2. Sienna
TWO
SIENNA
Five Years Later
Careful what you wish for, little blondie, or you might just get it.
Those were Tyran Callahan’s words to me right before I gave him my last kiss of betrayal. Of course he didn’t know at the time that I was betraying him, but he sure as fuck learned.
Ironic, really, how often those words came to mind now. I even recalled them often in my sleep. It was what woke me up so darn early.
I stared up at the ceiling of my dark cottage bedroom in the coastal village of Roundstone in Ireland.
My cottage was tucked away in this quiet village along the rugged Irish coast and it seemed to belong to another time.
Its whitewashed stone walls were softened by climbing ivy while weathered blue shutters framed small windows that caught the changing light of the sea.
A low stone wall surrounded the garden, where wildflowers swayed in the salty breeze and lavender spilled lazily over the edges of an old wooden gate.
From the cottage, a narrow lane wound down toward the shore, passing moss-covered walls, tiny gardens, and a handful of charming village homes.
Beyond them, the sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, its waves rolling onto a secluded stretch of pebbled beach.
On misty mornings, the sea disappeared into a veil of silver, while at sunset, the whole coastline glowed in shades of rose, amber, and soft gold.
The village itself was only a short stroll away, filled with scattered, colorful cottages, a tiny harbor, a centuries-old church, and a cozy little pub where locals gathered almost every night.
There were no grand attractions or hurried crowds, only winding lanes, local faces, the cry of gulls, and the ever-present music of the sea waves.
It was a quiet and beautiful little place in the heart of Connemara in Galway County.
Yes, it was a charming village with some stunning views and beautiful white-sand beaches, but after five years, it had started to feel like a prison.
The idea of never leaving here—or this country—was slowly suffocating me with every passing day.
The clock on the wall kept on ticking, almost like my internal clock warning me that my time on the run was about to expire.
But then, I’d been thinking that every day for the past five years.
I wondered every day whether Tyran had finally told his brothers that I was behind his imprisonment. I feared every day that my family would pay the price for my betrayal.
If it weren’t for my stepfather, I would have lost my mind long ago.
Kristoff sent daily updates that all was good.
In the beginning, he set up weekly FaceTime calls through secure, untraceable channels, but those got harder and harder, and eventually, I started delaying them.
The stretch between each time I heard from my family grew longer and longer until it became a once-a-year event.
And still, Kristoff continued to send daily updates without fail.
After I confessed to my stepfather that I was the one who had engineered Tyran’s arrest and sent him to jail, he went to extraordinary lengths to keep me hidden from the Callahans.
He got me a passport under a new name. He bought this cottage in that name too, giving me an entirely new identity to disappear into.
Sienna Rose Baldwin no longer existed. In her place, Sienna Callahan was born.
I could appreciate the irony, even if it wasn’t exactly funny. The Callahans had spent years building their criminal empire, and my stepfather’s solution was to hide me right in the middle of it.
His reasoning was simple: hiding in plain sight was the safest place to disappear. And what better name to give me than one of the most common Irish surnames? No one would think to look for me under that name, because who would use the last name of her hunter?
At least, that was the theory.
So, I became Sienna Callahan.
I was living under a name that belonged to the one I never wanted to see again and hiding in the very place I was supposed to be running from.
However, despite my stepfather’s plan working for the past five years, I couldn’t find peace.
I hadn’t made any close friends here. My fear of the Callahans finding me was impossible to get rid of, and I was terrified that if I got too close to people, they would hurt them too.
Because of that, I had kept most of the locals I had met at arm’s length.
And then there was fear of tall, broad men with blue eyes wearing jeans and white T-shirts that this place seemed to swarm with. Whenever I saw one, panic filled me.
Why?
Because they reminded me of Tyran Callahan.
I’d lost count of the times I’d imagined seeing that man out of the corner of my eye. Or his twin, because for all I knew, Tyran was still serving his time. Although even that was coming to an end.
I flicked a glance at the clock, noting it wasn’t even five a.m., but trying to sleep was impossible, so I got up and headed for the kitchen as I scanned every room on my way there.
The cottage was small but inviting. A gas fireplace warmed the sitting room, its stone hearth worn smooth.
Exposed wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and shelves were filled with books I’d procured over the years here.
An armchair sat beside the window, perfectly positioned for watching fishing boats drift across the bay.
Once I was in the kitchen, I turned on the Keurig coffee machine that looked out of place with a farmhouse table and rustic stove, copper pots hanging above it.
While coffee dripped into my coffee mug, I sat at the table that was set against the large window overlooking the garden and the sea beyond it.
Rain tapped softly against the windows, heralding yet another gray, overcast day. That was the norm here. And now, with autumn settling firmly over the village, the rainy days were becoming frequent, each one darker and drearier than the last. It wasn’t exactly helping my state of mind.
If anything, the endless rain made me even more nostalgic for the life I had left behind: a life filled with a wonderful family, friends, familiar places, and… well, everything that had once made me feel like I belonged somewhere.
Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d managed to ruin it all.
Why had I walked into that stupid sex club in the first place? Why had I let myself get kissed so senselessly? And, more importantly, why had I become so hopelessly obsessed with a man I should have never met in the first place?
A man whose path should have never crossed mine.
Dammit, Sienna, stop with the hindsight.
Rather than thinking about the past I couldn’t change, I reached for my iPhone, not bothering to check for any messages.
There were never any, because nobody knew this number.
Instead, I went to the Magic Sort app and started playing the game.
I was on level 3,912. Yes, my life was sad and consisted of working remotely—as an IT engineer building and tearing down firewalls for my stepfather’s company—playing the Magic Sort game, eating, and sleeping.
Today would be no different.