Anissa sits at the heavy mahogany desk in her bedroom. The bright morning sunlight streaming through the window mocks her confinement.
Her right hand cramps painfully. She signs her name at the bottom of the two-hundredth handwritten thank-you note to Sinclair charity donors. It is Julian's petty, agonizing punishment to keep her occupied.
She throws the expensive fountain pen across the desk. She watches it roll and leave a dark, ugly ink stain on the pristine leather blotter.
Anissa massages her aching wrist. She stares blankly at the silk-covered wall. The feeling of absolute isolation crushes her spirit. She is a prisoner.
The heavy bedroom door clicks open. Hennie Drake enters silently. She carries a silver tray with a steaming cup of chamomile tea and a cold compress.
Hennie sets the tray down. Her sharp eyes scan the ink stain on the desk, but she says nothing. She simply hands Anissa the warm teacup.
Anissa takes a sip. The warmth does little to thaw the cold dread sitting in her stomach. "How is Cecily recovering?" Anissa asks bitterly.
Hennie's expression tightens. She leans in close, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper.
"Her allergic reaction was minor," Hennie reveals. "It was heavily exaggerated for Julian's sympathy and to fuel the staff's gossip."
Anissa frowns. She sets the cup down. "Why would Cecily go to such lengths to frame me over a minor issue? What does she gain?"
Hennie looks around the room to ensure they are completely alone. She drops a massive piece of political gossip. "Kayleigh Benson is pregnant."
Anissa's brow furrows. She tries to place the name. Then it hits her. Kayleigh is the young, beautiful congressional intern working closely with Julian's office.
Hennie explains that the rumor of the pregnancy has deeply unsettled Cecily. It threatens Cecily's position as Julian's favored partner.
Anissa realizes with a sickening jolt that Cecily framed her to create a massive distraction. Cecily needed to solidify Julian's protective instincts toward her and draw attention away from the intern.
Anissa scoffs. Disgust coats her tongue. She realizes she is just collateral damage in a vicious war between her husband's mistresses.
Before Anissa can process the disgust further, a sharp, authoritative knock echoes on the heavy bedroom door.
A stern-faced maid enters. "The matriarch, Carmen Conway-Sinclair, demands your presence in the study immediately."
Hennie pales slightly. She quickly takes the teacup from Anissa. She smooths down the wrinkles in Anissa's casual dress with trembling hands.
"Do not argue with Carmen," Hennie whispers frantically. "Just nod and accept whatever she says. Do not fight her."
Anissa stands up. Her spine stiffens with Navajo pride. She refuses to cower before the woman who orchestrates her misery.
Anissa follows the maid down the long, portrait-lined corridors. The silence of the estate feels heavy and oppressive, pressing down on her shoulders.
They arrive at the heavy double doors of Carmen's study. The dark wood is carved with the intimidating Sinclair family crest.
The maid opens the door. Carmen sits behind a massive desk, bathed in the cold light of a cloudy window. She looks like a queen on a throne.
Carmen doesn't look up from her paperwork. She intentionally makes Anissa stand in the center of the room like a reprimanded child.
After two agonizing minutes of silence, Carmen finally sets her pen down. She fixes Anissa with a gaze as sharp as shattered glass.
"You failed your basic political optics," Carmen's voice is elegant but laced with venom.
"I didn't poison her," Anissa states firmly.
Carmen waves her hand dismissively. "I don't care if you poisoned the food or not. I only care that this scandal has made the Sinclair family look chaotic."
Carmen coldly orders Anissa to swallow her pride. "You will go to Cecily's wing. You will publicly apologize and appease the woman."
Anissa's hands clench into tight fists at her sides. Her innate sense of justice screams at her to refuse the humiliating order. Bile rises in her throat.
Carmen notices the fists. Her lips curl into a cruel, knowing smile.
"Disobedience will result in your father's tribal funding being cut by noon," Carmen reminds her softly. "The choice is yours."
