The café was upscale, discreet, nestled between high-end boutiques in the heart of the city. Sierra chose it deliberately. It was neutral territory, but still very much in her domain. She arrived first, dressed in a sharp cream pantsuit with diamond studs glinting against her ears. Her poise was unshakeable.
Isabelle walked in ten minutes later, wearing a flowy designer dress and oversized sunglasses as if she were shielding herself from fame instead of shame. She spotted Sierra, smirked, and sauntered over like a woman confident in her upper hand.
"I'm here", Isabelle said, sliding into the chair across from her.
Sierra offered a small smile, calm and unreadable. "Late as always", Sierra chimed in
"Anyway, I thought it was time we talked… woman to woman."
A server came, and orders were placed: coffee for Sierra, a lavender tea for Isabelle. The tension between them crackled like electricity.
"I don't want things to get messy," Isabelle began. "I've kept quiet about Liam out of respect for your marriage, but now that I'm pregnant…"
She pulled out a sleek manila envelope and pushed it toward Sierra. "You should see the report. It's real."
Sierra didn't flinch. She opened the envelope, pulled out the pristine paper, and scanned it quickly. Positive pregnancy test. Doctor's signature. Weeks aligned with the Boston trip.
She let out a soft breath. "I see."
Isabelle leaned forward, tone sweetened with faux sympathy. "Look, I'm not trying to take your place. But this baby is happening, and I think Liam will want to do the right thing. You've had your time, Sierra. Maybe it's time to let go gracefully."
There was a pause.
Then Sierra mimicked her tone, complete with a tilt of her head and an exaggerated pout. "You've had your time, Sierra. Maybe it's time to let go gracefully," she repeated in a breathy, mocking voice.
Then she burst into laughter, a low, rich, effortless sound that turned heads from nearby tables. It wasn't just amused…it was theatrical. It was the kind of laugh that filled the space with cold, opulent disdain. Her eyes sparkled, but not with joy- with a predatory gleam that sent a chill down Isabelle's spine.
Sierra dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin and sighed. "Oh, you sweet, stupid baby."
Isabelle blinked, clearly thrown off.
Sierra reached into her designer tote and slid a glossy blue folder across the table. "You came here thinking you'd caught me in a losing hand. But I am playing chess and you, checkers"
Isabelle's brows furrowed as she opened the folder. Inside were copies of Liam's private medical records. Multiple fertility assessments. Diagnoses. The final one clearly stated: Azoospermia: complete absence of sperm.
"Impossible," Isabelle whispered.
"Oh no, it's very possible," Sierra said, voice cool and amused. "Your little charade was impressive. Almost believable. But darling, the math doesn't math. My husband can't get anyone pregnant, not me, not you, not even a fertile field in spring."
Isabelle's hand trembled slightly as she clutched the folder.
"So do yourself a favour," Sierra continued, leaning in. "Take your bastard child, whoever actually fathered it, and crawl back to whatever gutter you slithered out from. Because the only thing Liam is giving you is hush money, and even that's about to dry up."
Isabelle's face went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Sierra leaned back in her seat, sipping her coffee. "You know, I almost felt sorry for you. Almost. But then I realised you're just a desperate little parasite trying to feed off a legacy you had nothing to do with."
The server returned to refill Sierra's cup. She didn't even look up. "I'd be careful if I were you, Isabelle," she said casually. "Don't call Liam. Don't text him. Don't show up at his office or his gym or our home. Because if you do, just even once, I will have him file charges against you for criminal harassment and stalking. And unlike you, I have the resources to see that lawsuit through to the very end."
"You wouldn't…" Isabelle started.
"I would. And I'll enjoy it."
Sierra stood, adjusting her blazer, her expression radiant and composed. "Oh, and if you're thinking of going public? Try me. One press conference and I'll reduce you to a tabloid cautionary tale. You'll be a meme before the end of the day."
With that, she turned on her heels and walked out, her heels clicking like thunder across marble floors. Patrons looked up as she passed, curious, admiring, clueless about the quiet war that had just ended at table six.
Outside, she slipped on her sunglasses and let the sunlight warm her skin.
She smiled.
Victory tasted like expensive coffee and poetic justice.