“You said she gave up,” Lily continued.
“You said that’s why we were going with you.”
“Your mother and I were handling adult matters.”
“You sent me a packing list for your wedding,” I said.
“That wasn’t handling anything.”
His brother looked away.
His mother whispered his name in warning.
Logan turned on me again.
“You could have told me.”
That almost made me laugh.
“You told me to be gone before you came back.”
He opened his mouth.
Claire reached into the folder and removed a printed page.
“We have that message too.”
Logan froze.
There it was.
2:13 a.m.
Be gone before we come back.
I hate old things.
I deserve a fresh life.
Don’t cause a scene.
The kids are with us.
Claire held it where he could see it.
“You communicated a demand that Ms.
Sterling vacate property in which you had no title interest.
You were subsequently notified, through counsel, of the ownership records and planned removal.
You chose not to engage.”
“I was getting married.”
“That did not suspend your email account.”
Sienna turned away.
That was the first time I felt sorry for her.
Not because she was innocent in the destruction of my marriage.
She had known Logan was married when their relationship began.
I wasn’t interested in rewriting that truth.
But I recognized the expression on her face.
It was the expression of someone discovering that Logan’s certainty wasn’t the same thing as honesty.
I had worn that expression myself more than once.
Logan demanded access to the new property.
I refused.
Not because I intended to keep his belongings.
I had been more careful than that.
Everything that was clearly his—clothes, personal files, golf equipment, watches, framed business awards, boxes from his office—had been inventoried, photographed and transferred to a climate-controlled storage unit.
His attorney had received the access information.
Nothing had been destroyed.
Nothing had been hidden.
Nothing had been left for him to accuse me of stealing.
Even the cuff links he had spent twenty minutes screaming about were listed on page four of the inventory.
Claire handed him a copy.
“Your personal property is here.”
He glanced at it.
“Storage?”
“Yes.”
“You put my life in storage?”
I thought of the itinerary he’d sent me without explanation.
The flights.
The villas.
