care of. Independently. No strings to your father, no dependence on Nolan."
"You'd do that? For the woman who slept with your husband?"
"I'd do that," I said, "for the woman brave enough to photograph the evidence and keep it. You've been waiting to use those photos. You just needed someone to hand them to."
She stared at me. Tears fell, but she didn't wipe them.
Then she went to the bedroom and came back with a phone. A cheap prepaid—not hers.
"I bought this the day I found the messages. Transferred all the photos. Kept it hidden." She held it out. "There's seventy-three messages between Nolan and my father. Dates. Plans. Financial details."
I took the phone. My hand trembled.
"Sienna—once I use these, your father will know it was you."
"I know."
"He'll cut you off."
"He already has." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I just didn't want to admit it. A father who uses his daughter's body as a chess piece—he cut me off a long time ago."
We stood there—two women destroyed by the same man, holding a phone between us like a grenade.
"One more thing," she said as I turned to leave.
I stopped.
"The baby." She put her hand on her stomach. "I don't want Nolan involved. At all. Can your lawyers make that happen?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Then we have a deal."
I walked out of that apartment holding seventy-three reasons to burn my husband's world to the ground.
And I was going to use every single one.