Mara’s expression softened.
She knew more than most people. She had known my grandfather. She had watched me marry Ronald in a garden ceremony beneath white roses and terrible instincts.
“Boundaries do not work on people who treat access as ownership,” she said.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Victor reached for his own phone and grimaced.
“He’s calling my office too.”
Ronald.
Of course.
I muted the phone.
An hour later, Mara left with the executives. Victor remained behind to review the emergency filings.
That was when my doorman called.
“Ms. Carter,” he said cautiously, “there is a woman here insisting she knows you. She says her name is Sienna Vale.”
My hand froze over the paperwork.
Victor looked up.
I knew the name.
Every betrayed wife knows the name, even when she pretends not to.
