27. Sienna
Sienna
Ituck myself into Knox’s room for the night with a huge grin on my face. Speechless doesn’t cut it. I have never felt like that in my life. Like I was high on life, being lifted into the stars.
Hollywood lights are bright. But that pleasure rushing through me was simply blinding. Nothing compares.
No other men compare.
I’m in bed scrolling through videos from earlier. That’s right… I have much better things to look at now than the stupid comments people are still making about me.
I listen to myself gasp in the video, my moans ringing loud. Granted, I can barely remember most of the experience. That’s what good sex will do to you. It obliterates you—sending you into a different world.
Makes you fall out of love with the ex you thought you’d never in a million years get over.
But I look back in time and question if I was ever in love with Holden Gray. Was it love? Or some kind of fucked up dependency? Sometimes the two can feel interchangeable until you’re able to compare situations. One feels like suffering. The other feels like liberation.
I scoff as I zoom in, watching a cock slide in and out of me.
I look so blissed out. There’s zero acting going on in this video. I’ll never act for another man again.
I’m savoring these men in a way I didn’t think was possible.
The risks are so high.
But that’s why I’m enjoying every minute.
Hiding yourself from the world causes you to do crazy things—like stripping naked out in the open when you’re well aware that paparazzi may be lurking.
But the guys grabbed hold of my fantasies and rolled with them.
I sink into the mattress now, dropping my phone. It falls onto my chest, but I’m far too tired to care.
I tuck myself under the sheets, feeling a headache starting to form. I’m sure that’s from the whiskey.
There are gaps in my memory, preventing me from recalling the full conversation I had with Holden earlier.
But I do recall him saying he was disappointed in me.
As much as I really don’t care, I’m a little confused.
Why does he care? We’re not even friends.
Never were. Holden knows that. I caught his eye, he caught mine, we dated for a while, and then he got bored.
I wince as more memories from the evening return. Didn’t I say something to Eli at one point about men always abandoning me?
He got me to open up.
Or maybe I have the whiskey to blame.
I toss and turn, eventually pulling the pillow over my head in an attempt to eliminate the thoughts surging through my mind. There are too many, though.
I think I might love them. ALL of them. But does love mean staying or leaving? Can you love and be selfish? And if you truly love someone, is it best to let them go, to avoid bringing them into your messed-up life?
The thoughts disappear when my phone starts vibrating on my chest. It’s Jules.
“Knox and Cash put up a pretty good fight, right?” I smirk into the phone. “And to answer your next question—yes. They’re actually that tall and handsome in real life.”
“Babe, you have to get yourself down here now.”
My stomach churns, the same way it always does when those words are mentioned.
These days, the thought of LA makes me nauseous.
“I know what I need to do.”
“Shit just got real, and it’s not pretty. They’re threatening a morality clause, Sienna.”
“Good thing I don’t know what that even means.”
“The producers are considering ending your contract. They called earlier today, expressing their concerns about you being AWOL. The scandals are only getting bigger, and there’s only so much damage control we can do behind the scenes.”
“Hold up—scandals? As in, plural?”
“Babe, you’ve been caught in the act, and now people are speculating about you having a substance abuse problem.”
“No fucking way.” I can’t help but laugh. “Why would they assume that?”
“You need to come back and speak out. You’re the only one who can put a stop to this nonsense for good,” says Jules. “People think you’ve gone mad, which is totally untrue, and it’s crazy that they’re saying that. Which is why you need to squash this, all of it.” Jules sighs.
I rub my temple, and it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest.
God, all I wanted was for people to like me. To be someone important.
I wanted my name carved into a star on the Walk of Fame so fans could walk past it and take photos.
And I had their adoration for a while, but nothing good ever lasts…
But what if it doesn’t last because it was never meant to be?
I peel the covers away from my body and get out of bed. I’m sweating like a whore in Sunday school. Like I’m back on that red carpet watching Holden on one knee for Vanessa or Valentina or whatever her name is.
The next time I attend a red-carpet event—if the organizer will even have me, all eyes will be on me. Sienna Lane—Hollywood’s biggest disgrace.
Before all of this mess, I had nothing but good press.
“Sienna? Are you still there?” Jules asks.
“Yes,” I reply, throwing my stuff into my bag. “I’m packing.”
“You’re coming back tonight?”
“I can’t put this off any longer.” I stuff the last of my clothes into the bag and haul the straps over my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I end the call with what feels like a boulder in my stomach.
They can’t do this to me. If my career is ending, I’m doing it on my own terms.
Besides, I will not be kicked out of Hollywood and leave everyone thinking I spiraled out.
I tiptoe into the living room, the fire barely lit now. I rip a page out of Henry’s homeschooling notebook and find a pen, sitting on the couch to scribble out a quick note.
It’s short and sweet. I’ll be back.
And I have to go now before the guys walk around shirtless in the morning and convince me to stay again. They know I’m not going anywhere when they’re barely dressed like that.
I decide to add a little more so they don’t worry.
“I have to take care of some things in LA, but I’ll be back. I promise. And I always keep my promises.”
They deserve so much more than that, but that’s all I have in me right now. I sign the note and leave it on the kitchen countertop.
Once I settle these accusations and reclaim my life, I’ll be coming back up here. For how long? Who knows.
All I know is that being up here feels right. It feels authentic to me—real. There’s no invisible wall between me and the guys.
Surface-level garbage doesn’t exist up here. No celeb gossip. No questions about whether I’m getting Botox at twenty-six years old.
No Pilates. But why would I need workout classes when I have these guys testing my flexibility and stamina every day?
I grab my Dior heels, abandoned with all the boots next to the door, and slip them on. Immediately, I lose my balance, almost stumbling into the chair and waking up the entire cabin. I grab onto the arm of the couch just in time.
I shut the front door behind me and sigh into the night. The cold air wraps around me, but I don’t mind the chill. It’s easing my anxiety, calming my overthinking brain. Even just thinking about driving back to LA has my stomach lurching. So much traffic. So many red lights. Ugh.
I start walking to my car, which takes twice as long in these heels. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve forgotten how to walk in anything other than tennis shoes or work boots.
I unlock the Bentley and sit in the car for a few minutes, trying to gather the courage to drive off.
I run my hands over the steering wheel, already missing the smell of burning wood. It’s such an earthy scent. But not as earthy as male pheromones. You can’t get any closer to nature than that.
I suck in a sharp breath, grip the steering wheel, and tell myself I can do this. But nothing about LA feels like home anymore.
But I know I have to go back and clear some things up. I have the power to decide what everyone’s final impression of me will be. Nobody can take that away from me.
This one’s for Grammy.
And with that, I take a deep breath…
And step on the gas.