Chapter 3The Heart She Gave

Grant straightened his tie and finally, casually, unblocked my number. He typed out a message with the bored indifference of a man ordering takeout.

**[Elena, it's been three years. I assume you've cooled off by now. I'm bringing Sienna over tonight. Have a proper dinner ready for us when we get home.]**

He stared at the screen, refreshing it. Once. Twice. The silence was immediate.

"She used to reply in seconds," he muttered, a frown marring his perfect forehead. "What's her deal?"

Sienna patted his chest. "Grant, honey, you were gone a long time. She's probably just playing hard to get. Let her stew."

Grant sneered. "She has the nerve to ignore me? Unbelievable. She's testing my patience. The audacity."

He decided, on a whim fueled by Sienna's suggestion, not to go home immediately. "Let's hit that new spa resort in the foothills. I need a soak after the flight anyway."

I followed them, a silent passenger in their luxury SUV. I felt no fatigue, only the cold, sharp edge of a hatred that kept me anchored to this plane. I was waiting. I was waiting for the reckoning.

At the resort, Sienna made a show of booking a single suite with an open-concept stone tub. She moved through the steam in silk lingerie, pressing her warmth against him.

"Don't be mad at her, Grant," she whispered. "She's been raising a toddler alone. It couldn't have been that easy."

Grant leaned back against the heated tiles, his eyes closed. "Please. I left her with a nanny and a black card. She's been living the high life on my dime while I was out there working. You're too kind, Sienna. That's your problem."

He opened his eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "The twenty-eight countries we visited... that was for your career. Making you the Creative Director of the firm was the best move I ever made."

As they left the spa area for dinner, wrapped in plush robes, they rounded a corner and nearly collided with a woman in a housekeeping uniform.

Grant froze. His eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Gable?"

The woman looked up, her face instantly draining of color. She dropped her stack of towels and bolted.

Grant was faster. He cornered her near the service elevator. "What the hell are you doing here? I paid you to stay at the house and look after my daughter. Why are you working at a resort?"

The nanny looked at the floor, her hands shaking so violently she had to tuck them into her pockets. When she spoke, the words were jagged glass.

"The baby... the baby died years ago. I had to find work. I had to eat."

Grant's face twisted. He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "That's a lie."

"Sir," she sobbed, backing away. "Don't you know? She's been gone for three years..."

"Shut up!" Grant slammed his fist into the drywall beside her head. "I sent money every month! Child support, nanny fees, school funds—over five thousand a month, every single month! How could she be dead?"

He loomed over her, his voice trembling with a terrifying mix of rage and denial. "Elena told you to say this, didn't she? This is a performance. She sent you here to guilt-trip me."

He stepped back, adjusting his robe, his lip curling in disdain. "She's so small-minded. She's actually using our daughter's life as a prop to get back at me for being gone. If she ever tries to use my daughter's life as a bargaining chip again, I'll take Sienna back to Europe for another three years. I'm dead serious."