Sierra barely slept that night. Her mind kept replaying every subtle red flag she had ignored in the past year: burner phones, guarded glances, unexplained business trips. Liam had been acting strange long before Isabelle showed up. Now, the dots were beginning to connect.
By morning, she had made a decision.
She needed to talk to Isabelle. Face-to-face.
Not as a jealous wife, not as a scorned woman, but as a strategist.
She waited until Liam left for work before placing the call.
"Isabelle Hartman," the woman answered coolly, her voice silk wrapped in ice.
"It's Sierra Hayes. I want to meet. Today. Name the place."
A pause. Then, "The Orchid Café. Two o'clock."
Sierra hung up without another word. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with the cold thrill of impending confrontation.
The Orchid Café was quiet, a luxury spot tucked into a leafy corner of downtown. Soft lighting filtered through hanging vines, and private booths were veiled by velvet curtains. It was the kind of place where secrets whispered against crystal glasses wouldn't echo beyond linen-draped tables.
Sierra arrived early, deliberately claiming the corner booth facing the entrance. She needed control. Advantage. Visibility.
She wore a dark emerald dress, structured and sharp, like armour. Her makeup was immaculate, lips painted matte crimson, clean, Russian manicured nails. Every inch of her presence screamed power.
When Isabelle walked in, she was dressed like a headline: red lipstick, expensive heels, curves poured into a black sheath dress that made heads turn. She didn't look pregnant. Not yet. If she was at all.
"You're early," Isabelle said, sliding into the booth.
"I value punctuality, unlike you," Sierra replied, her voice even.
A waiter approached, but Sierra waved him off. "This won't take long."
"Oh? I was hoping we'd bond." Isabelle smirked. "Maybe swap stories about Liam. I hear he has... talents."
Sierra didn't flinch. "Drop the act, Isabelle. What do you want?"
Isabelle leaned back. "Direct. I like that. Fine. I want what I deserve. Recognition. A piece of what I helped him build. A seat at the table."
"You weren't at the table. You were never even in the room."
"I was in his room," Isabelle shot back, a wicked smile curving her lips.
"And now you're trying to rewrite history."
Isabelle crossed her legs, slow and deliberate. "You're smart, Sierra. Smarter than Liam gives you credit for. But even smart women get left behind when men chase what's new."
"You're not new," Sierra said. "You're an interruption. And interruptions can be handled."
"Handled?" Isabelle laughed lightly. "You think you scare me? Please. I've been dealing with women like you my whole life. Dressed in power suits and pearls, pretending their worlds can't be cracked."
Sierra slid an envelope across the table.
"What's this?" Isabelle asked.
"An NDA. You sign it, you disappear. I'll make it worth your while."
Isabelle opened it slowly, skimmed the contents, then tossed it back. "I don't need your hush money. I already have Liam's."
So the payments were real.
Sierra kept her face neutral. "Then why are you still here?"
"Because it's not about money anymore. It's about legacy."
That word hit Sierra like a slap. Legacy. The one thing she and Liam could never have, not naturally. Not since she discovered his diagnosis.
"Even if you were pregnant," Sierra said coolly, "that wouldn't make you relevant."
"Oh, sweetheart." Isabelle leaned forward. "You think this is about relevance? It's about replacement."
"I won't be replaced," Sierra said, steel in her tone. "And neither will Liam's silence. You sign that NDA, or you'll find out just how ruthless I can be."
Isabelle's eyes sparkled with challenge. "You're fun. I can see why he married you. But here's the thing, he still came to me."
Sierra's pulse spiked, but she didn't blink. "You used him. Manipulated him."
"Maybe. Or maybe he was tired of living in a loveless marriage."
That dug deeper than Sierra wanted to admit.
Isabelle stood. "We'll see which of us he fights for."
She walked away, her perfume lingering like a warning.
Sierra didn't move. Didn't blink.
Let her come for the crown.
Sierra had built the throne.
Back at Hayes Properties, Sierra locked herself in her office. Her assistant knocked twice with lunch, but she ignored it. Her attention was buried in archived surveillance footage from Liam's last trip to Boston.
He hadn't told her much about the visit. Just a real estate seminar. A few networking meetings. But Sierra knew how to find the holes in a lie.
At timestamp 11:38 p.m., her heart stuttered.
There he was. Liam. Exiting a hotel lobby.
With Isabelle.
She zoomed in. His arm brushed hers. Her hand grazed his back. The image was blurry, grainy, but unmistakable.
The date? Six weeks ago.
Right around the time Isabelle claimed to have conceived.
Sierra sat back, fury rising like a tide.
So it was true. He had been with her. And he hadn't told Sierra a damn thing.
Her phone buzzed.
Blocked Number:Told you. We're just getting started.
She didn't reply. She forwarded the footage to her investigator with a single message:
Sierra:Find out if Isabelle checked into that hotel under her name. Get me everything. Room number. Duration. Liam's reservation too.
She dropped her phone on the desk, her hands trembling.
This wasn't just about betrayal.
It was about exposure. Power. Public perception.
Sierra had spent years building her image alongside Liam's. If this story were to break, it wouldn't just tarnish him; it would ruin the empire they had built.
She turned to the large window behind her desk. The skyline gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, oblivious to the war brewing in her heart.
She had played the loyal wife long enough.
It was time to play something else.
Something colder.
Smarter.
And far more dangerous.