57
1140 Words
⸻
CHAPTER 57 — WHAT SHE LEFT BEHIND
The call came at dawn.
Not to Damien.
Not to the Westwood estate.
To Sienna Claire Ross.
The phone vibrated against the bedside table, low and insistent, cutting through the quiet like a blade dragged slowly across glass. Sienna’s eyes opened instantly. She didn’t move at first—didn’t breathe differently—because instinct told her this wasn’t random.
This was deliberate.
She reached for the phone before Damien could stir.
Unknown number.
Her thumb hovered.
Then she answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice, smooth and measured, with an edge sharpened by familiarity.
“Still answering calls you shouldn’t, Sienna?”
Her blood went cold.
She sat up slowly, every muscle locking into place.
“…Vanessa.”
Vanessa St. Claire laughed softly on the other end. “Good. You remember me.”
“How did you get this number?” Sienna asked.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Vanessa replied, mockingly gentle. “You married into the Westwoods. Numbers are the easiest thing to obtain.”
Sienna slid out of bed, padding silently into the bathroom, closing the door with care.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To talk,” Vanessa said. “About your mother.”
Sienna’s grip tightened around the phone.
“You don’t get to say her name.”
“I already did,” Vanessa replied calmly. “And you know what’s funny? You’ve spent all these years protecting a memory that doesn’t love you back.”
The mirror reflected Sienna’s face—pale, controlled, eyes dark with something old and angry.
“You’re lying,” she said.
Vanessa hummed. “Am I?”
A pause.
Then, casually: “Annabelle wasn’t as innocent as you think.”
Annabelle Ross
Sienna’s breath caught despite herself.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Did you know,” Vanessa continued, voice smooth as poison, “that she didn’t leave because your father was cruel?”
Sienna swallowed. “My father loved her.”
Reginald St. Claire
“Yes,” Vanessa said. “In the way men love what they think belongs to them.”
Sienna closed her eyes.
“She left,” Vanessa pressed, “because she was afraid.”
“Of what?” Sienna demanded.
“Of being exposed.”
The silence stretched.
Vanessa lowered her voice. “Ask yourself this—why do you think Annabelle ran the moment certain names started circulating? Why do you think she died so quietly, so far away, with no investigation worth mentioning?”
Sienna’s chest tightened painfully.
“You’re trying to scare me,” she said.
“No,” Vanessa replied. “I’m warning you. Dante is already asking questions.”
Dante Westwood
That did it.
Sienna opened her eyes, fury burning through the fear. “You stay away from me.”
Vanessa chuckled. “You don’t get to make demands anymore. You made your choice when you became Mrs. Westwood.”
The line went dead.
⸻
Damien woke to an empty bed.
That alone set him on edge.
He found Sienna standing in the dressing room, staring at nothing, phone clenched in her hand like a lifeline she didn’t trust.
“You’re awake early,” he said quietly.
She didn’t turn. “Vanessa called.”
That snapped his full attention.
“She what?”
“She spoke about my mother,” Sienna said. “About Annabelle.”
Damien crossed the room in two strides. “What did she say?”
Sienna hesitated.
This was it.
The moment she’d buried for years.
“She implied my mother was involved in something,” Sienna said carefully. “Something she ran from. Something dangerous.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “Did she give details?”
“No,” Sienna replied. “She doesn’t need to. She just wanted to shake me.”
“And did she?” Damien asked.
Sienna met his eyes. “Yes.”
He reached for her face, steadying her. “Then tell me everything. From the beginning.”
She exhaled shakily.
“My mother wasn’t supposed to marry my father,” she said. “She loved him—but not the life. She used to tell me stories about places she’d never visited, people she’d never named. Men who watched too closely. Women who smiled too much.”
Damien listened without interrupting.
“She used to wake up crying,” Sienna continued. “She burned letters before I could read them. And one day… she was gone.”
“She abandoned you?” Damien asked softly.
“No,” Sienna said immediately. “She was taken.”
Damien stilled.
“They said illness,” Sienna whispered. “But no doctor ever spoke to us. No records. Just… silence.”
Damien’s expression darkened. “And your father?”
“He didn’t ask questions,” she said bitterly. “He remarried Vanessa within a year.”
Damien swore under his breath.
“This is why Dante is circling,” he said. “He’s looking for leverage.”
“And he found it,” Sienna replied quietly.
Damien pulled her into his arms. “He won’t touch you.”
“But he’ll touch the truth,” she said. “And if it comes out—whatever my mother was involved in—it’ll stain you too.”
Damien lifted her chin. “I don’t care.”
“You should,” she said. “This family destroys anything that threatens it.”
He smiled coldly. “Then it’s about time someone threatened it back.”
⸻
Across the city, Dante watched a screen flicker with old files.
Annabelle Ross.
Unregistered movements.
Sealed reports.
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
“So,” he murmured, “that’s where you ran.”
A knock sounded.
Cassandra stepped in, expression wary. “You’re reopening dead trails.”
“They were never dead,” Dante replied. “Just buried.”
“And Damien?” Cassandra asked.
Dante smiled faintly. “Damien is predictable. His wife, however…”
He tapped the screen.
“…is the wildcard.”
⸻
That night, Sienna couldn’t sleep.
Damien lay beside her, arm secure around her waist, but her mind was elsewhere—back in childhood memories she’d sealed shut.
“What if I don’t like what we find?” she whispered.
Damien didn’t hesitate. “Then we face it together.”
She turned into him, pressing her forehead to his chest. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If the truth costs you—”
He cut her off. “It won’t.”
“But if it does—”
“I still choose you,” Damien said firmly. “Over my name. Over my family. Over the past.”
Her eyes burned.
Outside, the estate remained quiet.
Too quiet.
And far away, secrets that should’ve stayed buried began to stir.
- Writer
