Chapter 2

Sienna‘s pov

“Don’t you know whether he’s home or not?”

“Sienna, are you still mad at me after all these years? I swear I’m not here to ruin your family.”

“Elena, do you hear yourself?” My laugh came out cold. “Your mother, Classic Whitmore, destroyed my family and framed my mom. And now you’re here to take Harrison away.”

Elena looked at me with that practiced innocence.

“Adrian is Harrison’s child, Sienna. If you can’t even tolerate that—”

I didn’t let her finish. My palm cracked across her cheek.

“Sienna, you—!”

“What?” I brushed my hand off. “I’ve wanted to slap you since yesterday, you hypocrite. Get out, or I’ll call security.”

Adrian, standing beside her, immediately burst into tears.

“Mommy…”

His face—too much like Harrison’s—made something bitter rise in my throat. I forced myself to look away.

“Sienna, I don’t want custody,” Elena said, her voice suddenly soft. “I just don’t want Adrian to suffer with me…”

I slammed the door before she could finish.

My mother, Nora Everly, was lying in a hospital bed, her life hanging by a thread, and yet they still had the nerve to come to my home as if they’d never taken anything from me. When the housekeeper told me Elena had left, I only nodded and told the driver to take me to the hospital.

Nora lay motionless under white sheets, the faint rise and fall of her breathing the only proof she was still here. I leaned close, pretending she could hear me.

“Mom,” I whispered, forcing the words out, “I’m planning to give up on Harrison.”

“Elena is back. After all these years, I still lost to her.”

My chest tightened until it hurt. “Am I useless? They bullied us back then, and now I still can’t beat them.”

I swallowed hard, tears spilling anyway. “Mom… I miss you.”

Everything I’d swallowed for years cracked open at once, and I couldn’t hold it back.

Luna Reed found me not long after. One look at my swollen eyes and she clicked her tongue, scolding me like she always did when I let myself fall apart.

“There are plenty of men in the world, not just Harrison,” she said, dragging a chair closer. “And Harrison has money, right? Take more from him. With money, who needs him?”

I stared at my mother’s still face, letting Luna’s bluntness steady me.

“You were a victim back then too,” she pressed. “Did he believe you? Why would you love a self-centered man like that?”

The bitterness in my throat pulsed, but I nodded anyway.

“You’re right,” I said hoarsely. “There are plenty of handsome guys. I’ll use his money to keep one.”

Luna’s eyes lit up like she’d been waiting for me to say it. “Then let’s go to a bar and find some.”

She linked her arm with mine, smiling. “That’s the Sienna I know.”

The nightclub hit me like a wave of heat and noise, and I let it. I’d avoided places like this for years, too busy trying to play the perfect Blackwood wife, too careful not to give anyone an excuse to drag up old scandals.

But now I was getting a divorce. To hell with it.

I drank until the edges of the room softened. Luna pulled me onto the dance floor, and the bass thrummed through my bones like it was trying to shake something loose inside me. In the crowd, a guy looked at me with a flush creeping up his neck.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, awkward but earnest. “You’re gorgeous. Can I have the honor of dancing with you?”

His nervousness made me laugh, a real laugh I hadn’t felt in too long.

“Sure.”

Maybe I’d had too much. I knotted my shirt at my waist without thinking, baring my stomach, and let my body move—fast, reckless, unrestrained.

“Come on,” I teased when he hesitated. “Keep up.”

When he stalled again, I reached out—only for someone to clamp around my wrist.

“Sienna.” A low, familiar voice cut straight through the music. “Are you drunk?”

For a second I thought I’d imagined it. Then I turned, and there he was: Harrison Blackwood, sharp in a tailored suit, looking like he’d walked in only to ruin my night.

Annoyance flared. “What do you want?” I yanked my wrist free.

Harrison’s jaw tightened, anger controlled but unmistakable. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Why didn’t you let Adrian stay?”

Five years, and he still cared about Elena that much. Enough to track me to a bar just to confront me.

My blood surged. I lifted my chin and met his stare head-on. “Yes, I did it. So what? If you care so much about your precious son and Elena, why don’t you marry her? You want me to be Adrian’s stepmother? Dream on.”

His expression darkened. He exhaled, forcing himself to hold back. “You’re drunk. I’m not arguing with you. Come home with me.”

“I won’t.”

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was everything I’d swallowed for years. I poked him in the chest, laughing without humor. “Mr. Blackwood, I want a divorce. I’m not joking.”

“And don’t stand in the way of me finding my next husband.”

I turned to leave.

Harrison’s eyes went glacial. Without a word, he bent, hoisted me over his shoulder, and started walking.

“Say that again.”

The world tilted. Humiliation and anger surged together until it spilled out of me.

“I’ll say it a million times!” I shouted, tears blurring the neon lights. “I want a divorce. Harrison, you’re a jerk. You’re old, your dick is small, and you’re terrible in bed. Do you think I want you?”

“Put me down! Do you think you’re a king? That I have to obey you all the time?”

“Why should I raise Adrian for you?”

I cursed the whole way, but Harrison didn’t even flinch. He reached his car, opened the door, and shoved me inside.

I slumped in the back seat, dizzy and spinning, forcing myself to breathe through it until the nausea eased. A moment later, Harrison climbed in after me. He loosened his tie with one hand, then looked down as if he could pin me in place with nothing but his gaze.

“Sienna,” he said, voice cold and precise, “do you think you have the right to ask for a divorce?”

The words sliced cleanly. I laughed, bitter and hollow.

“I’m making room for Elena,” I said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“When this marriage ends isn’t up to you.” His tone didn’t rise, which somehow made it worse. “You don’t get to negotiate with me.”

He shut the door, then shifted forward, one knee on the seat, leaning over me. His shirt collar sat slightly open.

“And my dick is small,” he repeated, almost conversationally. “And I’m terrible in bed?”

He lifted my chin with long fingers, that faint, dangerous curve at his mouth.

“Sounds like you really want to test that.”

Sobriety hit hard. Harrison had always had a high sex drive; even when we were at our worst, sex had been the one thing that kept dragging me under, leaving me wrung out and furious at myself afterward.

What the hell was I thinking, saying that?

I tried to slide away, reaching for the door, but Harrison wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me back.

“You talk a lot,” he murmured against my ear. “Keep going.”

His hand settled at my waist. When his fingers brushed the skin I’d exposed earlier, his gaze darkened. He bit down at my neck—hard, like anger with nowhere else to go—and I sucked in a breath, helpless despite myself.

I felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.

His fingers find my clit through my underwear, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make my breath hitch.

“Keep talking,” he said, voice low. “Why did you stop, hmm?”