Thursday came with a storm. Rain lashed against the windows of the town car as the driver, a man named Boris who reported directly to Julian, navigated the traffic.
"I'll wait here, Mrs. Sterling," Boris grunted as he pulled up to the curb.
"Thank you, Boris. It takes an hour."
Sienna walked into the clinic. She signed in at the front desk. The receptionist, a bubbly girl named Chloe, smiled. "Room 3 is ready, hon."
Sienna went into Room 3. She turned on the sink taps. She opened the back window. It was a ground-floor suite. She had checked this months ago.
She climbed out, wincing as her left ankle hit the wet pavement of the alley. Pain shot up her leg, white-hot and blinding. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, forcing herself to walk. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. Just like choreography.
The coffee shop was crowded. She pulled her beanie low. She saw him in a booth at the back.
Nate Kensington wore a charcoal suit that looked expensive but lived-in. He was reading a brief, a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked severe. Unapproachable.
Sienna slid into the booth opposite him.
He didn't look up immediately. He turned a page. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes. They were grey, storm-colored, and they swept over her face with a terrifying precision. He saw the dark circles, the weight loss, the tremor in her hands.
"You look like hell, Vance," he said softly.
"Nice to see you too, Kensington."
He pushed a cup of herbal tea toward her. "Drink. You're dehydrated."
Sienna wrapped her hands around the warm mug. "Julian thinks I'm insane. He has doctors who certify it. He has me on pills that make me forget my own name."
"I know," Nate said. He opened a leather briefcase and slid a thin file across the table. "I've been tracking Sterling's filings. He has filed a petition for an emergency temporary conservatorship. He wants to bypass the usual competency hearing by presenting evidence of 'imminent danger to self'."
"Conservatorship?" Sienna felt the air leave the room. "Like... like I'm a child?"
"Like you're property," Nate corrected. "If the judge grants the temporary order, you can't divorce him. You can't testify against him. You cease to be a person in the eyes of the law."
"Why?" she whispered. "He has money. He has everything."
"It's not just money, Sienna. It's the Vance shipping contracts. Your grandfather's legacy. Julian's company is leveraged to the hilt. He needs your assets to cover a massive hole in his balance sheet. If he loses you, he goes to prison for fraud."
The puzzle pieces slammed together. The love, the patience, the saintly devotion-it was all a financial strategy.
"He doesn't love me," she said, the realization hurting more than the ankle.
Nate's jaw tightened. He looked out the window, his expression unreadable. "Love doesn't look like a cage, Sienna."
"Can you stop him?"
"I can try. But I need proof. Not your testimony-the court won't believe you right now. I need hard evidence. Financial records. Medical records that prove he's tampering with your recovery."
"He keeps everything in his safe. Or at his office."
"Then we have a problem," Nate said. "Because if you go digging and he catches you..."
"He'll lock me away for good," Sienna finished.
Nate reached across the table. For a second, she thought he was going to take her hand. Instead, he slid a small, flat object under her saucer. A burner phone, smaller than a credit card. "This isn't like the one you destroyed. This is encrypted. Military grade."
"Hide this. Only turn it on when you have something. If you're in danger, press the '1' key and hold it. It sends a GPS signal to my personal security team."
"Why are you doing this, Nate? You're a partner. Going against Julian Sterling is career suicide."
Nate looked at her then, and for a fleeting second, the cold lawyer mask cracked. She saw a raw, burning hunger in his eyes that terrified and thrilled her.
"I don't care about my career," he said hoarsely. "Go. Your hour is up."
