Chapter 20 – Sienna
I’m sitting in Sebastian’s study, wrapped in suffocating tension. The room feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in as I stare at my phone, composing the message Sebastian coached me through. Very neutral, hesitant, balanced on that dangerous edge between fear and vengeance.
Sebastian stands behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence, but he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t rush me. He lets me find the courage on my own, and somehow that makes this harder—and easier—at the same time.
Not too eager, he’d said quietly. Not defiant. You’re conflicted. You want out, but you’re not brave enough to walk away clean. Let him think you’re at his mercy.
My thumbs hover over the screen. My pulse thunders in my ears.
It’s supposed to be simple.
Just one text.
“I want out. But I’ll finish what I already started.”
The words stare back at me, sharp and final. A lie wrapped around the truth.
My hands shake as I hit send.
For a second, the room feels unbearably still. Like the world is holding its breath with me. I lower the phone into my lap, fingers curling tight around it, trying to steady myself.
Behind me, Sebastian exhales softly—not relief, not doubt. Resolve.
His hand comes down on my shoulder, firm, grounding. He squeezes once.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “This ends when Viktor is out of the picture. After that, everything will be alright.”
I nod, even though my chest still feels too tight.
“I need to go sort a few things out with Dimitri and Lev,” he adds.
My eyes widen before I can stop myself. I turn in the chair and cling to him, fingers curling into his shirt. “Sebastian—what if he responds? What if he calls?”
He cups my face, steady, certain. “You call me immediately. The second you hear from him.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “I’ll be close. I’ll come back the moment you need me.”
I nod again, sharper this time. I need him to see that I understand.
He kisses me then—deep, lingering, full of promise and warning all at once—before forcing himself to pull away. He doesn’t look back when he walks out, and somehow that hurts more than if he had.
I sag against the chair, releasing a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Now all I can do…is wait.
***
I don’t wait long.
My phone lights up, vibration skittering across the desk. My heart leaps straight into my throat. Viktor. It has to be Viktor. I grab it too fast, fingers clumsy—
Vivian.
I freeze.
This is the worst possible timing. I stare at her name, thumb hovering over the screen. I don’t want to pull her into this mess. Into my fear. Into Sebastian’s war. But another thought creeps in, cold and sharp.
Sebastian said he’s going to see Dimitri.
Vivian is Dimitri’s wife.
Maybe she already knows. Maybe they all do. Maybe Sebastian has told them of my involvement, my betrayal. I won’t even blame him. My chest tightens as shame coils low in my stomach. I picture her disappointment. The polite distance. The quiet judgment.
She’s my friend, and I know she would frown at betrayal and disloyalty. No matter what.
I brace myself.
I answer the call.
“Sienna,” Vivian says warmly, like nothing in the world is wrong. “Hi.”
Her calm throws me off balance. I swallow. “Hi.”
“I was just thinking about you,” she continues easily. “I miss our chats. And our dinners. It feels like it’s been forever.”
I blink, my pulse still hammering. No accusation. No edge. Just…her.
Her calm disarms me completely.
I laugh, a soft, almost disbelieving sound. “You know we literally went shopping yesterday.”
Vivian exhales dramatically. “Exactly. And I still feel cheated. We should go for dinner soon. Properly this time.”
“That sounds nice,” I say, meaning it more than I expect. “Just…maybe not today.”
“That’s fine,” she says easily. Then, after a beat, her voice turns playful. “Did Sebastian love the dress?”
The memory hits me instantly—him in the doorway of the studio, gaze slow and intent, that quiet desire touching his eyes.
It’s exquisite on you.
Before I can answer, Vivian gasps. “He loved it, didn’t he?”
I laugh again, more freely this time. “Yes. He really did.”
It’s strange—almost surreal—having such a normal conversation while standing on the edge of something so dangerous. Like the world hasn’t noticed the fault line opening beneath my feet.
I clear my throat. “Did Dimitri like yours?”
She laughs, unfiltered. “We didn’t get much sleep, if that answers your question.”
I groan despite myself. “Vivian. Since when are you this crude?”
She laughs harder. “Since I married a Rusnak. It brings it out of you.”
I shake my head, smiling now, tension easing just a fraction. “I hate how true that is.”
A voice murmurs on Vivian’s end of the line, too muffled to make out. Vivian sighs softly. “I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
The call ends.
Almost immediately, my phone beeps.
A text from Viktor.
My smile disappears as I open it.
Meet me. Now.
A location pin follows, cold and precise.
Anger flares in my chest, sharp and immediate. The audacity of him to summon me like this. As if I’m still under his control. As if fear is what keeps me tethered to him.
It isn’t.
I’m not scared of Viktor Mikhailov.
I’m scared of what he can do to Sebastian with what he knows.
That’s the difference. And it’s why I can’t ignore this.
I try Sebastian first. The phone rings until it cuts off unanswered. I try again—nothing. Then Marko. Straight to silence.
My pulse kicks harder.
I consider waiting. Consider sitting still and trusting that Sebastian will come back soon, that he’ll handle this the way he promised.
But we can’t afford soon.
If I don’t go, Viktor will escalate. He always does.
I exhale, steadying myself. This ends with me taking responsibility—for my involvement, for my mistake. I started this. I’ll be the one to stop it.
I dress quickly, movements efficient, deliberate. In the garage, I hesitate only long enough to choose a car that won’t draw attention—dark, tinted, unassuming.
Then I pull out into the street and drive.
Toward Viktor.
The pin leads me farther from the city lights, past closed factories and abandoned lots, until the road narrows and the warehouse appears—an enormous concrete husk crouched under a broken streetlamp.
I park and sit for a second longer than necessary, hands tight on the wheel, listening to the engine tick as it cools.
Cold greets me the moment I step through the doors. The air smells of dust and rust, old oil and neglect. My heels echo against the concrete floor, the sound too loud, too exposed. The space feels cavernous, empty in a way that presses against my ribs.
Then I hear it.
Footsteps.
Measured. Unhurried.
I turn.
Viktor Mikhailov steps out of the shadows like he’s been waiting for me, coat immaculate, expression relaxed, smug. His smile curves slowly, practiced—something he’s worn in mirrors a thousand times, I can tell.
“So,” he says, circling me, eyes skimming over me like inventory, “you finally realized you aren’t cut out for betrayal.”
My pulse jumps, but I force my shoulders back. “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.”
He chuckles, low and indulgent. “And yet,” he says, stopping just behind me, “you still came.”
I stiffen.
He steps closer, his voice dropping, intimate and dangerous. “You really thought this was about destroying Sebastian’s gallery?”
My throat tightens. “What else is there?”
He laughs—sharp, humorless, the sound cracking through the empty space.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “This was never about art.”
I take a step back, my heel scraping the floor. “What do you mean?”
“Mikhailov blood runs deep,” he says, eyes gleaming now, something feverish lighting them. “Your precious husband humiliated my family. His networks cost us millions. His little forgery empire crippled the black-market auctions we controlled.”
The words hit me one by one, heavy and unforgiving.
I freeze.
Sebastian never told me any of this.
Viktor leans in, close enough that I can smell his cologne, sharp and expensive. “This,” he murmurs, spreading his hands to the empty warehouse, “was about erasing him. Professionally first. Then…entirely.”
My chest tightens, dread flooding in cold and fast. I came here thinking I could end this.
I realize, too late, that Viktor never intended to let me walk away.
“I trust Sebastian,” I say, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar. A scammer.”
He stops circling me and tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle he’s already solved.
“And what does that make you?” he asks calmly. “You married a man just to run him into the ground. You worked with his enemy. What does that make you, Sienna?”
My chest constricts. I shake my head, the movement sharp, desperate. “I want out.”
His expression softens—too soft. Pity fills his eyes, and that’s when I know he’s about to twist the knife.
“You poor thing,” he says gently. He steps closer, lowering his voice, slipping it under my skin. “Did you really think he changed?”
The warehouse seems to fade as his words drag me backward in time.
“Five years ago,” Viktor continues, “he used you to get that glowing review. He needed credibility. Access. You gave it to him.” He shrugs. “And when he was done, he discarded you.”
My stomach knots.
“He doesn’t love you,” Viktor presses. “Sebastian Rusnak doesn’t love anyone. He uses people for what they offer, then throws them away when they’re no longer useful.” His gaze sharpens. “He did it to me too.”
I stiffen.
“I helped him once,” Viktor says, bitterness bleeding through the calm. “Connections. Access. Protection. And when I was no longer convenient? He ruined me. Just like he ruined you.”
The words hit where I’m weakest, sliding into old cracks that just started to heal. Images flash—Sebastian leaving, the silence, the humiliation, the way my world collapsed afterward.
Viktor leans in, voice low, insidious.
“You think you’re special now because he married you? You’re not. You’re just closer to the fire this time.”
My heart pounds violently, anger and fear tangling in my chest. I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms, grounding myself.
“No,” I say, louder now. “You’re wrong.”
Am I trying to convince him…or myself?
Viktor laughs. It’s low, indulgent, like I’ve amused him.
“Deep down, you know I’m right,” he says. “You know you’ll never mean anything to Sebastian. Even as Mrs. Rusnak, you’re nothing to him.”
I draw in a shaky breath, forcing my spine straight.
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe he hurt me. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not helping you destroy him.”
“Aww,” Viktor coos. “Young love.”
Then his expression shifts. The warmth drains away, leaving something hard and sharp behind his eyes.
“I can’t let you walk away,” he says calmly.
He steps closer. Too close.
“You were simply the perfect way inside his walls,” he continues, voice almost fond. “A beautiful, scorned little weapon.”
My blood turns to ice.
“So you used me,” I whisper.
He smiles—slow, cruel.
“Of course I did. And you let me.”
My knees weaken, the truth of it crashing through me. I steady myself by sheer will.
“I won’t help you anymore,” I say, my voice trembling but firm.
“You don’t have a choice.”
The knife appears in his hand—small, unremarkable, terrifying in its simplicity. Not for show. For certainty.
“Sebastian Rusnak is about to lose everything,” Viktor says softly. “His name. His freedom. His life—if I choose.”
“No,” I breathe. “You can’t—”
“I can,” he cuts in. “And your involvement—your little affair five years ago—made this far easier than I expected.”
Tears burn my eyes.
This is my fault.
Sebastian is being hunted because of me. Because of an old wound I never healed. Because I let my pride, my pain, my need for revenge blind me.
“No,” I whisper. “I won’t let you do this.”
Viktor’s mouth curves. Amused. Certain. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”
I force out a slow breath, like I’m conceding. Like the fight has drained out of me. My gaze flicks around the warehouse—corners, shadows, exits—just enough to sell the fear.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll give you more information. Real information. Something you can actually use to bring him down.”
His eyes sharpen.
“But you let me go,” I add quickly. “And you don’t mention my name again. You don’t drag me into this. Ever.”
For a moment, he studies me. Then he smirks, victory already settling into his bones.
“Tell me,” he says. “And I’ll let you go.”
I know he’s lying. He’s a bloody fucking liar. But he doesn’t need to know that I know.
I motion for him to come closer, my shoulders folding inward, my voice dropping.
“Not so loud,” I murmur. “What if someone hears?”
He steps in.
Closer.
Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that my fear turns sharp and electric.
I drive my knee up into his groin with everything I have.
He howls, folding in on himself. The knife slips from his fingers and clatters against the concrete.
I dive for it—but he lunges too, pain slowing him but not stopping him.
That’s all I need to know.
I turn.
And run.
My lungs burn as I burst through the warehouse doors into the gravel lot, cold air slicing into me—and I slam straight into a hard chest.
Strong hands catch my arms, steadying me before I can recoil.
“Sienna.”
Sebastian’s voice. Low. Furious. Terrified.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head too fast, words tumbling over each other. “Sebastian—he—he wants revenge. Not because of business, but because of family history.”
Something in Sebastian changes. The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold so sharp it steals the air from my lungs.
Behind me, footsteps scrape against concrete.
Viktor Mikhailov appears in the doorway.
He’s smiling, until he sees Sebastian.
Sebastian steps forward, placing himself fully in front of me, his body a shield, broad and unmovable. One arm stretches back, instinctive, keeping me behind him.
“You went after my wife,” Sebastian says quietly.
Quiet—but lethal.
“Now I go after you.”
Viktor’s smirk falters. Just a flicker. But I see it.
My fingers clutch Sebastian’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know whether to come.”
Sebastian glances down at me. Just for a second.
His green eyes soften—only for me. “It’s okay.”
Then his focus snaps back to Viktor. His fingers lace with mine, tight, unyielding.
“Stay behind me,” he murmurs, calm as a promise. “This ends today.”
My breath hitches.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel it—real safety. Not hope. Not denial. Safety.
And in that moment, one devastating truth settles deep in my chest:
I don’t want revenge anymore.
I want him.