Chapter 120: Unspoken conflict

Sienna swallowed hard.

For a moment she could not feel her legs talk more of walking away from where she wasn’t needed.

The closed door stayed in front of her like an answer she had not prepared for. Indeed, she hadn’t prepared for this.

She had expected him to look pleased. Offer a warm smile and appreciate her thoughtfulness.

She had expected the lawyer offer to land as thoughtfulness, maybe even soften the distance he had been keeping. All afternoon she had turned the idea over, telling herself it was only fair. He had remained her contracted husband without being paid for the role. Arranging proper support for his signing should have meant something.

Instead, he had already moved past needing her.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself away from the door after a few seconds.

She got into her room, grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts with no clear aim. She needed to go out and clear her head and she needed somebody.

But most of her friends would be occupied with whatever Sunday required of them; noise, company, places too bright for the state she was in. She did not want that.

As she scrolled through her contact list, her eyes caught Davina’s contact and the memory came up uninvited: Davina on her knees for Tom, the shock of catching them, the bitterness that had never fully settled... Sienna’s face tightened.

"That fucking bitch," she muttered, and immediately deleted the contact.

She sat with the phone in her hand a second longer, then settled on one contact; her personal assistant’s.

"Rosemary."

"Hello, Sienna."

"Get ready. We’re going somewhere."

"Yes, ma’am. Should I meet you at the house?"

"No. I’ll come and pick you up."

Sienna ended the call, took one of her car keys, and left the room. At the entrance, her driver stepped forward at once, already reading the movement as instruction.

"Ma’am-"

"I don’t need a driver today," Sienna said to him simply.

He stopped without argument. It was not the first Sunday she had chosen to take the wheel herself. She got into the car, pulled out, and went to get Rosemary.

~~~~~~~~~

By the time they were parked outside a bar in the middle of the city, the street around it was already alive with weekend bustle.

Music thudded faintly through the walls. People moved in and out in pairs and small groups. From the car, the place looked exactly like what Sienna had said she did not want: crowded, noisy, useless for thought collecting.

Rosemary glanced at the entrance, then down at her own clothes. She had dressed for a client meeting, appearing all corporate, because that was the shape most sudden Sunday calls still took.

"Uhm, Sienna... what exactly are we doing here?"

Sienna kept her eyes on the steering wheel. "I needed a drink and a drinking partner. And quiet. That’s all."

Rosemary looked back at the packed front of the bar and sighed. "This doesn’t look quiet."

"I can see that." Sienna shook her head.

"It’s Sunday. Everywhere with alcohol is going to look like this." Rosemary reminded Sienna as if the other woman had suddenly forgotten the unwritten order of the day.

Sienna’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "I can’t go back to the house."

Rosemary peered at her face for a moment, then careful as always, she said; "Then we can go to my place. If you actually want to sit down and think."

Sienna was silent for a second. Then she nodded. "Alright. Your place it is then."

~~~~~~~~~~

Rosemary’s house was quieter by every measure. No music in the walls. No strangers passing the hood of the car. Just a private living room, a set-down bag, and the kind of stillness Sienna had been trying to buy with a drink elsewhere.

She started drinking sooner than she should have.

The first glass went down hard. The second followed with less patience. Meanwhile, Rosemary remained on the adjacent seat, just watching her boss without interrupting as Sienna’s shoulders gradually lost their public arrangement. It took a few more swallows before the words started coming, and once they did, they did not arrive in order.

"If a woman tries to do something nice for a man," Sienna began, staring into her glass, "and the man doesn’t even want it... what does that mean?"

Rosemary frowned slightly. "What’s that?"

"I’m asking." Sienna turned the glass a little. "I mean, he once said she was his crush. Then later, when she tries to be decent, he acts like the whole thing is an inconvenience. Is that normal?"

Rosemary opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to find the shape of the conversation. "I... don’t think I follow."

"And living in the same house," Sienna went on, as if Rosemary had not spoken. "Does a contract mean you can’t even talk? You just pass each other? Good morning, okay, close the door?".

"That’s it?" She added, her voice raised slightly.

Rosemary blinked then slowly connected the dots; "Are we talking about Mr. Tom? Your husband?"

Sienna’s eyes lifted a little too quickly. She did not deny it. That alone was answer enough.

Rosemary hesitated for a split second then shrugged simply as she replied. "Maybe he just isn’t a talkative."

Sienna stared at the glass. "Is that it?"

"You live with him," Rosemary said carefully. "I thought you would know the kind of person he is by now."

"I don’t." The words came out flatter than Sienna seemed to expect. She frowned at herself, then drank again. "I don’t know anything about him."

Rosemary looked genuinely lost now. "But... you always said you didn’t want anything to do with him. That he was only needed for appearance. Does not knowing anything about him be bothering you now?"

Sienna set the glass down harder than necessary then stared at Rosemary. "So what? Is it a crime if that changes?"

Rosemary was taken aback, the frown of confusion on her deepened; "Changes how?"

"I don’t know." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

The answer was immediate, defensive, and empty of detail. Rosemary had no reply ready for it. She dealt in schedules, calls, public arrangements - not in her employer drinking through a contradiction she could not name cleanly.

Sienna pressed her fingers to her forehead, her eyes getting half-closed.

"I’m curious about him," she muttered. "That’s the part I hate. I keep thinking about him, and it seems like he can’t stand me now." She let out a short, frustrated breath.

"What exactly am I supposed to do with that?"