Sierra stirred awake to the warmth of morning sun stretching across the silk sheets. Liam was still beside her, an arm draped around her waist, his chest gently rising and falling against her back. For a moment, she let herself stay still, listening to the rhythm of his breathing.
Last night had felt really different. Like the version of Liam she fell in love with had returned, even if only for a few hours.
She shifted slightly, turning to face him. He was awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Morning," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Morning."
Sierra reached up, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "I missed that... us."
He nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
But there was hesitation in his voice. Something guarded. Like he was already building distance again.
She didn't press it. Not now.
Instead, she got up, pulled her robe around her body, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. While the coffee brewed, she watched the skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her reflection stared back at her: polished, poised, yet uncertain. What if last night was just a momentary reprieve?
The thought haunted her.
Later that day, Sierra was alone in the penthouse office, sorting through documents for their Charleston development. She reached for a misplaced blueprint when her hand brushed against a thick cream envelope shoved under a folder.
It had no label. No logo.
Curious, she opened it.
Inside were medical documents.
At first, her eyes skimmed blindly; lab results, clinical terms, specialist letters. But then a single word froze her in place:
Azoospermia.
She stared.
The rest of the page blurred. But her fingers gripped the papers like a lifeline.
She read it again. And again.
Azoospermia. The medical term for male infertility. No sperm count. No possibility of fathering children naturally.
Her lungs seized. Her eyes burned.
Liam... knew?
Had he known all this time?
She sat slowly on the edge of the desk, the envelope on her lap. Her mind was racing, her heart a storm.
Was this the reason for the distance?
Was this why he flinched every time she brought up children?
She tried to steady herself. Maybe he was just... processing. Maybe he hadn't figured out how to tell her. Maybe…
But three months of avoiding intimacy. Three months of coldness. That wasn't fear.
That was shame.
That was secrecy.
And that was betrayal.
Her eyes scanned the rest of the papers. One letter caught her attention, a consultation dated five months ago. Liam had gone alone. No mention of her. Not even in the referral. Her name was absent from every page.
Tears welled, but she blinked them back. This wasn't the time for breaking down. She needed clarity. Answers. And above all, control.
When Liam returned that night, Sierra greeted him at the door with a glass of wine and a smile. Calm. Polished. Like nothing had changed.
"Rough day?" she asked lightly.
"Long," he muttered, loosening his tie. "Everything alright here?"
She kissed his cheek. "Perfect. Dinner's almost ready. I made lemon thyme salmon."
He blinked. "You cooked?"
"It's been a while. Figured we deserved something nice."
They sat down to eat at the sleek marble island in the kitchen, soft jazz playing in the background.
He glanced up between bites. "You've been quiet today."
"Just thinking," she replied, swirling her wine. "About us."
He looked hesitant. "In a good way?"
She smiled gently. "In a hopeful way."
Liam nodded and reached for her hand across the table. "Last night... I know I haven't been the best husband lately. I want to do better."
Her chest tightened. If only he knew she'd already seen the papers. Still, she nodded. "Let's start with being honest. Always."
"I will," he promised.
After dinner, Liam stood and reached for her hand. "Come on. Let's not ruin a good night."
She followed him to the bedroom, letting him lead her.
He kissed her slowly, like an apology. Like a man trying to prove something—not just to her, but to himself. His hands trailed over her back, lips soft against her collarbone.
They undressed each other in silence, and when he pulled her beneath him, it wasn't rushed or desperate. It was intentional.
Sierra closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel again—to pretend, just for a night, that everything between them was as perfect as it looked from the outside.
Their movements were slow at first, but the heat built gradually, and she responded to every touch, every whisper. She watched his face, searching for cracks in the performance, but saw only longing.
When it ended, they lay tangled together, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
"I love you," he said.
She didn't say it back.
Instead, she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Goodnight."
Because love wasn't the issue.
Trust was.
And Sierra Hayes was no fool.
She would smile. She would seduce. She would lie beside him every night.
But in the morning, she'd call the number on the bottom of that letter.
And then the real investigation would begin.