44
735 Words
CHAPTER 44 — THE TABLE WITH TOO MANY EYES
Morning came without mercy.
Sienna knew it the moment she opened her eyes—not because of sunlight, but because of the weight. That familiar heaviness pressing against her chest, reminding her exactly where she was and whose house she was in.
The Westwood mansion did not wake gently.
It woke with quiet authority.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of movement—doors opening, footsteps in the hall, the low murmur of voices somewhere downstairs. The night before clung to her like a ghost, not loud or dramatic, but present. Heavy. Intimate. Unresolved.
Damien had already left.
She’d known he would.
There was no note. No message. No quiet goodbye. Just the unmistakable emptiness beside her and the faint impression of warmth long gone. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or hurt by that.
Probably both.
After dressing carefully—choosing something modest, controlled, safe—Sienna made her way downstairs. Each step felt deliberate, measured, as though she were bracing herself for impact.
The dining room doors were open.
That was her first mistake.
The table was already occupied.
Damien sat at the head, composed, unreadable, dressed immaculately as always. To his right, his mother sat with perfect posture, fingers resting lightly beside her plate. Across from her was Charles, expression neutral but sharp-eyed. Isabelle leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching everything with thinly veiled curiosity.
And then—
Vanessa.
Sienna stopped just short of the doorway.
Her stepmother looked exactly as she always did—elegant, polished, eyes sharp with judgment thinly disguised as concern. Beside her sat Reginald, her father, who didn’t look up at first. When he did, his expression flickered—surprise, guilt, restraint—all gone in a heartbeat.
Every seat at the table felt occupied by expectation.
“Ah,” Eleanor said lightly, lifting her gaze. “You’re finally up.”
Sienna forced her feet to move.
“Good morning,” she said, quietly.
No one echoed it.
She took the seat Damien had indicated earlier—two chairs away from him, close enough to feel his presence, far enough to feel the distance. He didn’t look at her. Not once.
The silence stretched.
Vanessa broke it with a smile that never reached her eyes. “You look… rested,” she said, tone deliberate.
Sienna’s fingers tightened around her napkin.
“I slept,” she replied simply.
“That’s good,” Vanessa continued smoothly. “You’ve always been sensitive to change.”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
But he said nothing.
Sienna felt it then—that familiar sting. Not the cruelty of the words themselves, but the way they were allowed to exist without correction. Without interruption.
Reginald cleared his throat. “We were just discussing the upcoming charity gala.”
Eleanor nodded. “It will be important for the family image.”
Vanessa tilted her head slightly, eyes sliding back to Sienna. “And for appearances.”
The implication was clear.
Sienna sat straighter. “I’ll attend if Damien thinks it’s appropriate.”
Every gaze turned to him.
Damien lifted his glass, took a slow sip, then set it down. “She’ll be there.”
That was it.
No defense.
No reassurance.
No warmth.
Just a statement.
Sienna felt something cold settle in her chest.
Isabelle watched her closely, head tilted, like she was filing the moment away for later. Charles remained silent, eyes flicking between Damien and Sienna with a calculating calm.
Vanessa smiled again. Victorious.
Breakfast continued like that—thinly veiled remarks, polite cruelty, conversations that excluded her even when she sat right there. Sienna answered when spoken to, kept her posture perfect, her expression neutral.
She did not look at Damien again.
And he did not look at her.
By the time she stood to leave, the distance between them felt wider than it had in weeks.
As she reached the doorway, Eleanor’s voice followed her.
“You’ll need thicker skin if you’re going to survive this family.”
Sienna paused.
Then, without turning back, she said quietly, “I already have it. I just didn’t expect to need it from my husband.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
She walked away before anyone could respond.
And behind her, for the first time that morning, Damien finally looked up.
Too late.
- Writer
