He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 3

Sienna took a cab back to the estate.

The driver shot her several glances through the rearview mirror, clearly thinking she looked terrible.-

The cab seat pressed painfully against the injury on her lower back, and she kept her hand pressed to her abdomen.

It was empty now, but her body hadn't seemed to process the loss yet, sending sharp cramps through her every now and then.

[Time remaining: 28 days, 21 hours, 08 minutes.]

The system's countdown ticked constantly in her mind like an endless alarm.

Sienna leaned against the window and closed her eyes.

She had to go back and pack her things, erasing all traces of her eight years there.

The front door of the estate was unlocked.

When Sienna walked in, she noticed several pink suitcases sitting by the living room sofa.

A new pair of heels sat in the entryway, the soles completely clean, clearly placed there just today.

A woman's laughter drifted down from upstairs.

Sienna paid it no mind, heading straight to the second floor and into the bedroom she had occupied for eight years.

She began pulling her belongings together.

Just then, the master bedroom door opened.

Lyla stepped out in slippers, her hair down, wearing a men's dress shirt that barely covered her upper thighs.

Sienna recognized that shirt.

She had designed it herself, from picking out the fabric to sewing the seams, even hand-selecting each button from the textile market.

For their first anniversary, she had spent two whole months crafting that gift.

But when Grant received it, he merely glanced at it, said, "It's fine," and never wore it once.

And now, it was draped over Lyla's shoulders.

Lyla leaned against the doorframe, her tone overly affectionate as her eyes raked up and down Sienna's frame.

"Oh, Sienna, why didn't you let me know you were coming? I would have had Zachary pick you up."

Zachary was Grant's private driver, answering only to him.

Lyla saying that was an obvious attempt to position herself as the lady of the house.

"If you can't even dress yourself properly, stop making a fool of yourself."

Lyla's face instantly darkened. She was about to fire back when Grant suddenly walked over.

He was holding a cup of coffee and wearing loungewear, looking relaxed and at ease—a stark contrast to the cold man throwing divorce papers in the hospital.

Lyla immediately trotted over to hook her arm through his, her voice turning soft again. "Grant, Sienna said I look like a fool in this shirt. Is she mad at me?"

"If that's the case, I should just take it off."

Grant looked down at her before fixing a cold glare on Sienna.

"I gave her the shirt. If you're angry, take it out on me."

Sienna replied, "Since I gave it to you, it belongs to you."

"Who you give it to is none of my business."

With that, she opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out its contents, one by one.

They were all photos of Grant.

Photos of him in meetings, eating, and the rare moments he actually smiled.