Chapter 71
Sienna's pov
My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. I couldn’t be bothered to block the number, so I put it on silent and left it on the coffee table.
It was already afternoon. I wanted tea to wake myself up, but remembering the little life growing inside me, I settled for warm water instead.
A sudden ache shot through my fingers, and my grip gave out.
The porcelain hit the floor and shattered with a sharp crack. Shards skittered across the tile.
A few pieces flew into my slipper. I stepped back on instinct, and a sharp edge bit into the sole of my foot.
It barely hurt. That scared me.
Vanya rushed out of the bedroom at the noise. She took one look at the mess and snapped, “Don’t move. Stay there. Let me clear it first.”
I nodded, too compliant, and tried to crouch, but the moment I put weight on my foot, pain knifed up my leg.
So I was definitely hurt.
Everything was supposed to be getting better. So why did I feel like I was losing something anyway?
“Sienna,” Vanya said, her voice dropping. “You’re crying.”
I touched my cheek. Wet.
“It’s nothing,” I said, even as my throat tightened. “I just got cut.”
I wiped my face with my sleeve and pointed at my foot. “Vanya, help me. I’m afraid I’ll fall.”
She stared at me for a beat, expression complicated, then slid an arm under mine and pulled me toward the couch with careful strength.
I hissed when my foot touched down. The pain flashed, then eased.
I’d endured worse—like the day I took a beating for Nora when debt collectors came for us. Compared to that, this was small.
Compared to what was twisting in my chest, it was nothing.
When I finally sank onto the couch, my phone was still flashing with an incoming call.
But the caller had changed.
Vanya brought over the first-aid kit. Seeing me stare, she glanced at the screen too. “It’s Harrison. Perfect timing. I’ve been dying to tell him what I think.”
I snatched the phone before she could. “I’ll take it.”
I braced for refusal—and the usual humiliation.
I swiped to answer, but neither of us spoke.
Vanya opened the kit and started working on my foot, picking out tiny shards with tweezers. The sting was inevitable. I kept my face still.
I wouldn’t let Harrison hear me crack.
“Sienna.” His voice came through unusually heavy, drowning out his usual chill.
Just hearing him, I could picture him. He sounded like the night I met him at the bar, that rare moment when he’d seemed unsteady, almost out of control.
That side of Harrison never showed when he was fully himself.
“Now that you don’t need money,” he said, “you can divorce me without any worries, right?”
I drew in a careful breath. “Think whatever you want. I’m getting a divorce. I’m not asking for your opinion.”
Two months ago, when Harrison moved Adrian into the Blackwood Estate, he said the same thing to me. Back then, I swallowed it because I had to.
Now the roles had shifted. The satisfaction that flickered in me tasted bitter.
A low sound rumbled through the phone.
Was he angry?
Harrison didn’t usually let me reach him like that. So I told myself he had other things on his mind.
Then a raspy laugh scraped over the line. “You think you can negotiate with me? Sienna, have you forgotten how you used to beg? How you groveled in front of me?”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“There’s no part of you I haven’t seen,” he went on, voice sharp with contempt. “Where else can you go besides staying with me? Who would want you? You’re overestimating yourself.”
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles ached.
“Divorce?” he said, as if the word disgusted him. “Fine. But the child stays. Go wherever you want. Just don’t show up in front of me again.”
My breath caught.
Child. He said it like ownership. Like a thing he could keep.
“Harrison—” I started.
“Mr. Blackwood…” Someone called for him on the other end.
The line cut off abruptly. My head pounded from the way he’d been shouting, and for a second I just sat there, staring at the blank screen like it could explain him.
Vanya’s face was tight with fury. He’d been loud enough for her to hear most of it.
“What kind of person is he?” she snapped. “He cheats, refuses to let you leave, and still thinks he gets to humiliate you. That’s not a man.”
Whether I was used to it or simply didn’t love him anymore, I couldn’t tell. Either answer scared me.
My chest ached, and breathing felt shallow.
“It’s okay,” I said, forcing the words out. “He agreed to the divorce.”
That was all that mattered. I could finally get out.
And what he’d said—those ugly, cutting words—had to be what he truly thought.
Good.
“Hey,” Vanya said, flustered now as she finished bandaging my foot, “why are you crying again? He agreed. That’s a good thing. Stop it, your eyes are going to swell.”
She shoved tissues into my hands. I covered my eyes, but the tears kept sliding out anyway, quiet and relentless.
I hated him, so why couldn’t I stop?
This marriage—this thing that had taken Nora Everly’s life—should’ve ended a long time ago. I should’ve felt relief instead of this hollow pull in my chest.
“It is a good thing,” I said, forcing a shaky smile. “I’m happy. These are tears of joy. I’m not sad.”
It was just my body betraying me, crying when my mind refused to.
Harrison’s verbal agreement didn’t mean much, so I didn’t tell anyone. I kept to my usual routine, going back and forth between the same places, chatting with Agnes Price about harmless things every day.
Little by little, my mood lifted.
The divorce process moved forward. Maybe Harrison really had agreed, because the paperwork didn’t stall. Once he came back and signed, we would no longer be legally tied.
But until he signed, nothing was certain. I couldn’t fully relax.
Harrison was unpredictable. He’d gone back on his word before.
Not knowing why he’d resisted the divorce in the first place only made the anxiety worse.
And I hadn’t forgotten Elena Whitmore.
There was still a score to settle, and it wasn’t about money.
I’d planned to find a time to meet her and ask what happened that day—what happened at the Blackwood house when Nora Everly died.
But Elena contacted me first.
“Sienna,” she said smoothly, “shall we talk? While Harrison isn’t around, you must have a lot of questions for me.”
It was obviously a trap.
“I’m not interested in hearing your answers,” I said, because even if she held the truth, I couldn’t afford to hand her control.
“You will be,” Elena replied, almost amused. “Don’t you want to know the truth about your fake pregnancy?”
My eyes widened. I looked around.
Since Agnes had been moved to a private ward, the hallway was quieter, and the quiet made me feel exposed.
I lowered my voice. “Was it you?”
That fake pregnancy… I’d investigated it more times than I could count. No clues. A doctor could make a mistake, but machines didn’t invent results.
Someone had tampered with the diagnosis.
Was this aimed at me?
If Elena orchestrated it, then I’d been her target from the start.
“It wasn’t me,” Elena said, and she sounded almost cheerful. “I swear. But the person who did it? You’d never guess.”
Her laughter was soft and pleased, like she was enjoying the suspense.
“How about it, Sienna?” she pressed. “Is that enough to make you want to meet and talk?”
The bait hooked deep.
“You’re threatening me,” I said.
“I didn’t say that,” she replied, sweet as poison. “Come if you want. I’ll send you the address.”