Chapter 3: The Wife He Chose

Sienna left at 9:47 PM.

I know because I was staring at that same damn clock again. Trying to figure out when my life had become a schedule of small humiliations.

Flynn stood in the center of the living room, still wearing his coat. Like he was deciding whether to stay or run.

I wanted him to run. I wanted him to chase after Sienna and never come back.

Instead, he turned to me with that expression I'd seen a thousand times. Wounded. Misunderstood. The man who needed me to make it better.

He removed his coat slowly. Draped it over the arm of the sofa with careful precision.

Sat down. Patted the cushion next to him.

A command disguised as an invitation.

I stayed standing.

"I should have told you about Sienna." His voice was soft. Reasonable. "I know that now."

I said nothing.

"She left me devastated. I searched for months. Eventually, I had to accept she was probably dead. You don't file for divorce when someone's dead, Aria. You grieve."

"But you didn't have her declared legally dead either."

The words came out quiet. Steady.

Flynn paused. Just for a second.

"I couldn't face the finality."

"Or you wanted to keep your options open?"

His jaw tightened.

"When I met you," he continued, like I hadn't spoken, "you were everything she wasn't. Gentle. Kind. Understanding. I fell in love with the woman you are."

The woman I am.

Not who I was. Who I am. Present tense.

The woman he'd shaped. Molded. Created.

"You're my present and future, Aria."

I recognized it now. All of it.

Comparing me to Sienna. Making me feel special by tearing her down.

His pain, not his responsibility.

Promises about the future to distract from the present.

"When did you last see her before tonight?" I asked.

"Eighteen months ago. When she left."

"She said you saw her three months ago. Chicago."

Something flickered across his face. Gone so fast I almost missed it.

"She's lying."

"Is she? You went to Chicago in June. For a week."

"Business trip."

"What business? With whom?"

My brain was pulling up details now. The things I'd noticed but not questioned.

No client dinners mentioned when he got back. No deals closed. No contracts signed.

Just expensive gifts. A new watch for me. A bracelet. Flowers delivered to the penthouse.

He'd been different for a few days after. Distant. Then suddenly overly attentive.

"I don't appreciate being interrogated in my own home."

Flynn stood. Taking up space. Using his height.

"Your home?" My voice stayed level. "Or Sienna's?"

He took a step toward me.

I took a step back.

"This is exactly what she wants. To turn you against me."

"No." The word came out hard. "You did that yourself. By lying for three years."

Three years.

Our entire relationship based on fraud.

Everything suspect now.

How we met. That charity gala where he'd seemed so charming. So interested in me specifically.

His pursuit. Flowers every day. Showing up at my office. Making me feel seen.

Our marriage. The courthouse wedding because he said he couldn't wait. That big ceremonies were just for show.

Had any of it been real?

"You want to know about Sienna? Fine." Flynn's voice had changed. Gone cold. "She's unstable. Always has been. Accused me of things I never did. Turned her own family against me with lies."

Every sentence blamed her.

I'd heard him do this before. With business rivals. With employees he'd fired.

Always the victim. Always someone else's fault.

"I tried to help her. Therapy. Medication. She refused treatment. When she finally left, I was relieved."

"And now she's back, pregnant, claiming it's mine." He laughed. Bitter. "Convenient timing, don't you think? Right when my company's valuation is highest?"

He thought this was about money.

But Sienna hadn't asked for money. She'd asked for divorce.

"Do you think the baby is yours?" I asked quietly.

Flynn paused. Then shrugged.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to that child."

"If it even exists."

"She's clearly pregnant."

"Pregnant, yes. Mine?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Questionable."

His cruelty was so casual. So matter-of-fact.

He truly didn't care.

A child. His or not. Just a problem to solve. An inconvenience to manage.

"Besides," Flynn said, his voice softening, "you and I can have our own children. When you're ready. No rush."

The words hit like a physical blow.

Two years.

Two years of trying. Of hoping. Of crying every month when my period came.

Tests. Procedures. Doctors telling me nothing was wrong. That sometimes it just took time.

Flynn had been patient. Supportive. Or I'd thought he was.

Now I wondered.

Had he actually wanted children with me? Or was that another lie?

"You're the only wife I need," he said. "The only one I want."

But I'm not actually your wife.

The thought came sharp and clear.

Legal reality. I was the mistress. Sienna was the wife.

"I need space tonight," I said.

"Space? What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm sleeping in the guest room."

Shock flickered across his face. Then anger.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm being clear. I need space to process."

"Process what? Nothing's changed between us."

"Everything's changed."

He took a step toward me.

I stepped back.

First time I'd ever refused his touch.

His eyes went cold.

"Fine. Have your space." His voice was controlled. Too controlled. "But don't let Sienna manipulate you. She's trying to destroy what we have."

What do we have? I wanted to ask.

A lie? A fraud? A marriage that isn't legally real?

But I didn't say it.

I just watched him walk toward the bedroom. Our bedroom. The one I wouldn't be sleeping in tonight.

Instead, I went to my studio.

My art studio. The only truly personal space in this entire penthouse.

I locked the door behind me.

Unfinished paintings leaned against the walls. Supplies I hadn't touched in weeks gathered dust. The version of me that existed before Flynn lived here.

I sat on the floor. Back against the locked door.

First moment alone to process.

My hands started shaking. Then my whole body.

Tears came. Hot and fast. I couldn't catch my breath.

Panic attack. I recognized it.

Forced myself to breathe. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

A technique from therapy. The therapy I'd quit when Flynn said I didn't need it. That I was doing so much better. That the therapist was making me dwell on the past.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.

Sienna's business card was in my other hand. Heavy cardstock. Professional.

Sienna Ashford, Investigative Journalist.

Not Lancaster. She'd kept her maiden name.

Phone number. Email. Website.

On the back, handwritten: "When you're ready to know the truth."

What truth?

About Flynn's business? The illegal activities she'd mentioned?

About why she really left?

About the baby?

About what else he was hiding?

I stared at my phone. At her number.

Not tonight.

I wasn't ready yet.

But soon.

I sat on the floor of my studio, back against the locked door, and finally let myself feel it.

Not the heartbreak. That would come later. In waves that would knock me down for months.

Not even the betrayal, though that was there. Sharp and cutting.

Rage.

Pure, white-hot, clarifying rage.

How dare he? How dare he marry me knowing Sienna existed? How dare he let me believe I was building a life when it was all built on lies?

How dare he look at me with those wounded eyes? Like I was the one causing problems by asking questions?

And beneath the rage, something else.

Something that had been sleeping for three years. Sedated by love and trust and wanting so desperately to be chosen.

Curiosity.

What else was he hiding? What else had he lied about? What else didn't I know about the man I'd promised forever to?

I looked at Sienna's card. Then at my phone.

Not tonight. But soon.

First, I needed to figure out who I was in all of this.

Because right now, I didn't even recognize myself.