Sienna believed Cecilia wouldn't spread the recording.
If she did, she would also taint her own reputation. The scandal would cling to her too, and every crazy thing she said.
Not to mention, after thinking it over and over, replaying every word in her mind until they were worn smooth as river stones, Sienna was sure she hadn't outwardly confessed. She had been emotional, yes. Angry. Desperate. But the words had never crossed her lips.
She never said I did it.
I drugged him.
I locked him in.
None of that. Just implications. Just the ugly, undeniable truth that anyone with eyes could see, but not hear. Not prove.
And even if Cecilia tried to use it, even if she showed it to someone, anyone, Sienna believed, deep in her bones, that her father and mother wouldn't side with a lowly commoner orphan. Not against her, their own daughter.
They wouldn't ever believe what Cecilia said. No matter what proof there was.
