Chapter 39 Chapter thirty-nine
Lena's POV
“What. The. Fuck.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, a hot hiss cutting out of me as if the disgust is too acidic to swallow. My stomach turns violently at the sight in front of me—Wes and Sienna, tangled together on her couch like the pathetic, writhing cliché of betrayal they are. Clothes half-off, limbs everywhere, Sienna’s ridiculous moans still echoing faintly in the room like bad background music.
Wes springs up like he’s been electrocuted, eyes wide, mouth falling open and closing again, like he’s searching for the right lie to start with. Sienna doesn’t even bother covering herself properly. She sits up lazily, dragging a sheet over her chest, looking at me with a kind of smugness that makes bile rise in my throat.
I take a slow, deliberate step into the apartment, trying to process the fact that I‘m even seeing this. I came here because the responsible, mature part of me thought checking on a supposedly sick employee was the proper thing to do. And instead, I walk into this circus.
“Well,” I say, voice sharp as glass. “I see you really needed that sick leave.”
Sienna doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even blink. She looks at me with an expression that screams I don’t care, and the audacity of it almost knocks the air out of me.
“I thought I could borrow your ex-boyfriend for some time,” she says casually.
My hands tremble—not with sadness, not with heartbreak, but with blistering disgust.
“You mean my garbage?” I ask, arching a brow.
Wes opens his mouth immediately like the spineless idiot he is. “Lena, I can explain—”
“Keep your explanation,” I snap, slicing my hand through the air. “And shove it down your fucking throat.”
His face pales, but I don’t care. I’m far past caring. I look at Sienna again and let out a humorless, bitter laugh.
“You’re unbelievable,” I say. “You spent months sending flowers to my house, harassing my peace, pretending to be this heartbroken martyr begging for forgiveness… only for me to catch you red-handed again? And with her?” I gesture in Sienna’s direction. “That’s some world-class audacity, Wes. Truly.”
Sienna rolls her eyes as if I’m boring her. “Oh please. You don’t need him anymore. So why are you so bothered? Why are you so mad and flustered?”
I feel an ugly laugh bubble in my chest.
“You know what?” I say, stepping back toward the door. “You’re right. I don’t need to care about my garbage… and his plaything.”
Their faces shift at the same time—Sienna’s turning red, Wes’s tightening defensively—but I don’t wait to see what comes next. I’m already heading toward the exit, every part of me vibrating with rage and disbelief.
I step outside into the hallway, inhaling deeply, trying to force my breathing into something that doesn’t feel like I’m choking on humiliation. The air smells stale, the quiet too loud, and my heartbeat is thundering in my ears.
But before I walk too far, I hear quick footsteps behind me—heavy, desperate. I know them too well. Wes.
Of course.
“Lena—Lena, wait!” he calls, grabbing onto the moment like it might save him.
I don’t turn. I don’t slow down. I’m tired. Tired of him, tired of this cycle, tired of being the one who gets dragged into his trash fire.
But he’s faster. He cuts in front of me, blocking my path like he has any right.
“It’s not what it seems,” he blurts, breathless.
I stare at him, silent, unimpressed.
“Really?” I ask. “Because it seems like you were inside Sienna. Did you teleport there by accident?”
His face contorts. “No—no, listen, she seduced me again. I swear. I wasn’t planning—”
“Oh,” I say with exaggerated sympathy. “So you’re weak. That’s the excuse? You tripped and fell into her vagina?”
His jaw clenches, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He tries again.
“I just— I needed someone to warm my bed, okay?” he says desperately, voice rising. “I needed someone. And you— you haven’t even been acknowledging me despite how persistent I’ve been trying to make things work. If you’d just accepted me again, I never would have fallen into Sienna’s seduction.”
Before that last insulting, manipulative, guilt-tripping sentence is even done leaving his mouth—my hand is already moving.
The sound of the slap echoes through the hallway, sharp and satisfying. His head jerks to the side, a bright red mark instantly blooming across his cheek.
I don’t feel guilty. Not one bit.
“You fucking gaslighting, manipulative fucker,” I hiss, leaning in just enough so he can hear every word. “Don’t ever fucking speak to me again. Do you understand?”
He blinks at me, stunned, watering eyes trying to search my face for softness that no longer exists. There’s none left. Not for him.
I walk away without looking back.
He doesn’t follow.
The next day at work, I’m a mess internally. But I do everything I can to disguise it. Straight posture, focused expression, my usual annoyance simmering close to the surface so no one thinks I’m falling apart.
But my head is pounding. My chest hurts. And every time I blink, I see that disgusting scene again—Wes and Sienna tangled together, Sienna’s smug little smirk, Wes scrambling to explain, the humiliation I refuse to admit I felt.
I’m trying. I’m trying so damn hard to stay composed.
But it’s like the universe woke up today and decided, “Let’s see how far we can push Lena before she commits murder.”
Because while I’m reviewing a document, one of the employees from another department drifts toward my desk. She knocks lightly on the edge, sticking her head in.
“Hi, Ms. Sawyer,” she says. “I just wanted to let you know… Sienna sent some of her things home today. She’s still very sick. I spoke to her on the phone. She sounded really unwell. I hope she recovers soon.”
My hand freezes mid-scroll.
My eyes slowly lift to meet hers
She’s smiling sympathetically—genuinely believing Sienna is at home fighting a fever instead of riding my ex like a stolen bike.
I breathe once. Twice.
Then I explode.
“Are you being paid to gossip?” I snap.
Her eyes widen. “What—?”
Another woman nearby looks over, clearly listening. Two more pause mid-conversation. Of course. Of course they’re all hovering around like bored vultures.
“You heard me,” I say sharply. “Are you all being paid to gossip? Or is this just a hobby? Something you do to feel busy?”
The first woman frowns. “With all due respect, Ms. Sawyer, maybe you should mind your business too. It’s not like you’re the boss.”
I stare at her, shocked for one whole second.
Then I laugh. A low, dangerous, unhinged laugh.
“As far as I know,” I say, stepping toward her, “I have every right to call out irresponsible employees when their gossiping is interfering with their work. Especially when they’re talking right out of their asses.”
Her mouth falls open. The others gasp dramatically. Someone mutters something under their breath.
“Oh please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Save your theatrics. And if you don’t get back to work right now, I might be forced to mention a name or two to Tessa.”
That gets them.
Instant stiffening. Instant panic. They don’t move at first, but they’re clearly about to.
I look at their ID cards slowly, deliberately, not even reading the names—just watching them squirm. It is so deeply satisfying.
But of course—
Right on cue.
Tessa walks in.
Her eyes sweep the room. “Is there a problem here?”
The women immediately scatter, pretending to be deeply, passionately dedicated to their duties. I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.
I clear my throat lightly. “No problem,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I was just giving one or two reminders about being responsible employees. And the dangers of acting otherwise.”
Tessa nods approvingly. “Good.” She glances around. “Everyone, please listen to Ms. Sawyer.”
The smirks return to my lips. Half victory, half exhaustion.
But then Tessa turns fully toward me. “Sebastian is requesting for you.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Again?”
What is it this time?