Stubborn Bloom

1
Shane Crawford paid a fortune for coffee beans that cost thousands of dollars a pound, all so he could hand-brew me a pour-over every single morning.
Facing a global livestream, he told the cameras, My wife isn't a morning person. Only the scent of fresh coffee and a kiss can wake her.
The whole world thought he was madly in love with me.
But I was staring at the small bouquet of daisies tucked into his suit pocket in the video as I sent him a text.
Let's get a divorce.
...
The news that the CEO of Crawford Corporation had bought out a top Panamanian estate's coffee beans at a record-breaking price became the headline of the week.
Shane's and my names shot to the top of the trending topics.
My husband can't even be bothered to get me a glass of hot water when I'm on my period, but Shane Crawford makes his wife coffee every morning. Jealousy is a disease, and I'm terminal.
When are Shane and Sienna having a baby? I need to time my reincarnation just right.
What did Sienna Scott do to deserve a life this good?!
Shane had never been shy about his grand displays of affection, and I had once been swept away by their intensity.
But I couldn't lie to myself anymore.
The moment he got my text, he called.
"Sweetheart, don't do this. You can yell at me, hit me, whatever you want. But don't you ever say that word. It would kill me."
"Shane, I'm serious."
"Tell me what you're angry about. I'll fix it," Shanes voice was impossibly gentle, as if he were incapable of anger.
"I don't like daisies."
He was silent for a few seconds. "That's it? That's what this is about?"
"Yes. That's it."
It took him a moment to remember why.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. It was an oversight. Hannah must have picked it out when she was prepping everything, and I didn't even notice. Don't be angry. When I get home tonight, you can have me any way you want as compensation."
When did his assistant, "Ms. Vance," become just "Hannah"? He probably didn't even notice the slip himself.
Years ago, a single daisy had bloomed in our garden. Shane hired a crew to excavate the entire garden, scorching the earth for seven days just to ensure not a single seed remained before replanting it with roses.
How could a man that meticulous be so careless as to pin a bouquet of daisies to his chest?
The winter garden outside my window was lifeless, just like my marriage, dying a slow death.
A few minutes later, Hannah Vances call came through.
"Mrs. Crawford, I'm so sorry. It was my mistake, and I'm terribly sorry for upsetting you. Please, don't be angry with Mr. Crawford. I'll be much more careful next time."
Her voice was a fragile whisper, as if a slight breeze could carry her away.
I knew Shane was right there with her. "Next time?" I sneered. "What other disasters are you planning to cause next time?"
"Sienna, that's enough," Shane's voice cut in, sharp and protective. "The kid apologized. Be a little gracious." Of course. He couldn't bear to see her suffer the slightest grievance.
A soft sob came through the phone. "It's okay, I'm fine," Hannah cried. "Sienna can say whatever she wants to me, as long as she's not angry with you, Shane."
"Hey, stop crying. It's nothing, really," Shane soothed, his voice a low, gentle murmur. But to me, it was a razor's edge, slicing a bloody gash across my heart.
"Just leave me alone." I couldn't stand to listen to another second of it and tossed the phone aside.
A moment later, two messages pinged.
One was from Shane.
You've yelled, you've let off some steam. Feeling better now? My dear wife is getting quite the temper. You're making my life difficult. ;)
I gave a bitter smile. So, raising my voice to the person he was comforting was considered "yelling."
The other was from Hannah.
Oops, I forgot. Your mother jumped to her death in a field of daisies, didn't she? Were they pretty? As pretty as this?
She attached a photo. A vast field of white daisies stretched to the horizon.
The world spun. I reached for a chair to steady myself but missed, collapsing to the floor and hitting my head on the wooden leg.
My mother had jumped right in front of me. My fathers endless affairs had worn her down to nothing. Her final, desperate leap was the only thing that made him stop.
"Love makes you pathetic. It makes you weak. Don't become me."
Her last words still echoed in my nightmares.
Shane and I were high school classmates. Girls flocked to him, but he only had eyes for me. I rejected him ten times, but each refusal only fueled his determination.
Later, my fathers company was on the brink of collapse. He wanted me to marry into the Ashford family to secure funding.
Shane had cornered me then, his eyes red. "Why him? Why a stranger you don't even know, but not me?"
The next day, Shane showed up with an investment contract for my father. "Sienna is a free woman," he'd said. "You can't force her to marry anyone."
The left side of his face was swollen that day. I knew his own father must have beaten him for that contract. I pressed an ice pack to his cheek and asked him if he wanted to marry me. He stared at me for a long time, and then he started to cry.
After we married, he truly did spoil me rotten. He memorized all my likes and dislikes, planning elaborate surprises for every holiday. When I had nightmares, he would hold me tight, stroking my back until I fell back asleep.
I used to think my mother was wrong. Love could make a withered rose bloom again. How could it make someone weak?
It wasn't until a few months ago, when he hired Hannah Vance as his assistant against my express wishes, that I understood. Shane was no different from any other man.
He never understood my hostility toward a fresh-faced college graduate.
But I knew from the moment I saw her photo that he would hire her. Because she looked exactly like I did in high school.
The version of me that Shane could never have.
After sending the text, Hannah posted on her social media.
I'm such an idiot. I messed up big time, and the boss canceled my year-end bonus. I just want to hide somewhere and cry.
Shane commented instantly.
Everyone messes up. Take the afternoon off. Go have a good cry.
I couldn't tell if he was protecting my honor or just flaunting their relationship in my face.
After lunch, I drove out to our spa villa in the suburbs. It was a wedding gift, but we'd moved out because the commute was too long. Many of my important documents were still stored there.
Before I even reached the door, I heard the sound of splashing water.
The villa had a small outdoor hot tub in the courtyard. We hadn't been here all year. There shouldn't have been any noise.
"Feeling better? Still want to cry?" Shane's voice, so painfully familiar, drifted through the wall.
A chill ran down my spine. He'd brought her to our wedding home.
"You owe me my bonus!" Hannah's voice was no longer weak, but laced with a flirtatious pout.
"You were a bad girl. You need to be punished so you learn your lesson. I told you not to provoke Sienna. That is my one and only rule."
"Then you should have sent a company-wide email about it! I feel so wronged."
"I know you do. Did you like that apartment we looked at last week? You should move in. It'll be more convenient for you to get to work."
"Is that all I get? You're just trying to buy me off?"
"Then what do you want?"
Hannah's voice dropped to a breathy whisper. I couldn't hear the words.
I only heard the sound of water sloshing violently from the tub.
"Hmph. I'll make you cry out for a different reason," Shane's voice was hoarse and low, but every word was perfectly clear.
I knew Hannah was confident in their relationship to have taunted me with the daisies.
But hearing it for myself, right outside the door the agony was a physical blow. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from being sick and dragged my leaden body back to the car.
My mother was right. Love really does make you weak.
But I would not become her.
I took several deep breaths and called Shane.
"Sienna, baby, what's wrong?" He sounded a little breathless.
"Where are you?"
"In a meeting with a client."
"I can't find one of the old contracts. I was wondering if it might be at the spa villa" I tested.
"No way, it wouldn't be there. I remember moving all the important documents to the house. Just look again."
"Are you sure? I think I'll go check anyway."
"Don't go" His voice shot up an octave. "I mean, it's not safe for you to drive all that way alone. I'll go with you this weekend, okay?"
"Forget it. It's not urgent. Get back to your work." I hung up, my hand numb.
A message from Hannah arrived instantly.
So you check up on him too? Let me give you a status report.
She sent a photo. On a nightstand, a box of condoms was nearly empty.
Bile rose in my throat.
The man who swore he would cherish me for a lifetime was utterly filthy.
I didn't go home. I drove to an event production company.
Next month, they would be handling the 20th-anniversary celebration for Crawford Corp.
To liven things up, Shane was scheduled to perform a televised underwater escape act with a professional magician.
"Can I be the one in the tank? I want to give my husband a surprise."
"Mrs. Crawford, without proper training, it's very risky." The company was afraid of an accident and hesitated.
"A hundred thousand dollars for my training. I'll be here every day."
"Well, in that case You and Mr. Crawford are truly a match made in heaven. So romantic."
"Please keep it a secret," I said, forcing a smile at their praise.
Since he loved playing the doting husband for an audience, I would tear up his script myself. I would disappear from the world, right before his very eyes.
When Shane got home that night, I was still reviewing the materials from the production company.
"Sweetheart, I got held up at the client's. I'm so sorry I'm late."
"What happened to your forehead? Are you hurt?"
He leaned in, tilting my face to inspect the scrape. As he did, his shirt collar gaped open, revealing a faint red mark on his collarbone.
I snapped my laptop shut and pushed him away in disgust.
"Still angry?"
He pulled out a square jewelry box and opened it. Inside lay a magnificent emerald necklace worth half a million dollars.
"I've had my eye on this for a while. It's perfect for you. Do you like it?"
I laughed at the absurdity. I never thought I'd sink so low. He buys Hannah an apartment and immediately "compensates" me with a necklace. How pathetic. He actually thought he could balance the scales between his wife and his mistress.
I pushed the box away. "I don't like it."
"Can't you just be agreeable for once? You're impossible to please. Harder to handle than any of my clients."
Shane finally lost his patience and slammed the bathroom door.
He didn't know that I used to be easy to please because I never wanted to argue with him.
Now, I was impossible because I had no intention of ever forgiving him.
In the weeks leading up to the gala, I became increasingly busy. I saw less and less of Shane.
But someone else was keeping me updated on his schedule.
He introduced me to his friends today. We all went out for drinks. It was fun. Why do you think they dislike you so much?
Ever done it in a car on a mountain top? He's an animal.
Guess where I am? Your old high school track. I can barely walk.
This is boring. You never reply. Are you just going to let me walk all over you? How does it feel to be abandoned? Feel like killing yourself yet?
I ignored Hannah. Shane's taste was truly appalling.
I dialed the most recent number in my call log. "How is he?" I asked in a low voice. "Is the old man still alive? Did he sign?"
"Mr. Scott has agreed to transfer all his company shares to you," the voice on the other end replied.
Satisfied, I hung up, a bit of the weight lifting from my chest. I opened a drawer and scanned the contentscontracts, documents, plane ticketsmy eyes finally landing on a set of divorce papers.
On the day of the gala, I dressed in simple, casual clothes for convenience.
Hannah, however, arrived in a stunning, form-fitting silver gown that showcased her figure perfectly. But the real showstopper was the emerald necklace she wore. The very same one I had rejected.
Shane had publicly stated the necklace was a gift for his beloved wife. Now, seeing it on his assistant, the crowd began to whisper.
Shane's eyes flickered over the necklace, and he said to Hannah, "Take it off."
Then he saw me in my plain clothes, and his brow furrowed. "Why are you dressed like that? Where's your sense of occasion?"
"A dog ate it."
In the dressing room, Hannah deliberately dangled the necklace in front of me. "This was supposed to be yours, but it's mine now. Don't worry, I'll take everything that belongs to you, piece by piece."
I didn't waste a second. I slapped her across the face. "Go back to digging through the trash, little bitch."
The theater was packed. Every Crawford Corp employee, every invited client and media member, filled the seats to capacity.
When it was time for the highly anticipated magic act, the applause was deafening.
Shane stood center stage, bathed in a single spotlight.
When he asked the audience to welcome his partner, a look of confusion crossed his face.
"Sweetheart? What are you doing up here?"
I bowed graciously to the audience. Whispers erupted from the front rows.
"Is that his wife?"
"A husband and wife act? Are they trying to kill us with their cuteness?"
I took Shane's cold hand. "This is my surprise for you. Are you ready?"
As the audience realized who I was, the cheers grew even louder.
Shane, ever the showman, recovered quickly. He pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead. "Sweetheart, you're amazing. I'm completely blown away."
"Oh, the best is yet to come."
I smiled and held out my hands, signaling for him to apply the handcuffs.
"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his hands trembling.
"Don't worry. I won't mess it up."
He secured my hands and lifted me gently into the water tank.
I took a deep breath as the cold water enveloped me.
A large cloth was draped over the glass tank.
The sounds from outside were distorted, but I could faintly hear Shane leading the countdown.
"30, 29, 28 10, 9, 8"
The countdown ended. A spotlight hit the empty escape tank on the other side of the stage.
The entire audience held its breath. Suddenly, a scream erupted from the front row.
Shane turned, confused. He saw that while the figure in the escape tank was gone, the original tank was now clouded with a spreading pool of crimson.
"Sienna! Sienna!" Shane was shaking, his eyes darting to the audience where I was supposed to have reappeared. The spotlight followed his gaze.
The seat was empty.
"Sienna! Where are you? Don't scare me like this!"
"Somebody! Help!"
His panicked shouts boomed through the speakers, and the entire venue descended into chaos.
"Let's go. Take me to the airport." I sat in the back of a Maybach parked behind the theater, toweling my wet hair as I watched a livestream of the event on a new phone.
The scene was pure mayhem. Stagehands swarmed the stage. The main camera, pointed right at the chaos, had been forgotten. I watched Shane's colorless, horrified face on the small screen.
He was frantically directing people to search for me while fumbling for his phone to call me.
Suddenly, he froze. The phone slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
He had seen it. A faint light glowed from within the blood-red tank. It was my phone, which I had "dropped."
The sight of it sent him into a greater panic. He yelled for someone to retrieve it.
The production crew told him they'd checked the secret passage. I had simply vanished into thin air.
"You told me this was perfectly safe! That it was foolproof!" he roared, his voice cracking.
"We don't know what happened! Mrs. Crawford trained with us every day. We ran over a dozen rehearsals without a single issue. She kept saying the surprise had to be perfect."
Shane's eyes turned red.
"Find her!" he screamed at the crew. "I don't care if you have to tear this theater apart, find my wife!"
When they handed him my phone, he used his own birthday to unlock the screen.
He stood on stage, frantically scrolling, desperate for a clue.
But it was no use. I had wiped every contact, every call log. The SIM card was deactivated.
The only thing he could find was the photo gallery.
Filled with screenshots of every single message Hannah had ever sent me.
As he scrolled, his face grew darker and darker. He was so engrossed that he didn't see the edge of the stage, stumbling and falling into the orchestra pit below.
Hannah rushed to his side, but the look in his eyes made her recoil in terror.
"It was you," he snarled, a feral light I had never seen before in his eyes. "You pushed her to this. How dare you?"
"If anything happens to Sienna, I will end you!"
He shoved Hannah to the ground and scrambled back onto the stage.
"Shane, no! It's dangerous!" Hannah screamed, seeing him climb onto the water tank, ready to jump in. She grabbed his legs, trying to hold him back.
"Don't... touch me," he hissed, his voice ragged with hysteria. "I have to know where she went." He kicked out violently, catching her in the chest. She collapsed, gasping in pain.
With a huge splash, Shane plunged into the two-meter-deep tank, thrashing in the bloody water.
The theater was a cacophony of screams, shouts, and sobs.
Soon, the wail of sirens filled the livestream. When the police led Shane away, his face was streaked with tears.
"Let me go! I have to find my wife! She could be in danger"
So much noise. So very, very loud.

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