Chapter Twenty
Chapter 20
SIENNA
FACES WEREN’T DESIGNED TO SMILE this much. It’s like my mouth is permanently stuck in a goofy grin.
For a solid ten minutes, I’ve been on the patio, distracted from my painting because I keep staring at Declan’s selfie. I study each sharp curve of his features, the luminous light in those blue eyes as he smiles, the loose hair brushing his forehead. When I first met Mr. Intense, Overpowering, And Chiseled, I never imagined he could ever look so…cute. I see a tenderness in him now, behind all that brooding.
It’s doing all kinds of things to my heart.
We’ll be the only two people in the world.
God, those are the kind of words that might make me stay.
I want to.
I want to do much.
Just the two of us forever…what an amazing thought.
After dinner yesterday, we walked along the beach just being happy together. It was so normal. So wonderfully, blissfully normal.
We held hands, stealing kisses and smiles from each other. He even grabbed my waist and playfully suggested we go swimming since I said I’d never actually swam in the ocean.
“But we have clothes on,” I told him.
“Why does that matter?” he shot back. “It’ll be the first time either of us has done it. A memory together.”
I convinced him not to carry me into the waves, but it was a side of him I’d never seen—carefree and utterly adorable. And the way he looked at me was like I was the only person in the world who mattered. Like I was precious, cherished. Perfect, just as myself.
My heart cracked a little, both from wanting to wrap my arms around him and never let go, and because he only knows one part of me.
He’d never look at Margaret that way.
I finally close his picture and set my phone on the patio table beside me. Then I pick up a brush to add the final finishing touches to Declan’s portrait. As I gaze at his likeness on the canvas, I can’t help but wonder: What if this wasn’t just a temporary escape? A fling?
What if this could be real?
Hope blooms in my chest even as terror bleeds in. Wanting something, really wanting it…that’s when there’s the most to lose.
But God, I want this. I want him.
I want lazy mornings tangled in sheets. I want deep conversations about everything and nothing and comfortable silences.
I want a love that feels like coming home.
With Declan, I can almost see it, taste it, touch it.
He doesn’t have to learn about Margaret, does he? I can just tell him I have a crazy ex—like extra crazy—and then see what he thinks. I know he couldn’t disappear with me since he has a business to run, but maybe we could do a long distance thing? I would flee to another country and he’d visit me on the weekends. He has a private jet.
Shaking my head, I laugh at myself because it all sounds ridiculous. Who wants a long distance relationship? No matter what, I have to disappear, so that’s all I could offer Declan—me at a distance.
My gaze falls on the long scars I’ve painted on his neck and wrist, the ones he usually keeps hidden beneath crisp dress shirts and expensive watches. His eyes held so much raw pain when he spoke about his ex-wife. I’m wondering if this portrait is a terrible mistake.
Sometimes I get too absorbed in a painting and continue purely on instinct. But it doesn’t always work out; the failure of my past paintings has shown me I may have a really shitty artists’ intuition. When I first started blocking out this portrait, it felt powerful to highlight his scars, making them blue like his eyes and the ocean in the background. Now I’m sick with doubts.
What if seeing the scars, even in paint, is too much for him? What if it reopens old wounds?
I set down my brush, chewing my lip as I study the canvas. Maybe I can change it. Paint over the scars, blend them into shadows and highlights. It feels wrong, like I’m erasing a part of him, a part of his story. I also don’t want to cause him any hurt.
While I’m staring at the painting and trying to decide, I hear the suite door open. I turn to find Sean poking his head in, black hair covering his eyes so much I wonder how he sees sometimes.
When his head swivels toward the patio, he points his chin at me. “Did you order room service?”
I’m about to say no when I realize Declan must’ve sent it as a surprise. He’s done that a few times, and I am a little hungry. “Yes. Thank you.”
Sean opens the door wider and Jeremy wheels in the cart.
Jeremy flashes a cheesy smile with his crooked teeth. “Working hard, huh?” he asks, leaving the cart in the middle of the room.
“Yeah. Almost done, though.”
His eyes scan the room lazily as he backs his bulky frame toward the door. “Cool. Cool. Well, enjoy!” He and Sean leave.
I laugh to myself—I haven’t talked to Jeremy much, but he’s usually smiling and being goofy.
I hop off my stool and hurry to the cart. Last time, Declan sent fish and chips, which I had told him was a favorite dish of mine. I wonder what I’m getting today. The same thing or something new?
I lift the silver plate cover.
I drop it and the world around me instantly shatters. Metal clangs on the floorboards, echoing in my ears, but I can barely hear it through the rush of blood in my skull. I don’t even gasp, just stagger back with a slack jaw and wide eyes and a haunting stillness in my body that only my racing heart challenges.
There’s no food on the plate, only a white folded note next to an old flip phone.
And a crimson and blonde braid.
The stillness in me fractures—one hand clutches my stomach, the other covers my mouth and each shaky inhale.
Fuck, I can’t breathe.
Jada’s braid.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, like I’m trying to cast a counterspell. I reach out a trembling hand, but I can’t bring myself to touch the note or the braid.
My eyes dart around the room like Anthony is here, watching me, but I’m alone. Sean and Jeremy are just outside the door. There’s no way Anthony could be here, though I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him scaling a building.
Who delivered this? Sean must’ve accepted the cart from someone—an innocent server or someone pretending to work here?
Is Anthony here on the island or stalking me through his many contacts?
What if Sean or Jeremy are part of this?
What if Declan…?
Thoughts tangle in my head and I feel like I’m on the verge of trembling apart. I sit on the edge of the couch to force myself to take deeper breaths. Spiraling into ‘what ifs’ won’t help. I need to calm the fuck down and think rationally. Trying to look at evidence and strategize is what helped me survive all these years, so I can’t just have a freak out.
I take a breath. When I look at the evidence, Declan can’t be part of this. Meeting him was random, and Anthony is very territorial. He likes to play games, so he’d never want me to be with another man.
Somehow, though, Anthony found me.
He found my friends.
Jada.
I choke out a sob, my breath coming in shallow bursts again. What if he hurt Jada or Mystical?
I’ve been so stupid—I shouldn’t have made any friends. I got careless. I trusted my new life too much, felt too safe. I don’t know how Anthony got out of jail so many years early, but that’s exactly what he always does. He always gets what he wants, no matter the cost.
Wiping my face, a patchwork of hot currents burn through me, and I return to the serving cart. I grab the note and read it.
Why did you run from me, baby? I miss you. But you know I love our little games, so I’ll give you this one single pass. Run again and I’ll slit more than just your friend's hair. Call me. Can’t wait to hear your voice, Magpie.
He signed it with a heart.
I shred the note into pieces and let them fall on the tray.
Jada.
What did he do to her?
Since he already knows I’m here, I have to call her. I need to know she’s okay, even if she hates me for bringing such a violent man into her life.
God, she must hate me so much.
I walk to the patio on trembling legs to grab my phone, then fear squeezes my heart so tight that I can’t bring myself to actually call.
I’m nothing but a coward.
Instead, I send her a text, thankful that I memorized her number: Please tell me you’re okay. ~S
She replies instantly: Sienna??? Where are you??? I’m okay. Are you okay???
I exhale. Safe. She’s safe.
Before I can respond, she messages again: There was a prick who came to our house a few days ago looking for you. Complete fucking psycho. Pulled a gun and took some of my hair…??? I fucking called the cops but they’re useless. Are you okay? He was wearing a mask but I saw his arms. A Black guy with a tattoo of a bleeding rose. Know anyone with that tattoo? He wouldn’t tell me his name. But he had a gun and kept demanding I tell him where you were. I didn’t know. I told him about Declan. I’m sorry. I was so scared.
A tear hits my phone screen. A Black man with a rose tattoo? That wasn’t Anthony then. Must be one of his men.
Me: It’s okay. Don’t apologize for that. I’m so glad you’re okay. Mystical is okay?
Jada: Yes, but where are you? ARE YOU OKAY??
Counting my heartbeats, I consider my response carefully. I can’t tell her anything because I’ve already put her in too much danger. The more she knows, the more she’ll be pulled deeper into Anthony’s twisted games.
At least…at least I get to say goodbye.
The tears continue to flow as I type, making it hard to see: I’m so sorry for involving you in this mess. I can’t tell you more. I’m just so, so sorry. I love you. You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had. The only person who has cared about me so much and made me feel like family. You’re like my sister and I want you to have the best possible life. One day, I’m going to see your name listed in a Broadway play or as a choreographer for someone famous, and I’m going to smile and feel so proud of you. I’m already proud. You’re such an amazing dancer. I know this is all confusing and scary, but you have to forget about me. For your own safety, just forget. I want you to be safe and far, far away from my mess. I’m sorry but I can’t ever contact you again. Tell Mystical he was a great roomie and I’ll miss him too. I wish him the best. Thank you for everything, Jada. I love you.
I don’t know how else to end, so I just hit send.
She starts blowing up my phone:
What???
What U talking about?
Talk to me! What—
I block her number, then fall into sobs, tossing the phone on a patio chair and just crouching. I crouch and hug my knees as sobs rip from my throat. It’s like I’ve fallen off a cliff, falling and falling, and I keep waiting to splatter on the ground, but I don’t. I only keep falling.
During this trip, I thought I was finally getting to a place where I could forget Sienna’s life and move on. But talking to Jada brought every ounce of agony back.
The flip phone vibrates, clattering against the plate on the serving cart. My eyes dart to it as I suck in a breath. Every fiber in my body wants to toss that phone over the patio railing, but Anthony will only make good on his promise to hurt Jada.
He’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting.
Forcing myself to move, I scurry to the cart and grab the phone. The negative space of the room swallows me. There’s no more running; he has me cornered.
I flip open the phone and press the green answer button.
“Well, hey, Magpie,” he says, his voice like barbed wire pricking my old scabs to create new wounds.
Until now, he only existed in my memories as a silhouette. Now the blackness is bleeding away, giving him highlights and detail. I picture him as I last saw him—a towering shadow, his dark hair slicked back in that meticulously neat style he favored. Piercing black eyes. A tarnished smirk playing on his thin lips.
The day I left for good, he had been in his apartment talking with some men. He’d been wearing a fitted wool jacket over a dark gray shirt that clung to his frame. His pants were deep navy and perfectly tailored, not a crease out of place, and his boots, black and polished like they had just been unboxed. A single gold chain with a cross hung around his neck. I always thought that was ironic—a man like him wasn’t going to heaven.
I heard the name Londyn Seever, some actress that Anthony’s boss, Victor, had been focused on. I didn’t know what any of their conversation was about because I’d done my best not to get involved with ‘business,’ only business Anthony wanted me part of.
But that day, I was done—no more dirty work, no more hurting people. That night, I ran to the safe house the authorities had promised me. That night Margaret died.
Now Anthony wants to resurrect her.
I can’t find my voice, but I let out a few soft whimpers.
“Aww, what’s wrong, baby?” Anthony coos, trying to sound caring. His voice is too sharp for that.
I don’t even know what to say because he’s caught me and I already know what he wants. I finally croak out, “I’m here.”
His chuckle is like broken glass. “Oh, I know, baby. I know exactly where you are. How’d you bag a guy that rich? Declan Conte. Didn’t finish high school. Started as a boxer and had some success. Got married to a ring girl then made a career shift and started a tech company. I don’t know how someone without an education created a multi-million-dollar company, but I guess some bastards are lucky.” He laughs to himself. “Or maybe not since he drove his wife to kill herself.”
I suck in a sharp breath. What? I thought they got divorced. I thought…
Oh god no. Poor Declan.
That’s why he didn’t want to keep talking about his wife, because she…
I squeeze out more tears as a thousand-pound boulder seems to crush my heart. “He didn’t…he didn’t do that. She was struggling. She had bipolar disorder and…” What do I care what Anthony thinks? I don’t. I just don’t like anyone accusing Declan, such a caring man, of ‘driving her’ to that. When he told me about his scars, it was clear how much he loved her and fought to get her help.
“Don’t be so blind, baby,” Anthony says. “The media always lies. You’re with a dangerous man and you don’t even know it.” His voice gets tight and he snaps, “You could show me some fucking gratitude for coming to rescue you.”
I want to scream at him, tell him to fuck off, but that would only result in terrible consequences. So I ball my hand into a fist and swallow my bitter words.
He makes a smacking sound like he’s cleaning his teeth with his tongue. He sighs long and deep. “You get twenty-four hours to leave that man, or I’ll start killing off your friends. You know I’m not lying.”
“I know.” I choke back a sob; Margaret watched him hurt plenty of people.
“Twenty-four hours. See? I care, baby. I do. I’m not trying to hurt others, so don’t force me to do it. I know I’ve been gone a long time. You got lonely. That’s okay, baby. But if you want your friends and that man alive, then you need to leave in a way that’s natural, so he won’t follow. Got it?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“That’s my girl. And I’m sure you already know this, but don’t do anything stupid. I paid off his bodyguard. Fuck this up and the rich guy dies while you watch.”
The call ends.
I’m so wrecked, so shocked, that I can’t even let out my sob.
He’d make me watch?
Of course he would.
My next thought is, Which bodyguard?
Then a protective shell hardens around my heart. Nothing matters right now except keeping my loved ones safe. I won’t let my friends or Declan get hurt.
I wipe my wet cheeks. No more crying. Sienna doesn’t run, she faces the storm. Shuffling through all the inspirational quotes I’ve filed away in my brain, I pick one to get me through the next 24 hours: “Strength grows in the moments when you think you can’t go on but keep going anyway.”
I have to keep going, especially since lives are on the line. It was na?ve of me to even think I could have a future with Declan; anyone who gets close to me gets hurt. My focus now is keeping him safe.
If I’m honest with myself, though, I’ve already fallen for him. He fills me with the warmest, most pigmented feelings I’ve ever known. I feel safe with him; he’s protective, generous. And he’s been through so much, yet kept going for the sake of his company, for the sake of donating his money and…
Yes, I have strong feelings.
Whatever I have to do to keep Anthony away from him, I’ll do it. I’ll need to break Declan’s heart in a cruel, messy way. I’ll have to destroy him, so there’s no chance he’ll follow.
I’ll tear him down, as much as it will kill my soul to do that.
By the end of today, he needs to hate me.
I just have to find the strength to do it, because every time he’s near me, he pulls me into his orbit and I never want to leave his arms…
I have to be strong about this.
Then, to ensure his safety and the safety of my friends, I’ll give Anthony what he’s always wanted: me. No more running. No hiding. I’ll get his attention off the people I care about.
After that…I don’t know.
One step at a time.
I gather the torn note and burn the pieces in a small metal bowl, dumping the ash when I’m done. Then I stuff Jada’s braid and the flip phone in my luggage.
When I’m done cleaning up, I place the silver plate cover back in place and wheel the cart into the hallway. Jeremy is down the hall in the middle of a yawn. He glances at me, then looks down at his phone, uninterested.
Sean is the only one who makes eye contact, lowering his book. Through his thick, deceptive bangs, his gaze follows me as I slip back into the suite.