Chapter 2

The next seventy-two hours were a masterclass in humiliation.

Sienna's Instagram became a daily highlight reel. Liam's penthouse—the one I didn't know existed—featured high ceilings, a nursery in soft yellow, and a crib that cost more than most people's cars. She posted everything: the organic meal prep, the prenatal yoga, the designer maternity wardrobe.

And then came the interview.

A lifestyle magazine ran a feature: "Sienna Blake: The Woman Behind the Crawford Heir." She spoke about Liam with the casual possessiveness of someone who'd never had to share.

"He's always been mine, in a way. Some bonds don't need paperwork."

My phone lit up with messages from friends, colleagues, distant relatives—all asking the same thing: Did you know?

I answered none of them.

At the office—because yes, I still worked, unlike the decorative wife Liam seemed to want—my paralegal, Naomi Chen, dropped a coffee on my desk and sat down without invitation.

"I'm going to ask you once, and I need an honest answer," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm functioning."

"That's not what I asked."

I took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect—oat milk, no sugar, exactly how I liked it. Naomi had been my paralegal for four years, and she knew me better than most people in my life.

"He got another woman pregnant," I said flatly. "While I had a contractual clause preventing me from doing the same."

Naomi's expression darkened. "Please tell me you're going to destroy him."

"I'm going to divorce him. Cleanly, legally, and with every cent I'm owed."

"That's less satisfying but more responsible. Classic Aurelia."

I almost smiled.

That evening, I returned to the Crawford estate to find Liam waiting in the living room. He wasn't alone. A woman I didn't recognize sat on the couch—mid-fifties, elegant, with the kind of composure that came from decades of managing powerful men.

"Aurelia," Liam said, standing. "This is Margaret Hale. She's a... family mediator."

"A therapist," I corrected, recognizing the name. "You hired a couples therapist."

"I thought it might help us navigate—"

"Navigate what?" I set my bag down, my voice even. "You fathered a child with another woman. This isn't a communication issue, Liam. It's a betrayal."

Margaret Hale offered a practiced smile. "Mrs. Crawford, I understand your frustration. But Mr. Crawford has expressed a genuine desire to—"

"Did he express a genuine desire to tell me about Sienna before Instagram did?" I asked.

Silence.

"Did he express a genuine desire to include me in the decision to create a life with someone else while I was contractually forbidden from doing the same?"

More silence.

I turned to Liam. "Send her home. And don't ever ambush me in my own house again."

Margaret Hale left with quiet dignity. Liam stood in the foyer, hands in his pockets, looking at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"You used to be more... understanding," he said carefully.

"I used to be in love with you," I replied. "People do stupid things when they're in love. Like tolerate being lied to."

Something shifted in his expression. "You were in love with me?"

I hadn't meant to say it. The admission hung between us, raw and exposed.

"It doesn't matter now," I said, turning toward the stairs.

"It matters to me," he said, his voice rough.

"Then you should have thought about that before you gave Sienna Blake everything you denied me."

I climbed the stairs without looking back. Behind me, I heard him exhale—a long, heavy breath that sounded almost like grief.

Good. Let him grieve. I'd been grieving for days.

In the bedroom—our bedroom, though he hadn't slept in it for weeks, always claiming late nights at the office—I locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Hi Aurelia, this is Sienna. I think we should talk, woman to woman. I never meant to come between you and Liam. He and I have a bond that goes beyond romance—I hope you can understand that. ❤️

I stared at the message for a full minute.

Then I blocked the number, set my phone on the nightstand, and began drafting a counterstrategy.

If Liam wanted three months, fine. But by the end of those three months, I wouldn't just be walking away from this marriage.

I'd be walking away with everything.