The Heiress's Revenge

Sienna’s POV

Rain slaps the windshield of my silver Volvo as I idle outside Little Sprouts Daycare . The wipers squeak like they’re complaining . Mia kicks the back of my seat, unicorn rain boots drumming.

“Mommy , faster!”

“Seatbelt first , Captain Unicorn.”

She giggles , snaps the buckle. I kill the engine, pop the umbrella , and we dash through puddles. The daycare door jingles . Inside smells like wet wool and banana bread .

Ms. Lila waves from the carpet . “Morning , Sienna! Mia , circle time!”

Mia hugs my leg . “Bye , Mommy.”

I crouch , kiss her curls . “Be brave . Pick you up at four.”

She scampers off . I linger a second ; her tiny backpack bounces — then I’m back in the rain.

Traffic on Pine Street crawls . I sip lukewarm latte , radio murmuring about the Biotech Summit tomorrow . My phone buzzes in the cupholder.

Remy: Tell Beatrice if she calls you “decorative” one more time I’m mailing her a cactus. Spiky side up.

I snort, thumbs flying.

Me: Already bought the gift wrap.

Remy: Legend.

The light turns green . I roll past Slate Coffee : our Friday spot ; and into the underground garage of Caldwell Biotech Tower . The elevator hums to the 42nd floor .

Ethan’s secretary , Marisol , meets me with a clipboard . “Investor brunch , 10 a.m. Beatrice wants orchids , white only.”

“Got it.”

I weave through glass offices . Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Space Needle dripping rain . My heels click past labs where techs in bunny suits pipette glowing liquids .

Zephyrine Voss ; Ethan’s assistant leans against Ethan’s door, red soles flashing. Her voice floats out, low and syrupy.

“…the Voss family’s jet lands tonight. Dinner at Canlis?”

Ethan laughs ; that warm, boardroom laugh I used to live for. “Book it.”

I stop. My reflection stares back in the glass: auburn hair twisted neat, emerald blouse pressed. I clear my throat.

Zephyrine straightens. “Sienna. Brunch prep?”

“Orchids,” I say.

Ethan steps out, tie crooked. “Babe, you’re early.” He kisses my cheek—mint and cologne. “Save me a seat at the summit tomorrow?”

“Front row,” I promise.

He’s already scrolling his phone. Zephyrine’s eyes flick to me, cool as steel. “Donuts in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

I smile. “Watching carbs.”

The executive kitchen gleams. I arrange orchids in crystal vases. Beatrice sweeps in, pearls clacking.

“Sienna.” Her voice could freeze coffee. “White orchids only. Those have a pink throat.”

I pluck the offender. “Fixed.”

She inspects. “Ethan needs focus. The Voss partnership is delicate.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” She leans close. “A wife supports. She does not distract.”

I meet her eyes. “I scheduled the photographer, the string quartet, and the gluten-free scones. Distraction handled.”

Her lips thin. “See that tomorrow goes smoothly.”

She glides out. I exhale, steady the vase.

11:47 a.m. My phone vibrates.

Ethan: Lab ran late. Grab Mia?

Me: On it.

I text Ms. Lila : Early pickup , family thing.

Little Sprouts again. Mia barrels into my arms, cheeks sticky with applesauce.

“Mommy! We made paper whales!”

“Show me in the car, baby.”

We buckle in. She chatters about circle time. I half-listen, mind on Ethan’s “lab.” My fingers drum the wheel.

“Mia, did Daddy call today?”

“Uh-uh. Ms. Lila said he forgot again.”

My stomach knots . “ It’s okay . Grown-up stuff .”

Home is the penthouse above Pike Place. The elevator opens to floor-to-ceiling windows, Puget Sound gray and restless. I kick off heels, pour juice for Mia, wine for me.

Remy FaceTimes. Her pixie cut is neon blue today.

“Spill,” she demands.

“Beatrice called me decorative.”

“Again?”

“Zephyrine booked Canlis with Ethan. Voss family jet.”

Remy whistles. “That’s billionaire foreplay.”

I laugh, but it cracks. “He said lab.”

“Labs don’t serve Wagyu.” She leans closer. “Check his Amex.”

“Already did. Nothing.”

“Cloud, babe. Shared iCloud. Password’s still Mia2022, right?”

I freeze. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“Terrible friends tell the truth. Call me after.”

She hangs up. Mia tugs my sleeve.

“Mommy, story?”

“After bath.”

Bath time is bubbles and rubber ducks . I wrap Mia in a towel , carry her to the nursery . Ethan’s old MIT shirt is her favorite pajama . I tuck her in , kiss her forehead .

“Night , Captain.”

“Night, Mommy.”

I linger in the doorway. The city lights blur.

Midnight. Ethan’s side of the bed is cold. I pad to his office—door ajar. His MacBook glows on the desk. I hesitate, then type Mia2022.

Photos load. My breath stops.

Hotel key cards. Belltown. Zephyrine’s hand on his chest. A selfie—her lips on his neck. Caption: “Round two?”

I scroll. Months. Years.

The lipstick from this morning burns in my pocket.

I close the laptop. My reflection in the black screen looks like a stranger.

Phone buzzes — unknown number.

Text : You deserve the truth. Summit tomorrow. Watch the stage.

I grip the phone until my knuckles whiten .

Ethan’s key turns in the lock downstairs .

I slip the lipstick into the deed envelope from the attic , seal it , and slide it into my purse.

Tomorrow , I smile for the cameras.

Tonight , I stop being decorative.

[Sienna pockets the evidence. Ethan walks in — will she confront him now or wait for the summit ?]