Chapter 18 – Sienna
“This is a beautiful dress. What do you think, girls?” Vivian twirls in front of the mirror, holding the fabric against her body.
“I agree.” Elara nods, then turns to me. “What about you, Sienna?”
I force myself out of the dark spiral of my thoughts. We’re at a boutique. I agreed to come when the girls texted me, so it would be selfish to drag their moods down with mine. I plaster on a smile.
“I think you should try it on first. For fitting,” I say, my voice steady.
“I think so, too,” Elara adds.
Vivian breezes into the dressing room, leaving Elara to continue browsing the aisle.
I sink onto the couch, taking deep breaths, trying to stop the tears that threaten to betray me in the middle of the most exclusive, brightest fashion store in Chicago.
I can still feel the weight of Sebastian’s kiss on my temple, the warmth of his hands, his words echoing: I won’t lose you, even if you try to run.
How could he say that? Somehow, he already knows I know something about the attack on his business. He’s perceptive—more than I ever gave him credit for. He told me to tell him the truth, and I couldn’t even bring myself to speak it. How does he still stand me? How can he not want to lose me?
For hours afterward, he stayed with me. And I spent the day drowning in tension—guilt and anger, desire and dread fighting inside me.
Every hour that passes without Sebastian yelling, without accusing me, only makes the weight of my secret heavier.
He’s too calm. Too careful. Too willing to trust me.
It makes me feel monstrous. Nauseous. Evil.
Marko called, and Sebastian left the house shortly after. When the girls texted asking if I was free to come hang out, I grabbed the chance immediately. I couldn’t stand the walls of that house any longer.
It hits me then, in the middle of the store, that the reason I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth is because I’m scared—scared to lose him.
The thought makes my chest tighten. My heart freezes just for a moment. I want him in my life. I want him, despite everything.
Vivian bursts from the dressing room, spinning in a soft silk gown that catches the light like liquid. “Girls, look!”
Elara gasps, clasping her hands together. I force myself to smile, laugh, nod, playing the part of the carefree friend. It’s easy to hide behind their excitement, to let someone else’s joy pull me up when my own heart is tangled in knots.
“This looks marvelous on you, Vivian,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Thank you,” she beams, swishing in front of the mirror. “I’m driving Dimitri crazy with this tonight,” she says, winking like it’s the most innocent thing in the world.
“Vivian!” I swat her arm lightly, pretending to scold her.
She grabs my elbow, tugging me toward the display rack. “You have to chase a dress! Tonight is Operation: Drive the Men Crazy. Elara, have you found something?”
I glance at Elara, who’s rifling through racks with focused intensity.
A pang twists in my chest—here we are, laughing, shopping, pretending life is simple.
Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, Sebastian is probably thinking, waiting, unaware of the envelope still burning in my wardrobe, the one I haven’t dared show him.
I shake it off, letting myself be pulled into the moment, even if only for a few minutes. I follow Vivian to another rack as she fusses over the fabrics and patterns, holding one out, pressing it against me. I let her choose while I fight the storm inside.
“Here. Try this,” she says, pressing a deep emerald dress into my hands before shoving me gently toward the dressing room.
Alone, I close the door and take several shaky breaths.
The silk is cool against my fingers. I pull it over my head and step into it, feeling the weight of its elegance, the way it hugs curves I know Sebastian appreciated.
I’m a terrible person. A terrible person.
Every inch of me wants to run home, to Sebastian, to confess and beg him not to leave.
My chest tightens, my stomach knots. The urge to see him now burns hotter than any desire I’ve felt in months.
I step out into the boutique. The mirrors catch every angle of the dress—its sweep, its shimmer—but I barely notice. Elara and Vivian gush over me, their voices high with excitement. I nod, smile, laugh just enough to play the part, but inside, I’m burning with need.
Then I have to wait while Elara tries hers on, a slow eternity as my pulse hammers.
When she finally emerges, giggling and twirling, we move on to the jewelry store.
I slip into the passenger seat of the car, letting the warm chatter of the girls wash over me.
I nod at the right moments, laugh in the right places, perfect pretense.
But none of it touches me. I’m there in body only.
My mind is racing, imagining Sebastian pacing, worrying, slowly losing his business and integrity.
My fingers twitch against my thigh, clenching, unclenching.
My body burns—not from the silk, not from the laughter, but from the need to see him, to tell him everything, and finally lay my secret bare.
One hour later, I’m finally home.
And to my greatest disappointment, Sebastian isn’t here.
Marko too. The house is empty, too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses in on your chest.
I make my way upstairs, drawn like a magnet to his studio. My feet drag across the carpet, each step heavier than the last. I reach the easel and pause, my fingers trembling slightly as I brush the edge of the cloth. I pull it away, revealing the charcoal portrait of me.
I stare, unblinking.
No one has ever done anything like this for me before. He hurt me, yes, but do I really want to destroy everything he’s built, everything he is, just for revenge?
“That’s my favorite work ever.”
I flinch.
Sebastian is behind me, tall, calm, hands deep in his pockets, his expression unreadable. His presence fills the room without a sound, like he owns the air itself.
“When did you arrive?” I ask, trying to steady my voice, but it wavers.
“Just now.” He steps closer, and my breath catches as his gaze rakes over me. A small, infuriating smile touches his lips. “New dress?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“It’s exquisite on you.”
“Thank you.” My voice cracks despite my best effort. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, but I swallow them back. I can’t stop the whisper that slips past my lips. “You deserve to hate me…but you don’t.”
He tilts his head, a quiet tension in the air. “That’s the problem,” he says softly. “I don’t know how.”
The words hang between us, heavier than any silence. My chest tightens, and for a moment I can barely breathe. I want to reach out, to close the distance, to tell him everything—and yet, I freeze, afraid of what my truth might do to the fragile bridge between us.
I turn to face him, heart hammering in my chest. “This is why I can’t do this. This is why I—”
“Why you what?” His voice is calm, deceptively calm, but it carries a weight that presses against me.
“Why I wanted to hurt you.”
His brows draw together, shadowing his eyes. I swallow, shakily finding the words I’ve buried for far too long.
“After you left…my world,” I choke, “collapsed. I felt humiliated. Exposed. Broken. When I found out about the marriage alliance, I wanted revenge. And then Mikhailov…he approached because he knew. He knew everything. He knew you mattered.”
He goes still, like I’ve slapped him, the tension in his body visible even from here. My voice falters, cracks spilling out as I continue.
“He used that against me. He convinced me that ruining your career…that it would be fair revenge. That it would balance what you did to me.”
I catch the tiniest twitch in his jaw, a muscle flexing as he clenches his teeth. His fists tighten at his sides, but he doesn’t move toward me—not yet.
I’m shaking. My chest is tight. And yet, a strange part of me is relieved; I’ve finally said it. The truth is out.
His eyes blaze, and I can feel the fury radiating from him, but it’s tangled with something else…something deeper, something raw.
“I…I didn’t know he would go this far,” I whisper, voice shaking. “I didn’t know he planned to dismantle your life. He used me. I wanted revenge, yes, but not like this. Not….” My voice breaks. “Not this.”
Sebastian closes the distance in a heartbeat, his hand cupping the back of my neck, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to meet him. The heat from his body presses into mine, dangerous and consuming.
“I’m going to ask you one question,” he murmurs, low and deliberate. “And I want the truth.”
I nod, swallowing hard, heart hammering like it wants to break free.
“Do you still want to destroy me?”
I take a long, trembling breath, eyes fixed on his, and for the first time, I feel all the weight lift from my chest.
“No,” I whisper, almost inaudibly. “Not anymore.”
Relief crashes across his features—raw, unguarded, and impossibly human.
Then he kisses me.
Not with anger. Not with desperation. But with a fierce, claiming tenderness that makes my knees weaken. His hands slide along my back, pulling me flush against him, the canvas-laden wall pressing at my back, pinning me between the art and the artist.
He pulls back just an inch, his eyes raking over the fabric covering my skin. “I’m tempted to destroy this dress,” he rasps, his voice thick and dark. “But it looks too good on you. I’ll let it live.”
He steps back, giving me a moment of cold air that makes my skin prickle. His gaze is a physical weight. “Step out of it, Sienna. Now.”
I don’t hesitate. My fingers find the zipper, the sound of it sliding down loud in the quiet studio. I let the fabric bunch at my hips before it hits the floor in a silent heap. I stand before him, completely bare, feeling the heat of his stare like a brand.