Chapter 49

Chapter 49
Sienna’s pov

The silence in Zoe’s room was heavy, thicker than usual. It had been days since the restaurant, since Leo’s heartfelt words, since Daniel and I finally, truly connected. Daniel was being amazing, giving us space, but his quiet support was a constant strength. This moment, though, was just for Zoe and me. The lingering tension between us felt like a physical barrier.

I sat on the edge of her bed, carefully, the way you approach a skittish animal. Zoe was at her desk, sketching furiously in her notebook, her back to me. She hadn't looked at me properly since Evan's truth started to unravel. Her anger, her betrayal, it was a raw wound. I knew it. And I knew this had to be different. No yelling, no pleading, just honest, quiet truth.

"Zoe," I began, my voice soft, calm, "Can we talk, just for a little bit. Please."

Her pencil scratched harder on the paper, a deliberate sound of resistance. She didn't reply.

I took a slow breath. "I know you're angry," I continued, keeping my tone even, "And you have every right to be. I made mistakes. Big ones. And I’m so sorry for putting you through this."

The scratching stopped. Her shoulders stiffened. That was something. A small crack in the wall.

"I also know you love your dad," I went on, my voice steady, "And that's okay. You should love him. But there are things, Zoe, things about him that aren't okay. Things you need to understand."

She finally turned, slowly, her eyes narrowed, wary. "Like what," she challenged, her voice flat, "Like you telling me he's a bad person. Again. After you just went back to him. What, did he do something else you didn't like?" Her tone was laced with bitter sarcasm.

I shook my head gently. "No. Not what I 'didn't like.' This is about what he did, Zoe. What he always did. To me. To us. And to himself." I reached into the folder I'd brought, pulling out a few simplified documents Lila had prepared. Not the complex legal jargon, but clear printouts. Bank statements, debt summaries, communication records that spelled out his scams. "Lila, Daniel's friend, the financial detective, she found all this. She works with Daniel on these kinds of things. It’s what she does."

I handed her a sheet, a clear summary of mounting debt in Evan's name, debt he was trying to hide from everyone, even himself. "Your dad, he had a lot of money problems, Zoe. Bad ones. He was borrowing from people, not paying them back. He was losing everything. This wasn't because of me. This was long before I even thought about taking him back."

She glanced at the paper, then away, scoffing. "So what. People have debt. It doesn't mean he's evil. He was just trying to fix things, trying to get us back." Her loyalty, so fierce, was almost heartbreaking.

"He wasn't trying to fix things, honey," I corrected gently, my voice aching with sadness. "He was trying to get my money. And he was using you. Using you and Leo to make me feel guilty, to make me feel like I owed him. He told me he was sick, that he needed help, that he'd changed. All of it, a lie to get access to my art sales, to my accounts." I pushed another sheet toward her, showing transactions that moved large sums from my accounts to various unknown ones. "This is money from my art, Zoe. From my hard work. He took it. He didn't ask. He just took it, planning to vanish again, leaving us with nothing. Just like he did before, but worse this time."

Her eyes flickered to the paper, then back to my face. The defiance in her gaze wavered. "No," she whispered, shaking her head, "No, he wouldn't. He loves us. He wouldn't do that to us."

"He loves the idea of us," I stated, my voice firm but quiet. "He loves what he can get from us. He always has. He told me he was sick, remember? That he was dying? That was a lie too, Zoe. All of it. Just to get me to feel sorry for him, to let him back in." I reached for her hand, gently, carefully. "He manipulated me. He manipulated you. He put you in the middle of his schemes without you even knowing it."

She stared at my hand, then at the papers, her eyes darting between the numbers and my face. Her jaw tightened, her expression a mix of confusion and building dread. "But... he's my dad. He wouldn't..." Her voice trailed off, weaker now.

"I know it's hard to hear," I murmured, my heart breaking for her, "And you don't have to believe it all at once. But you deserve to know the truth. You deserve to know that this isn't your fault. None of it. He did this. Not you, not me. It's his choices. His actions."

Her gaze dropped to the papers again, lingering on the large numbers, the dates. The evidence was right there, plain. It wasn't my word against his anymore. It was cold, hard facts. The fight seemed to drain out of her. Her shoulders slumped. Her head drooped.

"He told me you were lying," she mumbled, her voice barely audible, thick with unshed tears. "He told me you were making it up because you didn't want him around. He said you were trying to take me away from him."

"I never want to take you away from anyone who truly loves you, Zoe," I whispered, reaching out to gently touch her arm. "But I have to protect you from people who will hurt you. Even if they're family. Especially if they're family."

She shook her head, a slow, disbelieving movement. A tear escaped, then another, tracing paths down her cheeks. Her hands clenched into fists, crumpling the paper she held. She finally broke, a small, choked sob escaping her. The anger, the defiance, it shattered, replaced by a raw, profound hurt and confusion. She covered her face with her hands, silent sobs wracking her small frame.

I didn't say anything. I just moved closer, wrapping my arms around her. She stiffened for a moment, then slowly, tentatively, leaned into me, burying her face against my shoulder. Her sobs grew louder, a wrenching sound that tore at my heart. It was a breakdown, yes, but it was also a breakthrough. The wall wasn't entirely gone, not yet. But it had a gaping hole, and maybe, just maybe, I could finally begin to reach her heart. My own eyes burned with tears, a mix of pain for her, and a fragile hope for us.