Chapter 2 Sienna
Sienna
A week.
It’s only been a week, and everything already feels different.
Not in a good or bad way, just… different.
The days are quieter now. Mornings start with the same sound of the coffee machine sputtering to life, the faint hum of the fridge, and the muted chatter of morning talk shows echoing through the apartment.
There’s no one pacing downstairs on a phone call, no expensive cologne clinging to the air, and no low, commanding voice asking me where I’m going or why.
The silence used to feel like relief.
Now, it feels like static.
I’ve been throwing myself into work to fill the space Benedikt used to take up with long shifts at the bakery, late nights at the new place, and early mornings testing recipes with Lucy until we’re both delirious and sugared out.
The kitchen smells like sugar and yeast and butter. Normal smells that don’t feel so normal.
Not power and danger. Just…comfort.
I keep telling myself that’s what I wanted, and I’m just frustrated that it’s falling flat.
Lucy’s been more excited about the bakery than I have, and I’m grateful because it gives me something else to think about.
Even if she’s non-stop with her random text messages, phone calls, and looking up new ideas on Pinterest rather than working the bakery job that makes us money right now.
“You realize normal people don’t stay after work to test croissant dough, right?” She props herself up on the counter, icing smudged across her cheek. “You’re a psychopath.”
“I’m a baker,” I correct, setting down the rolling pin. “There’s a difference.”
“Barely.” She laughs, picking at the corner of a pastry. “When’s our grand opening again? I’m tired of working for everyone else and not ourselves.”
“Next month, if I don’t screw up the finances.”
She grins. “You won’t. You’ve got that freaky hyperfocus thing going.”
She means it as a compliment, but the words sting a little.
Hyperfocus is just my polite way of saying I’m distracting myself from the wreckage I left behind.
Benedikt’s wreckage and the uplift of my life.
Every night when I lock up, I glance over my shoulder like someone’s following me. Like I’ll find him leaning against the car, his arms folded, and that unreadable look on his face.
But no one is there. Just the quiet hum of the city, the glow of streetlights, and the sound of my heart reminding me of what I chose.
Freedom.
I should be happy.
But I just feel guilty.
Guilty for the way Benedikt looked at me that day.
Guilty for not saying anything.
Guilty for the bakery that sits like a diamond at the center of my conscience—his gift, his investment, his mark on my supposed independence.
He tried to give me everything, and I betrayed him with the people he can’t stand.
Lucy’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You’ve been zoning out a lot lately. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.” She eyes me skeptically, lifting herself on the counter to sit. “You’ve been tired for a week straight.”
“It’s been busy, right?”
“Yeah.” She hesitates for a moment. “But busy doesn’t look like you staring into space.”
I shoot her a look, but she just laughs, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. “You sure you’re not overworking yourself? I know we want to open as quickly as possible, but we don’t need to kill ourselves over it.”
“It’s better than overthinking.”
Her gaze softens a little. “You know, if you ever want to talk about whatever’s making you throw yourself into this—”
“I’m fine, Luce.”
My voice finally gives up on the cool and collected act. I’m exhausted that Grandma, Lucy, and even my regulars at the bakery keep asking if I’m okay.
I’m not.
But I have to be. And I wish everyone would read the room and give me some space.
Lucy lifts her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just checking. I’m here, ’kay?”
I couldn’t push her away if I moved away.
She’d follow me, call me, and put ways to look up your runaway best friend on her Pinterest board.
I can’t blame her for the chaos in my head because she doesn’t know.
She doesn’t know the bakery wasn’t a miracle opportunity, but Benedikt’s way of owning another piece of me.
Even though I tell myself that it’s mine now, and I earned it for agreeing to what he needed, I can’t shake the shame that I’m living off something he bought for me.
“I have to head out,” Lucy quips, sliding off the countertop. “I have dinner with my brother and this new girlfriend he wants me to meet.”
“Rachel?”
“Melody.”
I make a face. “Who?”
“Exactly.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “I’m betting on a pretty brunette without a clue. You know Logan is famous for dating duds.”
I smile. “Be nice, Luce.”
“I am nice.” She begins to walk toward the door and mutters, “He’s just an idiot who thinks with his dick all the time.”
A small chuckle rumbles from my throat as I watch her leave, then everything falls into silence. The bakery hums around me—ovens cooling, timers ticking, and the sweet haze of cinnamon and butter clinging to the air.
It’s supposed to feel like peace.
But it just feels hollow.
I finish wiping down the counters for the third time before grabbing my bag and heading out the back door. The night air hits me—cool, sharp, and faintly salty from the ocean breeze. The streets are quiet, slick with dew and the kind of silence that feels too aware of itself.
And that’s when I see him.
Except it’s not him
It's Nikolai.
Leaning against the hood of a black SUV.
My stomach drops, and he looks too at ease—clean suit, no tie, and a faint smirk like he’s enjoying his new power and life.
While we ripped Benedikt’s away together.
“Evening.” He pushes off the car when he catches my eye. His voice is smoother than Benedikt’s, but colder. There’s something predatory about his calm.
I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms instinctively. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking in.”
I don’t like that.
We’re not friends, and I don’t want him to think we can be just because I gave him everything.
That Benedikt and I weren’t in love.
That I was playing a role.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say.
He chuckles. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to make sure you’re settling in. Adjusting.”
“I’m fine.”
He glances toward the bakery sign behind me. “When do you get to leave this place? I drove by the other bakery, and it looks good. He had good taste; I’ll give him that.”
My pulse stutters. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk about him.”
That makes him smile—a slow, deliberate curve. “Still a sensitive topic?”
My nostrils flare. “I wouldn’t say exiling someone makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”
“You thought he would go quietly?”
No.
Benedikt is too controlling and goal-oriented to back off.
Nikolai lifts his hands in mock surrender, but he doesn’t step back. “Relax, Sienna. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”
“Then stop showing up uninvited.”
“I’m family,” he says, as if that’s an excuse.
“I didn’t marry your brother, so no, you’re not.”
“Want to be?” My face skews before he tacks on, “I’m single.”
“Absolutely not.”
Something sharp flickers across his expression. “You’ve got a mouth on you. I can see why he liked you.”
“Seriously, what do you want?”
“I told you. To help.”
“With what?”
“Packing. You still had things at Benedikt’s house.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“It’s no trouble.” He smiles faintly. “I can send a few of our men. They’ll be discreet.”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
He studies me, his eyes dark and too steady. “You don’t trust me.”
“Do you expect me to?”
He laughs, and it makes my skin crawl because something is terribly off about him. “Smart girl.”
He takes another step forward, close enough that I catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, something cold, metallic, and nothing like Benedikt’s warm dominance.
“You should be careful,” he murmurs. “Benedikt had… a way of holding onto things. People. I wouldn’t want his ghost haunting you.”
My jaw tightens. “Benedikt’s not dead.”
He tilts his head. “No. But you don’t think he’ll let this go, do you?”
I swallow hard.
Nikolai watches me, and I hate that he can see it because I know he can. The flicker of fear I try to bury.
“He’ll come back,” he confirms, and a wave of anxiety crashes over me because I can imagine what he’d do to me.
I’ve thought about it a hundred times already.
He’ll force me to marry him.
He’ll lock me in a cold basement so I can’t speak to anyone or escape.
He’ll never speak to me again, or always be so cold about it.
Or he’ll kill me.
“And if he does,” Nikolai continues through the havoc spinning in my brain, “I’ll have to decide what to do about it.”
The words hit like ice water, and I flinch before I do my best to steady my spine. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he says softly. “It might be better if you weren’t still tied to his life when that happens. I can help with that. Tie up loose ends.”
I don’t know what that means.
I don’t want to know.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, flicking my attention to my car. “Is there anything else?”
“One more thing.” He smiles without warmth. “The bakery. Whether it’s in your name or not, it’s still his. Building a new life on his money, his property, his protection… just hope he never slips back into the States, darling. Because Benedikt doesn’t give things. He claims them.”
The words slice straight through me because they’re true.
“Do yourself a favor.” Nikolai straightens his cuffs. “Get out while you can. Start clean.”
“And what, disappear?”
“If you’re smart.”
I shake my head. “You sound just like him.”
Nikolai grins. “That’s the shittiest thing anyone’s said to me all week.” He studies me in silence, then smiles again. “Think about what I said.”
I won’t.
My grandmother is here, and I won’t leave her behind.
Then he turns, slides into the SUV, and drives away.
The night feels colder when he’s gone. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty street and the space where his car was. The quiet presses in until I can’t breathe.
I wanted this.
Freedom.
Normalcy.
Peace.
So why does it feel like I’m waiting for something to break?
I get in my car and start the engine, my hands shaking just enough that I have to grip the wheel tighter.
The city’s gone still by the time I get home. My apartment feels too big, too quiet. I drop my keys in the bowl by the door, kick off my shoes, and sink onto the couch.
The air smells like lemon cleaner and detergent—ordinary things. I should feel safe here.
Instead, I feel haunted.
Haunted by Benedikt’s voice, low and sharp in my memory.
By the weight of his hand on my throat when he wanted my attention.
By the look he gave me when I agreed to let him be taken away.
I press my palms to my face and exhale hard.
I don’t miss him.
I can’t.
But the silence without him feels wrong. Like I’m holding my breath, waiting for a sound that doesn’t come.
I know Nikolai’s right. If Benedikt comes back, the freedom I wanted will be gone forever.