In the tense silence, Sienna immediately stepped forward, taking Brett's arm with feigned concern. "What's wrong?"
The gesture was practiced, fluid, as if such intimacy was already second nature.
Brett didn't even glance at the divorce papers, let alone the section detailing the massive division of assets. He simply flipped to the last page and signed his name without hesitation.
After signing, he turned to Sienna, his voice softening. "You handled this exceptionally. That project was revived because of you. I'll make sure you get the reward you deserve."
A triumphant smirk touched Sienna's lips before she cast an "inadvertent" glance at the tattoo on the inside of Brett's wrist.
It was an exquisite design, with our initials, J and B, intertwined around a tiny baby cradle—a symbol of the family we had once dreamed of.
"Brett," Sienna said, her tone a mask of professional tact, "I couldn't help but notice your tattoo. In some business settings, it might seem a bit too… 'family-oriented.' It could make clients question your commitment."
She paused, a sly glint in her eyes. "Maybe you should consider changing it to something more corporate? Like the company logo?"
My heart plummeted. That tattoo held the last beautiful memory of our marriage.
But Brett just nodded. "That's a good point. A professional image is key."
He turned to me, his tone laced with impatience. "Juliana, you understand, right? It's just for the company."
My blood ran cold. But then I thought, we're getting a divorce. Why should I even care?
"Of course," I forced a brittle smile. "Since you're changing it, why not incorporate 'SS' for Sienna Shaw? That would be even more meaningful."
The sarcasm soared right over his head; Brett actually seemed to think it was a good idea.
As I began packing my design drafts and personal effects, Brett followed me into my study, clearly assuming I was just throwing a tantrum.
He pulled a black card from his wallet and held it out. "Juliana, I know you're upset. This has no limit. Buy whatever you want. Let's not ruin our relationship over something so trivial."
Just then, Sienna knocked on the door. She held a thick project proposal, her face a mask of earnest professionalism.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but I need to discuss an urgent business matter with you both."
She placed the proposal on my desk, pointing to one of the pages. "To ensure the success of the project I just salvaged, we need to build a high-end private tennis court to entertain our clients' families."
Her finger traced a line across the estate's floor plan, landing precisely on the memorial garden in my backyard.
"According to our assessment, this is the ideal location. The position is perfect, and the space is currently underutilized."
Sienna looked up at me, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. "Juliana, I understand this is emotional for you. But for a multi-hundred-million-dollar project, a tennis court is a vital amenity. That space... it's just sitting there, empty."
"Absolutely not," I cut her off.
My voice was ice, and the air in the room crackled with tension.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Sienna's face before she smoothed it over and turned to Brett for backup.
Brett stepped in front of me, blocking my view of her. "Juliana, be rational. This isn't just a garden; it's a business decision that affects the company's future."
His tone was one of condescending patience. "You can't obstruct corporate progress just because you're being emotional. Business comes first."
White-hot rage tore through me, and my hand flew up, cracking hard across his face.
The sharp sound echoed in the stunned silence.
I stared at him, my voice low and dangerous. "I dare you, Brett. I dare anyone to touch that garden. They will pay."
My gaze was like a razor. "That garden is for my child. It is not a bargaining chip for your business deals."
That night, Brett stormed into our bedroom, his face a mask of fury.
His eyes were bloodshot. "Juliana, what the hell is your game?"
He waved a sheaf of printed documents in his hand. "Why were the confidential minutes from my meeting with Sienna today sent to our biggest competitor?"
I was baffled. "What minutes? I have no idea what you're talking about."
Brett's face twisted into a sneer. "Don't play innocent! The IT department traced the leak directly to your personal computer!"
His voice rose, reason abandoning him. "Maybe it's a blessing our child didn't survive! Not with a paranoid, vengeful mother like you! No wonder you miscarried. Maybe the baby just didn't want to be born to you!"
His words struck me like a physical blow.
My world shattered. How could the man I’d loved so deeply say something so monstrous? An icy dread, colder than anything I’d ever felt, crept up my spine.
My knees felt weak. "Say that again."
My voice trembled, but my eyes were sharp. "Brett, what did you just say?"
Blinded by fury, Brett didn't hesitate. "You heard me! Maybe our child died because it didn't want a mother like you!"
My heart tore itself to pieces. This man, the one I had once loved beyond measure, was capable of this.
"That's a lie," I said, my voice shaking despite myself. "I want to speak with your IT security department. Now."
But Brett wasn't listening. He'd already swallowed every lie Sienna fed him.
In his mind, Sienna was infallible, while his wife of a decade was now the enemy.
After the fight, Brett left again to discuss "crisis management" with Sienna.
I sat alone in the cavernous living room, drowning in loneliness and despair.
The next day, on my way home from my lawyer's office, my phone rang.
It was our estate manager, Tom, his voice frantic. "Mrs. Prescott, you need to get here! A construction crew just showed up with a bulldozer!"
Panic laced his words. "They say Mr. Prescott personally authorized them to demolish the memorial garden. I tried to stop them, but they have a permit."
