Chapter 3

That night, Sienna moved into the guest room like she was checking into a five-star hotel.

She inspected the sheets, wrinkled her nose at the curtains, and handed me a list of things she wanted changed.

"Egyptian cotton only. And I need blackout blinds—these are pathetic. Oh, and fresh flowers every morning. Peonies, not roses. Roses are so basic."

I took the list without a word.

Dominic stood in the doorway, watching. Testing me. Waiting for me to crack.

"Anything else?" I asked, voice flat.

Sienna tilted her head and smiled. "Actually, yes. I'd love some chamomile tea before bed. You make it so well, Nora."

In my previous life, I had made her that tea every single night for eight months.

"Of course," I said.

I went to the kitchen and boiled the water. My hands were steady. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

Tomorrow morning, Sullivan would file the injunction. Within 48 hours, every Ashford property sitting on Whitfield land would be flagged. Dominic's lenders would panic. His investors would call. The stock price would plummet.

And he wouldn't see it coming because, to him, I was nobody. A weak, obedient wife who couldn't even stand up for herself.

I carried the tea upstairs and knocked on Sienna's door.

She was already in bed, scrolling through her phone. She took the cup without looking at me.

"You can go now," she said, like I was the help.

I turned to leave. But at the door, I paused.

"Sienna, can I ask you something?"

She glanced up, mildly curious. "What?"

"When did it start? You and Dominic."

Her eyes flickered—just for a second—before the mask slid back into place.

"Oh, Nora. Don't do this to yourself. Some women are just... meant for certain men. It's not your fault you couldn't keep him interested."

I nodded slowly. "You're right. It's not my fault."

I closed the door behind me.

In my previous life, their affair had started two months after our wedding. Sienna had been my maid of honor. She had given a speech about friendship and loyalty that made everyone cry.

That same night, she slept with my husband in the coatroom of the reception hall.

I walked to the master bedroom. Dominic was already in bed, reading something on his tablet.

"Is she settled?" he asked without looking up.

"Yes."

"Good."

I changed into my pajamas and slid under the covers, maintaining the careful distance I always kept between us.

"Dominic."

"What?"

"I want to visit my mother this week."

He finally looked at me. His expression was unreadable.

"Your mother? You haven't spoken to her in over a year."

Because you and Sienna made sure of that, I thought.

"I know. I think it's time."

He studied me for a long moment. Then he shrugged.

"Fine. But take Sienna with you. She could use some fresh air."

My nails dug into my palms under the blanket.

He wanted Sienna there to monitor me. To make sure I didn't say anything inconvenient to my mother.

"Sure," I said. "That sounds nice."

He turned off the light.

I lay in the darkness, eyes wide open, listening to his breathing slow into sleep.

Then I reached under my pillow and pulled out the burner phone. The screen glowed faintly as I typed.

Sullivan, add one more thing to the filing. I need a record of every call my mother made to this house in the past 14 months. The phone company should still have logs. I want proof that her calls were deliberately blocked.

His reply came within minutes.

Already on it. Your grandmother anticipated this too. She had a standing request with the phone company to archive all Whitfield family communication records.

My throat tightened.

Even from beyond the grave, my grandmother was still protecting me.

I deleted the messages, hid the phone, and closed my eyes.

In two days, the legal filings would go through.

In three days, the financial world would start asking questions.

And in one week, Dominic Ashford would discover that the empire he had built, the wife he had broken, and the fortune he had stolen all traced back to one woman he had gravely underestimated.

But first, I needed to see my mother. I needed to hear her voice and tell her I was sorry.

I needed to tell her that her daughter was finally, finally awake.

I just prayed I wasn't too late.

Because in my last life, when I finally learned the truth about the blocked calls, my mother had already been dead for three months. She'd had a stroke alone in her apartment. The neighbors found her only when the smell became unbearable.

The coroner said she'd been holding her phone when she died.

My number was still on the screen.