The first week with Siena at the office passed in a blur of forced smiles and veiled barbs. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence was like a splinter under my skin—painful and impossible to ignore.
"Emily, I'm so impressed by your latest article," Siena said one morning, standing by my desk with two coffee cups. She placed one in front of me. "Cash always said you were brilliant."
I stared at the coffee—my exact order, down to the extra shot and splash of almond milk.
"Thank you," I said carefully, leaving the coffee untouched. "And please don't mention Cash to me."
She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just get so excited talking about the Stewart family. They've been so generous to me."
Before I could respond, she was gone, leaving the coffee behind like a mark of territory.
Later that day, during our editorial meeting, Siena raised her hand. "I have a suggestion for the charity profile piece."
Our editor nodded encouragingly.
"What about featuring the Stewart Foundation? Cash has been doing incredible work with veterans." She looked directly at me. "Emily would be the perfect person to write it, given her... connection."
My fingers instinctively found the jade bracelet on my wrist, tracing its pattern as I fought to keep my expression neutral.
"I'll consider it," our editor said, oblivious to the tension.
Siena beamed. "I could set up a meeting with Cash. He always makes time for me."
---
The next week, the photos started arriving. First on my phone, then my work email—always from Siena.
"Working lunch with Cash today!" read the caption under a photo of them at an upscale restaurant. Her hand rested on the table, inches from his.
I deleted it immediately.
The next day, another: "Brainstorming session with the boss! #blessed"
Cash was leaning toward her, his expression animated as he pointed at something on her tablet.
By Friday, they were coming hourly.
"Emergency meeting with Cash Stewart about the veterans' initiative," this one read. They were in his car, her hand on his arm as she laughed at something he'd said.
Each image was carefully composed—intimate enough to hurt, but with enough context to be dismissed as "just business."
"You're being paranoid," Sarah whispered when I showed her the latest one. "These could be completely innocent."
"They're not," I said quietly. "Look at how she's positioned herself in every shot. The timing. The captions."
Sarah studied the images more carefully. "She's definitely trying to get under your skin."
That evening, Cash came home late again. I was waiting in the living room, my laptop open to the photos.
"Want to explain these?" I asked.
He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting from surprise to defensiveness. "They're just photos, Emily."
"Siena sent them to me. Every day this week."
He ran his hand through his hair. "She's just grateful for my help with her career."
"Help?" I repeated.
---
Two days later, I found the receipt in his jacket pocket. A Hermès handbag—$7,800—purchased the previous week.
"Is this part of your 'help' too?" I demanded that night.
Cash sighed heavily. "She needed a professional wardrobe for the internship."
"And the Tiffany bracelet?"
"It was a thank-you gift."
I laughed, a bitter sound that made us both flinch. "A thank-you for what? Saving your life? Isn't that what the salary I'm paying her with is for?"
"You're being ridiculous," he snapped. "She saved my life, Emily. She deserves our support."
"Our support? You mean your credit card?"
He stepped toward me, his face flushed with anger. "I can't believe you're being so selfish about this."
"Selfish?" The word hit like a slap.
"Yes, selfish!" he shouted back. "She has nothing, Emily. Nothing! And she still risked everything to save me. The least we can do is help her get back on her feet."
"The least we can do?" My voice trembled. "There's no 'we' in this, Cash. There's just you, spending thousands on another woman while accusing me of being selfish for questioning it."
He stared at me, his eyes cold. "I never thought you'd be this ungrateful."
"Ungrateful?" I echoed, incredulous. "For what? For you buying expensive gifts for another woman?"
"For everything!" he shouted. "For not understanding what she did for me!"
I stood there, my hand gripping the jade bracelet so tightly it bit into my skin. In that moment, I realized the man I'd married—the one who'd crawled across Tibet on his knees for me—was gone.
And in his place stood someone I no longer recognized.
