Wednesday morning, Sienna stood in her closet trying to decide what you wear to meet the man who blamed you for destroying his son's life.
Professional? Too accommodating. Casual? Too dismissive. The green dress? Absolutely not.
She settled on black pants and a cream silk blouse. Neutral. Confident. I'm here because I choose to be.
Jade had texted seventeen times trying to talk her out of going.
"This is a trap. He's going to manipulate you."
"I know. But I'm going anyway."
Now, standing outside Castellano Properties in Midtown—the building Alessandro had walked out of Monday—Sienna's confidence wavered.
This was a mistake. She should leave.
But she was tired of running.
She walked into the lobby. The receptionist looked up, recognition flashing across her face. Sienna's photo had been everywhere.
"I'm here to see Carlo Castellano. Two o'clock."
"Of course, Ms. Morales. Top floor."
