7. Hannah
HANNAH
I twisted the wedding ring around my finger and told myself I'd misread her.
Sienna was efficient. That was all. Pierce relied on her because she got things done, and if she took charge of the luncheon I'd been planning, well, maybe I'd been slow about it. Maybe she was just helping.
I was trying so hard to believe that.
The baby kicked, a flutter low in my belly, and I pressed my hand there.
Five months along and it showed. My jeans didn't fit anymore.
My shirts rode up in the back. When I walked into a room I felt people's eyes drop to my stomach before they looked at my face, and I hated it.
I felt like I was disappearing behind this pregnancy, like I was becoming invisible except for the one part of me everyone could see.
Sienna never looked at my stomach at all.
She was in the living room when I came downstairs, her laptop open on the coffee table, her phone in one hand. She wore a cream blouse and dark trousers, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She looked put together in a way I hadn't felt in weeks.
She glanced up at me and smiled. "Hannah. Good morning."
"Morning," I said.
"I've sent the vendor contracts for the luncheon," she said, tapping something on her phone without looking at it. "The caterer needed a deposit by Friday, so I went ahead and handled it. I hope that's all right."
My throat went tight. "That was my event."
"Oh, I know." Her voice was warm, apologetic, like she felt bad about it. "Pierce mentioned you were swamped with the nursery and everything, so I offered to take it off your plate. You don't mind, do you?"
Yes. I minded. God, I minded so much my chest ached with it.
But I couldn't say that. Not when she was standing there looking so reasonable, so helpful, like she'd done me a favor I should be grateful for.
"It's fine," I said.
"Great." She turned back to her laptop, already moving on. "I'll keep you updated. The florist confirmed for next week, and I've got the seating chart nearly done. You won't have to worry about a thing."
I left the room before I said something I'd regret.
It wasn't just the luncheon. That same day Sienna took the florist I'd been working with for the house and rebooked everything under her name.
She rescheduled the cleaning service without asking me.
She called the people I'd booked for the house and told them we'd changed our minds, and when I found out she looked at me with that same warm, apologetic smile and said Pierce had mentioned I was stressed and she thought she'd help.
Pierce didn't notice. Or if he did, he thought she was doing exactly what she said — helping.
I knew better.
I knew it the way you know when someone's taken something that belongs to you and is daring you to call them a thief. Sienna was taking my home out from under me one phone call at a time, and I couldn't prove a single thing.
The worst part was the nursery.
I'd kept all my planning papers. They were in a folder on the nursery windowsill, tucked behind the curtain: printed pictures, sketches of what I wanted, lists of what we'd need.
I'd been a teacher. I knew how to make a room ready for a child.
I knew what I wanted that space to feel like — warm, welcoming, a place that would make our baby feel safe.
Sienna's design was cold.
Clean lines, gray walls, white furniture that looked like it belonged in a catalog. Everything matched. Everything was perfect.
And none of it was mine.
Yesterday I'd told Pierce, once, that it wasn't what I wanted.
He'd frowned, but it was the confused kind, with Sienna standing right there. "It's practical. It's already done."
That was all he said. It's already done. Like the fact that it was finished meant I had no right to be upset about it.
I didn't argue. What was the point? The room was finished.
The furniture was in. Sienna had already moved on to the plans for the baby's first weeks at home, which I'd thought I'd be making myself, and now I wasn't planning at all.
I wasn't doing anything except sitting in my own house feeling like a guest.
I sat in the kitchen that afternoon with my hands folded over my stomach and my ring pressing into my palm, and I told myself I was being paranoid.
Sienna was efficient. Pierce trusted her.
She was good at her job. She probably didn't even realize she was pushing me out.
Maybe she thought she really was helping.
Maybe I really had misread her.
Then Carter showed up.
I heard his voice in the hallway, low and annoyed, and Pierce answering him in that distracted tone he used when he was thinking about work.
I stayed where I was, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold.
Carter was Pierce's friend, not mine, and I didn't have the energy to make small talk.
"You're not listening to me," Carter said. His voice carried into the kitchen, blunt and frustrated. "I'm telling you, she's all over your house, Pierce. She's all over your wife."
My pulse jumped. I held very still, the mug cold against my palms.
"Sienna's doing her job," Pierce said. He sounded irritated, like Carter was wasting his time. "She runs my events. That's what I pay her for."
"She's running a hell of a lot more than your events." Carter's tone was sharp enough to cut. "You really don't see it?"
"See what?"
There was a pause. A long one. I could picture Carter standing there in the hallway, trying to decide how much to say, and I wanted to walk out there and tell him to say all of it. To make Pierce hear him. To tell him that Sienna was taking over my life piece by piece and Pierce was letting her.
But I didn't move.
"Forget it," Carter said finally. His voice was flat, defeated. "You're not going to hear me anyway."
"Carter—"
"No, I'm done." There was an edge to his voice now, something bitter. "You're making a big deal out of nothing, right? That's what you're going to say. So save it."
"You're putting words in my mouth."
"Am I?" Carter laughed, but it didn't sound amused.
I heard footsteps, and then the sound of the front door closing hard enough to rattle the frame. Carter was gone.
The silence that followed felt heavy, like something pressing down on my chest.
Pierce walked into the kitchen a minute later. He looked at me and frowned. "You okay?"
"Fine," I said.
He nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket, already moving on. He didn't ask what I'd been doing or why I looked like I'd been hit by a truck. He just stood there scrolling through his emails like nothing had happened, like his best friend hadn't just walked out on him.
God, how had I let it get this far?
I was married to a man who didn't see me. Who didn't see what was happening in his own house. Who waved off his best friend like Carter was being dramatic instead of trying to warn him.
I twisted the ring around my finger again and thought about taking it off.
But I didn't.
That evening Sienna came by again. I was in the den, folding laundry I didn't need to fold, just to have something to do with my hands.
I heard her voice in the hallway, bright and confident, and then another voice answering her.
I didn't recognize it. A client, maybe, or one of the vendors she'd taken over.
I moved closer to the door, my heart already pounding.
"Oh, don't worry," Sienna was saying. She laughed, low and easy. "I won't be the work wife for long."
My stomach dropped.
I stood there with a towel in my hands, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack a rib, and I strained to hear the rest. But she'd lowered her voice, or moved down the hall, and I couldn't make out another word.
I won't be the work wife for long.
I knew what that meant. God, I knew exactly what that meant.
She wanted to be his real wife. She wanted to take my place.
And Pierce had no idea.
I found him in his office an hour later. He was at his desk, tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked tired. He glanced up when I came in and his expression softened a little.
"Hey," he said.
I closed the door behind me. My hands had started to shake. I folded them together to hide it.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
He frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Sienna." I took a breath. My chest felt too tight, like I couldn't get enough air. "I heard her say something tonight. She told someone she won't be the work wife for long."
Pierce stared at me. "What?"
"She said she won't be the work wife for long." My voice was shaking now too, and I hated it. I sounded like a frightened girl, like someone who couldn't hold herself together. "Pierce, she wants?—"
"Hannah." He held up a hand, cutting me off. "Slow down. You're making a mountain out of an anthill."
The words hit me like a slap.
"I'm not," I said. "I heard her."
"You heard part of a conversation." He leaned back in his chair, his tone patient, like he was explaining something to a child.
"You don't know what she meant. She could have been joking.
She could have been talking about something else entirely.
Maybe she's got a boyfriend and she was talking about that. "
"She wasn't talking about a boyfriend."
"You don't know that." He rubbed his forehead, tired.
"Look, I get that you're stressed. You're pregnant, the house has been chaotic, and I know the nursery didn't turn out the way you wanted.
But Sienna is not the enemy here, Hannah.
She's been nothing but helpful. She's taken half your responsibilities off your plate so you can focus on the baby. "
I stood there staring at him, my throat burning, my hands clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.
He didn't believe me. He wasn't even considering it.
"Hannah," he said, softer now. "You're overthinking this. Sienna works for me. That's it. She's good at her job, and she's been taking things off your plate so you don't have to worry about them. I thought that's what you wanted. Sienna says you've seemed overwhelmed for weeks."
"I didn't ask her to take anything," I said.
"You didn't have to." He turned back to his laptop. "She saw you were overwhelmed and she stepped in. That's what good employees do. That's why I keep her around."
My hands had started up again. I held them tight against my sides.
"Do you have proof she meant something else?" he asked. He wasn't even looking at me now. His eyes were on his screen, his fingers moving across the keyboard. "Did she say anything specific? Threaten you? Do anything inappropriate?"
"No," I said. The word came out small and defeated. "I just heard?—"
"Then let it go." He glanced up at me, his expression kind but firm, like he was explaining something.
"You're reading into things that aren't there.
Sienna's not trying to take your place. She's doing her job.
And honestly, Hannah, I need her. She's the only one who keeps my schedule straight, who makes sure things actually get done.
I can't have you upset over something you misheard. "
I couldn't prove anything. I didn't have evidence. I didn't have anything but a feeling in my gut and a sentence I'd overheard that could mean a dozen different things if you didn't know Sienna the way I did.
And Pierce didn't know her. He didn't see the way she looked at me when he wasn't watching. He didn't see the way she smiled when she took something else away from me. He didn't see how she moved through this house like she already owned it.
He didn't see her at all. He only saw the work she did for him, the events she ran, the problems she solved.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?" He looked relieved, like I'd just made his life easier by backing down. "Good. I'm glad we cleared that up."
I left his office and went upstairs. My chest ached. My throat was tight. I sat down on the edge of the bed and twisted the ring around my finger, around and around, until the skin underneath was red and sore.
I couldn't prove anything.
And even if I could, I didn't think Pierce would believe me.
I stayed in the house for the rest of that night.
I didn't go out. I didn't make plans. Julia called twice and I let it go to voicemail because I didn't know what to tell her.
I just waited, my stomach heavy and my hands restless, and every time the doorbell rang or I heard Sienna's voice in the hallway, my pulse spiked and my throat went dry.
I didn't know what she'd do next.
But I knew she wasn't done.
And I knew, with a certainty that sat in my chest like a stone, that Pierce wouldn't stop her.