Chapter 10 – Sienna #2
Viktor wants revenge.
I want control.
We have a meeting scheduled soon, and when we do, I’ll make one thing very clear: This is my war. I didn’t marry Sebastian just to hand my vengeance over to another man. Viktor will follow my rules, or there will be no alliance.
The music shifts, and the host calls for the families to join the dance floor. Applause ripples through the room.
Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. He releases me immediately and places my hand into my father’s, his touch polite, distant.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, already stepping back.
Then he turns and walks out of the hall without looking back.
I don’t react.
I smile and lean into my father as we begin to sway. His arm tightens slightly around me, and I feel his gaze settle on my face—sharp, assessing, like he’s trying to read something beneath my calm.
I keep smiling.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for another beat. “You’re not planning anything, are you?”
I laugh softly, light and pleasant. “No.”
His grip firms. His voice drops. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sienna.”
The word lands exactly where he intends it to—small, diminishing, familiar.
I stop moving.
“Father,” I say calmly, still smiling for the people watching, “father-daughter dances are usually about love. Or memories. Or pride.” I tilt my head, meet his eyes. “Since you’ve chosen to use this moment to threaten me instead, I think I’m done.”
His expression hardens. A warning flashes in his gaze.
I don’t wait for permission.
I step back, gently disengaging from his hold, and incline my head politely like the dutiful daughter I’ve perfected playing. Then I turn and move through the crowd toward the back of the hall.
It takes longer than I expect.
People keep stopping me—hands on my arms, kisses on my cheeks, congratulations spilling from mouths I don’t recognize. Friends of friends. Business partners. Strangers celebrating a marriage they think they understand.
I smile for all of them.
I thank them.
I let them believe whatever story they want.
By the time I finally reach the quieter edge of the room, my cheeks ache from smiling—and my resolve feels sharper than ever.
“Sienna?”
I turn at the sound of Vivian’s voice. She’s hurrying toward me, concern written plainly on her face. Elara Chang, Roman Rusnak’s wife, is right beside her.
“Are you okay?” Vivian asks, pulling me into a hug before I can answer.
I melt into her arms despite myself. For just a second, the weight slips—the expectations, the watching eyes, the performance. My throat tightens. I want to cry. I don’t. I can’t.
“I’m fine,” I say, steady enough.
Vivian pulls back but keeps her hands on my arms, clearly not convinced.
Elara smiles warmly. “I haven’t told you yet—you look beautiful in this dress. Truly.” Her eyes flick over me with appreciation, not judgment. “And congratulations on your marriage. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you, Elara,” I reply, meaning it more than I expect to.
Vivian glances around. “This place is insane. Your parents didn’t hold back at all.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That would require restraint.”
Elara chuckles. “The flowers are gorgeous, though. I heard they flew them in this morning.”
“From the Netherlands,” Vivian adds. “Because apparently local flowers weren’t dramatic enough.”
I didn’t even know that; it shows just how disinterested I am in the details. I just want access to the man.
“And the food,” Elara says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Have you tried the lamb yet?”
“Not properly,” I admit. “I’ve been intercepted every five steps.”
“You need to eat,” Vivian scolds lightly. “That’s rule number one at your wedding. People expect you to smile, but they don’t expect you to starve.”
Elara nods. “There’s a chocolate torte at the dessert table that might actually change your life.”
That earns a real smile from me. Small, but real.
“Then I suppose I’ll survive the night,” I say.
Vivian squeezes my hand. “You’re doing great, you know.”
I don’t answer that. I just stand between them, breathing a little easier, letting the chatter about food and décor carry me for a moment longer, before I step back into the role waiting for me.
By the time the night finally winds down, I’m exhausted. Smiled out. Touched out. Watched to death.
So when it’s time to leave, I’m relieved—more than I should be.
Even if it means spending the night with Sebastian.
At least it will be quiet.
We make our rounds, final hugs, final congratulations. Cameras flash one last time. Then Sebastian’s hand settles on my back and guides me toward the waiting car. We wave as we step inside, the door closing with a soft, decisive thud that cuts off the noise and the performance all at once.
Silence fills the space.
Not awkward. Not gentle. Just tense.
The city lights glow outside the tinted windows. I sit straight, hands folded in my lap, aware of Sebastian beside me without looking at him. I can feel his energy like a low hum, restrained and restless.
He turns slightly toward the front.
“Let’s go,” he says to Marko.
Marko pulls away from the curb, the car gliding into traffic.