The Heiress's Revenge

Sienna’s POV

Rain slaps the windshield of my silver Volvo as I idle outside Little Sprouts Daycare . The wipers squeak like they’re complaining . Mia kicks the back of my seat, unicorn rain boots drumming.

“Mommy , faster!”

“Seatbelt first , Captain Unicorn.”

She giggles , snaps the buckle. I kill the engine, pop the umbrella , and we dash through puddles. The daycare door jingles . Inside smells like wet wool and banana bread .

Ms. Lila waves from the carpet . “Morning , Sienna! Mia , circle time!”

Mia hugs my leg . “Bye , Mommy.”

I crouch , kiss her curls . “Be brave . Pick you up at four.”

She scampers off . I linger a second ; her tiny backpack bounces — then I’m back in the rain.

Traffic on Pine Street crawls . I sip lukewarm latte , radio murmuring about the Biotech Summit tomorrow . My phone buzzes in the cupholder.

Remy: Tell Beatrice if she calls you “decorative” one more time I’m mailing her a cactus. Spiky side up.

I snort, thumbs flying.

Me: Already bought the gift wrap.

Remy: Legend.

The light turns green . I roll past Slate Coffee : our Friday spot ; and into the underground garage of Caldwell Biotech Tower . The elevator hums to the 42nd floor .

Ethan’s secretary , Marisol , meets me with a clipboard . “Investor brunch , 10 a.m. Beatrice wants orchids , white only.”

“Got it.”

I weave through glass offices . Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Space Needle dripping rain . My heels click past labs where techs in bunny suits pipette glowing liquids .

Zephyrine Voss ; Ethan’s assistant leans against Ethan’s door, red soles flashing. Her voice floats out, low and syrupy.

“…the Voss family’s jet lands tonight. Dinner at Canlis?”

Ethan laughs ; that warm, boardroom laugh I used to live for. “Book it.”

I stop. My reflection stares back in the glass: auburn hair twisted neat, emerald blouse pressed. I clear my throat.

Zephyrine straightens. “Sienna. Brunch prep?”

“Orchids,” I say.

Ethan steps out, tie crooked. “Babe, you’re early.” He kisses my cheek—mint and cologne. “Save me a seat at the summit tomorrow?”

“Front row,” I promise.

He’s already scrolling his phone. Zephyrine’s eyes flick to me, cool as steel. “Donuts in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

I smile. “Watching carbs.”

The executive kitchen gleams. I arrange orchids in crystal vases. Beatrice sweeps in, pearls clacking.

“Sienna.” Her voice could freeze coffee. “White orchids only. Those have a pink throat.”

I pluck the offender. “Fixed.”

She inspects. “Ethan needs focus. The Voss partnership is delicate.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” She leans close. “A wife supports. She does not distract.”

I meet her eyes. “I scheduled the photographer, the string quartet, and the gluten-free scones. Distraction handled.”

Her lips thin. “See that tomorrow goes smoothly.”

She glides out. I exhale, steady the vase.

11:47 a.m. My phone vibrates.

Ethan: Lab ran late. Grab Mia?

Me: On