Chapter 73
Sienna's pov
He was right. I needed time—real time—to dig into Nora’s death and make Elena talk. Ideally, she’d face the music for what she’d done.
But why did she bring up the fake pregnancy from five years ago? What was her angle?
Elena was overseas back then, so if she knew the truth, she had to be tied to whoever staged it.
“Thanks,” I said evenly, and I meant it. I was genuinely grateful to Julian.
Julian didn’t do favors for free, and I’d pay this one back.
I turned to head back to the ward, but Julian stopped me, his expression almost gentle. “Come with me to the Vane Villa this Saturday.”
My mind buzzed. For a second, I thought I’d misheard.
“What did you say?” I stared at him. “You want me to go to the Vane Villa with you?”
The Vanes and the Blackwoods were rivals, and I wasn’t even divorced from Harrison Blackwood. If the wrong person saw us together, it would explode overnight.
“Is there a problem?” Julian asked, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re no longer part of the Price family, and you’ll be leaving the Blackwood family soon. As my friend, it’s normal for you to come to the Vane Villa for a meal.”
He sounded sincere, but I shook my head without hesitation. “No. I’ll stay at the hospital. I’m not causing you trouble.”
His family wouldn’t want me there, and I wasn’t about to hand them a reason to target him.
“But I want you with me,” he said. “You’re someone I care about. It’s only right my family meets you.”
‘Right? Completely wrong.’
What kind of family would welcome a woman who was pregnant and still married—especially when her husband was their enemy? I swallowed the words because listing them out loud wouldn’t change anything.
I almost laughed, frustration burning behind my teeth, and kept my refusal simple. “Julian, there’s no future for us. Skip the family visit. If you want a meal, it can be just the two of us.”
I couldn’t read him, and that was the problem. Nothing he did felt accidental.
Three days later, I met Elena at a café.
I ordered hot milk, mostly for my stomach, partly because I needed something warm to hold.
“It seems you’ve been doing well these past few days,” she said, all bright kindness. “You look much better.”
We sat in a back corner, out of earshot.
“It’s just the two of us,” I said, not bothering with a smile. “Drop the act. Say what you came to say. I have to get back to the hospital to take care of Agnes.”
Elena shook her head like I was being unreasonable, then extended her hand. “I need to make sure you’re not recording.”
For a beat, I couldn’t even speak.
If she was this careful, she either had something real—or she wanted me to think she did.
I unlocked my phone and tilted the screen toward her. “Look. No recording.”
“That’s better.” Her smile thinned. “Sienna Price, don’t try anything. If you want a divorce, follow the proper procedures. Right now, you still have nothing.”
Her true colors surfaced in a second. Elena never missed a chance to twist the knife.
But her words didn’t cut the way they used to.
I held her gaze and kept my voice cold. “I don’t have time for games. The fake pregnancy—how much do you know?”
“Don’t rush.” She leaned back, savoring it. “This is the main event. Why would I tell you so quickly? Let’s talk about Harrison first.”
Stalling.
My knee bounced under the table. I wanted to stand up and leave, but the truth from that year had its claws in me, and I hated how badly I needed it.
Fine. I’d let her talk.
“Him?” I said. “What is there to talk about? Or are you here to show off?”
With Elena, showing off was as natural as breathing.
Just like her mother, Classic Whitmore.
It was the same look Classic had worn after Victor divorced Nora —like winning had made her prettier.
“Not really,” Elena said, sighing like she was merciful. “After all… you’re pitiful. I won’t trample what little dignity you have left.”
Heat crept up my neck, not because she’d landed a hit, but because she said it so easily.
“You were married to Harrison for five years,” she continued, voice smooth. “While we were apart, you stayed by his side. At least he wasn’t alone. In a way, I should thank you.”
My fingers tightened on the edge of the table until the wood pressed into my skin.
“But a stand-in can never replace the real thing,” she said, eyes bright with satisfaction. “Those five years of marriage were mine to give, Sienna. You stole them.”
I let her talk, my throat tight with the urge to laugh and cry at once. Maybe she was right. Maybe she was wrong. Either way, I wasn’t handing her the satisfaction of seeing me break.
“So what?” I said. “Why are you telling me this now—to prove Harrison’s undying love for you?”
Then I let my expression shift, as if I’d just remembered something amusing. “Oh, right. In those five years, Harrison and I slept together more times than you can count. And I’m carrying his child now. If you want to talk about losing… you lost those five years.”
The more she tried to grind me into the dirt, the more I refused to stay there.
The humiliation I’d swallowed for the past two months—I’d return it tenfold.
“Sienna!” Elena snapped. She leaned over the table, eyes sharp. “No matter what happened between you two, he chose me in the end.”
“Then why hasn’t he married you?” I shot back. “He says he loves you, but he still did all those intimate things with me. Do you really think that’s love?”
Maybe Harrison loved no one. Maybe he only loved control. But I didn’t need the truth to hit her where it hurt.
From the way Elena kept performing, she might not tell me anything useful at all. Or maybe she didn’t know and had only used it as bait to get me here.
If her goal was to make me angry and broken, she was failing.
“Right now,” I said, voice low, “your desperate need to prove Harrison loves you is laughable.”
I let my gaze rake over her with deliberate disdain. “Pathetic.”
“Shut up!”
Her arm swung toward me.
I smirked, already lifting my hand to block—
But someone caught her wrist first.
“Miss,” a woman said calmly, “please keep it down in the café.”
It was Jess, the server. One hand held Elena’s wrist in a firm grip; the other steadied the mug by its handle. The milk barely trembled.
Elena’s face stiffened. She yanked free and sat back down, jaw tight.
Jess set the hot milk in front of me.
The soft scent rose between us, warm and ordinary, like it didn’t belong at a table this sharp.
My throat was dry from all the talking. I took one long drink and drained half the mug, feeling heat slide down my chest.
“Sorry,” I said, giving Jess a small nod. “We’ll be careful.”
She looked unfazed and walked back to the counter.
Elena was furious. She glared at me again and again, lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right blade.
“Are you going to talk about the fake pregnancy or not?” I asked. “If not, I’m leaving.”
I hadn’t come to trade insults. I came for something useful.
Elena’s mouth curled.
“Fake pregnancy,” she repeated, and then she laughed. “You’re really pitiful. No one around you trusts you. No one loves you. They use you. And when you finally find out the truth, it’s going to hurt.”
My stomach dropped.
“But that’s perfect.” Her eyes glittered. “I changed my mind. I’m not telling you today.”
She leaned in, voice sweet as poison. “You’ll discover it yourself. And I’ll watch you suffer.”
Her smile sharpened. “The more you suffer, the happier I’ll be.”