I Proposed To Him, The Comments Told Me His Heart Belonged To Her Chapter 02

I Proposed To Him, The Comments Told Me His Heart Belonged To Her Chapter 02

Mom came in without waiting for an answer, a cup of chamomile tea in her hand.

“Sienna, can we talk about something?” She perched on the edge of my bed, not quite meeting my eyes. “Would you mind… letting Blaire have your room?”

Something squeezed tight in my chest.

She wouldn’t look at me. The words came faster. “I know you’re comfortable here, but Blaire just moved in. I don’t want her feeling like she doesn’t belong.”

She hesitated, then said, “You’ve had everything since you were little. Blaire’s had nothing.”

[Here it comes!]

[She’s gonna play the victim and guilt-trip Mrs. Whitmore: “Do you not want me anymore now that you have your biological daughter?”]

[Then she’ll throw a whole tantrum until Mrs. Whitmore caves.]

I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “Sure. When do you need it?”

If keeping a room meant begging for it, the room wasn’t worth keeping.

Mom blinked. She clearly hadn’t expected a yes.

“The one on the third floor is nice too.”

“What kind of style do you want? I’ll have it redecorated for you.”

I shrugged. “Don’t bother. I’ll only be there a few days anyway.”

Something flickered across Mom’s face.

“Sienna, I’m not pushing you out…”

“I know.” I cut her off before she could finish.

I couldn’t stand that look, the one dripping with pity and guilt.

It made me feel like a charity case.

“It’s a room, Mom. Not a banishment.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m still me whether I sleep on the second floor or the third. A different bed doesn’t change that.”

Mom studied my face for a long time.

All she said was, “I’ll send someone to help you pack.”

The door clicked shut. My fingers stopped.

I looked around the room (my room) slowly, like I was memorizing it.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes before I could stop them.

Over breakfast the next morning, Dad brought up Blaire’s welcome gala.

“Sienna, why don’t you do Blaire’s hair and makeup?”

I looked over at Blaire.

She was watching me too, braced for a no.

“Sure.”

I took a bite of oatmeal. “But just so we’re clear: my rates for commercial glam aren’t cheap. Family discount this time. As in, free.”

Dad said nothing.

Blaire’s smile went stiff at the edges.

“Thank you, Sienna.”

The day of the gala, I was up at five.

By seven, I had Blaire in my chair.

Her skin was flawless. That part was easy. Her brows and eyes needed work, though. I snatched her contour, pinned her hair up, and when I stepped back, even I had to look twice.

She looked stunning.

God, I was good.

Blaire stared at her reflection, genuinely shocked.

“Sienna, you’re insane at this.”

“Obviously.”

I dropped the brush back in my kit. “This face pays half my bills. These hands pay the rest.”

She grinned. “No wonder you have so many followers.”

I liked hearing that.

Maybe Blaire wasn’t so bad after all.

At least so far, she hadn’t given me a reason to dislike her.

Grant showed up while I was swapping earrings on the third floor.

Out of habit, he went straight to the second floor. I heard him through the stairwell.

“Where’s Sienna?”

“She moved to the third floor.”

When I came down, he was standing in front of my old room, jaw set, looking like he wanted to put a fist through something.

He turned the second he heard my heels. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

“None of your damn business.”

He looked ready to march downstairs and raise hell on my behalf. I had to fight to keep the smile off my face.

But I’d already shut him down, so he had nowhere to aim it.

In the car, Blaire pressed her fingertips to her temple and softened her voice.

“Sienna, I get a little carsick. Would it be okay if I sat up front? If it’s a big deal, I totally don’t have to.”

[HERE IT COMES. The front seat drama!]

[Sienna’s claimed shotgun since she was a kid.]

[Last time Grant’s cousin sat there, Sienna threw a fit about it for THREE MONTHS. The male lead got so sick of it he left town on a business trip and ghosted her for days.]

[No way she lets this slide.]

I said nothing.

How did they remember every embarrassing thing I’d ever done?

Grant was already watching me, arms crossed.

Something in his expression said he was waiting for me to say no too.

“Go ahead.” I pulled open the back door.

Blaire froze.

I slid in, dug a mint out of my bag, and tossed it to her.

“If you’re actually carsick, take this. Throw up in this car and we’ll never get the smell out.”

Blaire managed a “…Thanks.”

Grant’s jaw flexed. He slammed his door without a word.

Blaire peppered him with questions about the gala the whole way.

He answered in fragments. Barely.

At the hotel entrance, Blaire caught his arm.

“Grant, I’ve never been to anything like this before. I’m kind of freaking out. Can you stay with me the whole night?”

Grant looked at me.

And in that moment, God, I wanted to be the one standing next to him.

We’d been going to these things together since we were kids.

He used to gripe about how slow I walked in heels, but he always waited, muttering the whole time about what a pain I was.

Now someone else was taking my spot.

The taste in the back of my throat was something I couldn’t swallow down.

I gathered my dress in one hand. “You two take your time.”

I walked inside before either of them could respond, heels clicking fast against the marble.

Any slower and I would’ve turned back.

I found a corner at the gala and buried myself in my enrollment paperwork.

Two women behind me were talking. I caught every word.

“I always figured Miss Whitmore and the Prescott boy were a done deal. Childhood sweethearts, an arranged match, the whole thing.”

“Well, turns out there’s another Miss Whitmore now.”

“Isn’t that convenient? Now he can marry the one who actually belongs.”

“Credit to the Whitmores, though. They still let the adopted one show up tonight.”

“Well, after nineteen years of raising her, they can’t exactly toss her out on the street.”

My fingers stopped on the keyboard.

It landed somewhere deep, the kind of pain that doesn’t let you cry; it just sits there.

I’d spent ninety minutes on this face. Two gossiping nobodies weren’t worth ruining it.

I looked down and kept typing.

Then Grant’s voice cut through the noise behind me, cold enough to freeze the room.

“Since when are the Whitmores’ private affairs any of your business?”

I whipped around.

Grant stood there, one hand in his pocket, looking like he was two seconds from ending someone’s social career.

Both women went pale.

“Mr. Prescott, we were just…”

Grant didn’t let her finish. “And since when does either of you get a vote on who a Prescott marries?”

I stared at him. Something cracked open in my chest, and every hurt I’d swallowed that night rushed up at once.

For one second, I wanted to cross the room, loop my arm through his, and pretend nothing had changed.

I wanted to tell him.

Those women were talking about me.

They were tearing me apart.

But then Blaire’s voice floated over from across the room. “Grant.”

He turned.

Whatever had risen in my chest settled back down, heavy and quiet.

I called Mom and told her I wasn’t feeling well. The party noise was loud on her end. She said, “Have the driver bring you home,” and hung up before I could respond.

I didn’t call the driver. I walked out of the hotel and hailed a cab.

“The 24-hour FedEx on 4th, please. I have enrollment papers to overnight.”