15. Sienna #2
“I told him I couldn’t approve the transaction because there wasn’t enough in the account, told him I knew what he’d been doing, and he didn’t apologize. Just tried to convince me to sell the house, to sell the liquid assets instead, to keep funding him. I told him no, and he lost his mind.”
I took a deep breath, and then another, trying to make sense of it all.
Ryan hadn’t seemed wealthy when I dated him.
He seemed somewhat well off, would take me to nice dinners, and had bought us that trip to the Amalfi coast, but that was as far as it ever went.
He never drove a fancy car or had a nice house, he’d lived in an apartment.
“That’s not—I hate him, but that’s not the Ryan I knew. ”
“He sold what he’d accumulated,” he said simply.
“About four years ago. I told him I wouldn’t give him money until he got rid of the things he didn’t need, and even then, what I’ve given him has come out of my accounts, not from the trust. I had to change all the passwords, had to talk to the bank and set up a PIN that they’d ask me for if I called to discuss anything so they wouldn’t accidentally think Ryan was me if he got through. ”
He huffed a dry, irritated laugh.
“Used Zach’s birthday. Ryan never cared enough to know it.”
A breath punched out of me at that. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised, not after what he’d said when I was leaving the villa.
The kid. Magpie. Ryan didn’t seem interested in Matt’s life at all.
“So even after all of that, you still give him money,” I said, taking a sip of my wine. “You paid for his wedding.”
Matt’s jaw tightened. “Because I promised my parents before they died,” he muttered. “And because it was one of the things the trust was meant to cover.”
I nodded, more to myself than anything, the pieces clicking into place. “And Ryan knew that. He used it to his advantage.”
“Yes, he used it,” Matt said, irritation bleeding into his tone.
“Guilt tripped me over it. Used it to get what he wanted. Used you, too, the last couple of years. ‘I need to take my girlfriend out to dinner.’ Or, ‘I need to pay the bills, so she doesn’t think I’m broke.
’ It pissed me off. He was more than capable of getting a job, but he used you to make me feel bad about it?—”
“Don’t.” The word came out harsher than I’d anticipated. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you cared about me back then. You didn’t even know me. We’d never met. And you were more than happy to use me, too.”
He flinched, but he said nothing.
The room—the massive kitchen, the massive house —felt too small, too hot.
My skin flushed, and I didn’t know if it was my anger simmering beneath the surface or my shame or both, rubbing together like flint and iron.
“He told me you ruined his life,” I swallowed.
“That you turned your parents against him before they died, convinced them to cut him out of everything, and made yourself look like a victim.”
Matt laughed, then, bitter, and flat like a stale beer. “Of course he did,” he scoffed. “Because God forbid Ryan be responsible for his own mess. He ran his inheritance into the ground, Sienna. Almost all of it.”
I swallowed down another sip of wine, and then another, wishing it was stronger, wishing it burned. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this from the start? Why let me hang in limbo thinking there was a chance Ryan was better?”
Matt’s expression darkened as he stared straight at me. “Because you’d already decided I was worse. I wanted to prove you otherwise without completely throwing him under the bus. He’s still my fucking brother, even if I can’t stand him.”
My jaw clenched tight. He wasn’t wrong — Ryan had painted such a clear picture for me of a cruel, cold older brother with a bank account for a heart.
“You were doing a great job of making me believe you were better than him,” I said slowly, heart pounding in my chest. “And then you threw it all away. For what? For what ?”
Matt looked down at his glass, completely silent.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Matthew ,” I snapped, setting my glass down on the counter a little too hard, a little too antagonistic.
He stilled.
Completely and utterly stilled .
A haunting quiet creeped over us, thick and angry .
His jaw twitched first. His posture shifted, his gaze locked on the counter.
“You don’t get to call me that,” he rasped, his voice low, gravelly.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“That name. Matthew. You don’t get to use it. That’s not what you call me.” His tone was sharp enough to cut diamonds. “That’s his name for me. My parents’ name for me. I let it slide with Ryan because it’s always been like that, but not from you.”
Shit. “I didn’t mean—fuck, Matt, I didn’t even realize?—”
He shook his head, knocking back the entirety of his glass of wine. “It’s fine,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just don’t.”
My stomach twisted. I hadn’t meant to be cruel , and from the look of horror that was lingering beneath his irritated exterior, I’d done just that. “No, I’m—I’m sorry,” I insisted. “I wasn’t trying to throw it in your face. Genuinely. I didn’t even notice I’d said?—”
“I know,” he clipped. “That’s the worst part.”
That shut me up.
He let out a breath, slow, tired, and exasperated. “I didn’t want to use you. Not like he did. Not like that. I just—” He cut himself off, his throat working, the words either lost or like he was weighing up whether he wanted to say them at all. “I know you’re upset that I left.”
“No shit,” I breathed.
“I told you I don’t let people in. I don’t do relationships.
” He swallowed. “If I’d stayed, I would’ve told you more.
Would’ve told you everything. Not just about Ryan, or the inheritance, or how much of a leech he is, but the parts I don’t say out loud.
Like how I stopped believing in family when my parents handed him everything with a smile and told me to be the bigger man, like my success without help was a reward for being forgotten.
Like how I’m doing everything in my goddamn power to make sure Zach never feels like that in his life.
Like how I can’t fucking breathe when I think about him ever having to look at someone and feel like he’s not enough . ”
The silence felt too loud.
He hadn’t moved. Neither had I, but it felt like everything had shifted.
My chest tightened, cracking. I didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to handle it, and part of me wanted to accept that he just wasn’t capable of anything past what we’d done, but the other part had seen the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d held me, and knew that he was.
And it still hurt . He’d still chosen to hurt me instead of being honest, still made me feel used and stupid.
“You made me feel like an idiot,” I said, my voice far smaller than I wanted it to sound.
He hesitated. “I know. I know. I fucked that up.”
“You think?”
“I panicked.”
I laughed, then, the sound punching out of me ugly and sharp. “Panicked?” I croaked. “You could have stayed, you could have woken me up and told me that was it and it wasn’t going further, you could have apologized . Or was I that terrible in bed that you had to run ?”
“Don’t,” he bit out, taking a step toward me. “Don’t do that.”
“What, make jokes before I cry? Sorry, forgot I was supposed to be the stable one right now,” I snapped, my eyes burning, my chest aching. “ Fuck .”
“I freaked out,” he insisted, his voice rising, another step taken toward me. “I don’t—I don’t sleep in the same bed as anyone. It’s a line I draw. That partition came back up on the flight, you know that. Not since I made that call for myself, since?—”
“Since you became too emotionally unavailable to function like a human being?”
He flinched. “I sleep alone,” he said, his jaw clenching. “I always sleep alone. Except when Zach climbs in after a nightmare or because he’s lonely. That’s it. He’s the only exception. And then you…”
He stopped, breathing hard, pushing a hand into his hair.
“You were still there.” His voice was quieter, a little broken. “Still fucking there when I opened my eyes. I didn’t mean to fall asleep beside you, I didn’t mean to feel ?—”
He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should finish that sentence or if I already knew what he meant without me saying it.
“I didn’t know what to do. So yeah, Sienna, I fucked it. I left.”
My throat closed. “You could’ve said something.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve woken me up.”
“I know. ”
“You let me feel like a fucking one-night stand when you know me now. You let me feel like I got paid for sex?—”
“That’s not what it was,” he insisted.
“Then what the fuck was it?” The words came out loud, angry, broken as the dam started to leak. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I was just a warm body in a pretty dress you could use to piss off your brother and get your dick wet! It feels like I’m insane , Matt?—”
“You really think that’s all you were to me?” he asked, his face twisting like I’d slapped him.
“I don’t know what I was to you! That’s the whole fucking point!
” My voice broke, the tears hitting, hot, fast, and furious.
I tried to blink them back, wipe them away, but it was too late.
“I let myself believe for one goddamn night that maybe there was something there. That maybe it wasn’t fake. You said—You said . Fuck.”
“Sienna.”
“No,” I croaked, shaking my head, taking a step back. “I’m so goddamn stupid. I let myself feel something for someone who disappeared the second things got real. This is… This is worse , Matt. I can’t do this.”
I turned, my heart hammering in my chest, pulse loud in my ears, hands shaking as I moved toward the door. I needed to get out. I needed air, needed to go home, needed to be as far away from him as possible.
I didn’t get far.
His hand closed around my wrist, not painful or rough but firm , and in a single breath, he spun me back toward him.
I didn’t have a second to react before his mouth crashed into mine.
Hard. Angry. Desperate, like he needed it to breathe.
I didn’t move — just froze, stunned, tears still hot on my face, but his hands cupped my cheeks, holding me to him, warm and stupidly regretful and everything I didn’t want to want from him.
Then he pulled back. Just barely, just an inch between us, his breathing ragged, hovering over my lips like he didn’t dare take more until I gave him permission.
I looked up at him. My chest heaved, my throat closed — and fuck , his eyes burned into mine with a thousand apologies I didn’t want to accept.
But something in me snapped.
My fingers knotted in the front of his shirt, and I yanked, pulling him back down to me. He groaned against my mouth like it was splitting him open, but I didn’t care.
My back hit the wall a second later, his hands cradling my jaw like he didn’t know how to be gentle right now but couldn’t help trying. I pushed mine into his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, his breath hard against my lips, his body pressing into mine like he was trying to anchor himself here.
His mouth moved against mine with need, no control, no restraint. And mine answered with fury, with anger, with an ache he’d put there in the two weeks I’d tried to bury him.
I kissed him like I hated him.
I kissed him like I missed him.
I wasn’t sure when his hands had moved to my waist or how we’d moved from anger to something rougher, darker, hotter .
But he kissed me like he’d been starving, like he’d been holding back every second he’d known me, and it was all snapping at once, and I met him right there in the goddamn wreckage.
His fingers dug in like he needed proof I was still here and real and didn’t hate him enough to stop. His knee nudged between my thighs, pinning me in place.
I was already shaking, already wet , already too far gone to talk sense into myself and walk out the door. And he kissed me like there were a thousand unsaid things caught in his throat.
“Upstairs,” he rasped, his voice broken, destroyed. “ Now .”
He bent, hands firm on the back of my thighs, and lifted me in one motion like I weighed nothing, like he needed me locked around him. Quick and uneven, he carried me up the stairs, the soft thud of each step lost between our breaths.
I wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t if I wanted to. I hated him, I wanted him, and I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
At the top of the stairs, he paused just long enough to press me against the wall again, kissing me like he couldn’t even bear the space between rooms. My head dropped back with a soft thud against the drywall when his lips found my neck, my jaw, my collarbone, desperate and unrestrained.
“Was it worth it?” I breathed, my head spinning.
He didn’t stop. But the tension shifted, walls half-erected around me.
“You got what you wanted,” I whispered. “The deal. The show, the revenge. And you ended up hurting me in the process.”
He exhaled heavy, his forehead coming up to rest against mine, his throat almost wheezing from how hard he breathed.
“ Was it worth it ?” I asked again.
“I would change what I did if I could,” he said, his voice broken. “I’m sorry. I should have said it before.”
I went still.
“I shouldn’t have left like that. I didn’t know how to stay. And I know that doesn’t make it right.”
I didn’t forgive him, not yet, but when his lips met mine again, I didn’t push him away.
This wasn’t clarity. This wasn’t a fix. It was a fire, sparking and burning and destructive, and I shouldn’t have let it burn, but God, I didn’t know what else to do .