Chapter 99
Sienna's pov
It was better not to show anyone the most fragile parts of you. You never knew whether they’d comfort you—or take the chance to hurt you when you were already bleeding.
There was still too much left unsaid between Harrison and me.
He glanced out the window, then turned and walked away. “It’s five. Get yourself together. Dinner.”
Only after he was gone did I exhale, my chest loosening as if I’d been bracing for impact.
Dusk was already settling in. I’d slept an entire day.
Was the sedative in that medication really that strong?
After I washed up, I picked up my phone and hesitated before opening my messages. I wanted to see the photos again, clinging to the irrational hope that the woman in them wasn’t me.
But when I found the thread, my stomach dropped.
The photos were gone.
I was sure I hadn’t deleted them. And the message with the bank account information had been altered, replaced by a meaningless string of numbers, as if someone had wiped the evidence and left a smear behind.
My fingers went cold around the phone.
A skilled hacker could delete things, sure, but to do it cleanly, without any trace, without even a glitch in the thread… it felt deliberate, intimate.
I wanted to call Luna. The urge rose fast, then died just as quickly at the thought that my calls might be monitored.
I needed a chance to speak to her in person.
Downstairs, Martha was setting dishes on the table. The food was pale and mild, designed for recovery rather than appetite.
“Mrs. Blackwood, you’re still healing,” she said gently. “Light food is best for now.”
I stared at the bland spread and couldn’t stop the bitterness from slipping out. “I understand. But does Mr. Blackwood have to eat like this with me?”
Martha glanced toward him, awkwardly caught.
“I’ve been wanting to eat lighter lately.” Harrison lifted his gaze, cool and unreadable. “Is that a problem? Eat. I haven’t seen you finish a proper meal in days.”
I pushed at my food, appetite gone. Harrison didn’t touch his utensils.
When I finally set my fork down, his plate was still untouched. He sat with his hands loosely folded beneath his chin, watching me with a focus that didn’t feel entirely directed at me.
A thought, sharp and unwelcome, cut through the quiet.
“Who did you watch the sunrise with at Solstice?”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “That woman… she looks like me. Who are you using as a stand-in?”
The air turned brittle. Harrison’s gaze hardened.
“That’s none of your business.”
A thin laugh almost escaped me. “Harrison, if you were an actor, you’d win an Oscar.”
I pushed my chair back and stood. Behind me, I heard him exhale.
“Some things are better left unknown,” he said. “It’s for your own good.”
I didn’t turn around. “That’s what you think. I have a right to know everything.”
The refusal dragged the idea of divorce back into my mind—persistent, ugly. A woman who looked like me, watching a sunrise with my husband, and a truth he wouldn’t name. How was I supposed not to care?
“Mr. Blackwood,” Martha called from the entryway, voice tense. “Someone left an envelope at the door.”
My heart lurched. I moved before I thought. “Give it to me.”
“Mrs. Blackwood, careful,” Martha warned. “The floor’s slippery.”
“Give it to me.” I nearly snatched it from her hands.
Paper. Something small and hard inside. It looked like the envelope from my dream—the one with the photos.
Harrison was suddenly there. His hand closed over it with effortless control, and he took it from me as if it had always belonged to him.
“Something’s off with you,” he said. “Is this for you?”
I shook my head, unable to explain without exposing myself.
He studied me. “You grabbed it like you were desperate, then let me take it. What are you afraid of?”
He opened the envelope.
A letter slid out, along with a single earring—delicate, unmistakably a woman’s, and familiar in a way that made my skin prickle.
Harrison read the letter. His face turned cold, control tightening into something sharper, and the paper crumpled slightly in his grip.
I leaned in just enough to catch a glimpse. The letter was short, but one name stood out: Elena.
My throat tightened. “Are you going to save her?” I asked. “Are you?”
If he wasn’t planning to help her, why would he look like that?
Harrison folded the letter, tucked it away, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. He didn’t look at me once.
“Harrison!” My voice broke harsher than I intended. “If you go to her, I’m moving out!”
I didn’t understand why he stayed tangled up with Elena, why he kept the truth locked behind his teeth, why his choices always felt absolute. I’d already decided not to tell him about the photos. So why did he have to go now?
At the door, he paused. When he spoke, his voice was stripped of warmth, though something like disappointment flickered underneath.
“If you can’t trust me,” he said, “then do whatever you want.”
The Blackwood Estate fell silent the moment he was gone.
He had still chosen Elena—so this was what he meant when he said he didn’t like her.
Tears slid down my cheeks. I wiped them away, angry that my body betrayed me.
“Mrs. Blackwood,” Martha said softly, stepping closer, “please calm down. It isn’t good for your health.”
I forced a few steady breaths. “I… I need to go for a walk.”
If I moved out, it would be a decision made with a clear mind, not a threat flung in panic.
“I’ll go with you,” Martha insisted. “It’s dark.”
“I’m fine,” I said, firm. “It’s just a walk.”
Outside, the night air wrapped around me, warm and restless. I walked until my thoughts stopped tripping over each other.
Why should I care what Harrison did? He had his responsibilities, and I had my own plans. Letting my emotions drag me around like this was pathetic.
I didn’t know how long I walked. The sky was fully black by the time I wandered into a busy part of town, where people streamed past under harsh lights and humming traffic.
Lost in thought, I stepped off the curb.
The motorcycle’s roar hit my ears a beat too late—too close, too fast—and then the world lurched as a splash of bright red bloomed across the crosswalk.