6. Sienna
CHAPTER SIX
SIENNA
Idid not go to Jamison’s twenty-eighth birthday. The celebration took over blocks of Harlan’s riverside district and aligned with the launch of the Crows’ new hotel and casino, which meant the whole night became a declaration of ownership.
Veil ran live coverage from sunset.
Holographic black wings opened over the hotel roof at midnight.
The casino doors were made of smoked glass and every society account posted clips of the fire fountains, the velvet gaming rooms, the private balcony suites, the men in black, the women in diamonds, the Crow crest burning over the entrance in cold blue light.
Jamison stood at the center of all of it.
I saw him on Veil because I was weak enough to watch.
He wore black. Tattoos showing at his throat and hands. Whiskey in one hand, the whole city looking at him.
Everyone wished him happy birthday.
I stayed home.
Told my mother my ankle was aching from rehearsal. That was not entirely a lie.
For Jamison’s birthday, I gave him the only gift I knew he wanted.
A night without having to deal with me.
No silly questions about his day, and no birthday card, rewritten because everything sounded too affectionate or too cold.
I almost got him a gift. Old habit.
There was a vintage lighter I had seen in an antique shop, black enamel and gold edging, heavy enough to suit his hand.
I stood in front of the display case for fifteen minutes imagining him taking it from me, turning it over, maybe saying, it’s fine, which from Jamison would have felt like applause.
Then I remembered the Starlight Ball.
If you ask for my hand one more time, you’ll get it.
I left the shop without buying anything.
The next morning, Emmie messaged me. Asked what happened, and if I was okay. I blamed my ankle.
She said Jamison asked where I was.
The corner of my mouth lift.
He hadn’t asked if I was okay. No. Just where I was.
As if I were an item missing from a table setting. Someone had forgotten to place the flowers.
The next event, I faked a headache.
That one was easier.
I had been getting real headaches lately, so pretending only required me to choose the timing.
My mother frowned when I told her I couldn’t attend the riverside auction, but she did not push too hard.
I had been pale enough for weeks that even she struggled to call it laziness without sounding cruel.
I spent that evening sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, watching rain slide down the glass while I rehearsed a conversation I could not yet make myself have.
Father, can the merger with the Crows end?
No. Too direct.
Father, is there any possibility of revisiting the terms of the Crow alliance?
Too legal.
Father, I don’t think Jamison wants this.
Cowardly, because it made the problem his rejection instead of my fear.
Father, I’m scared of him.
That one never made it past my own mind.
I pressed my forehead to the cold window and tried to imagine saying it aloud. My father would go still. My mother would hear about it by morning. Lawyers would become involved.
Crow contracts would be pulled out of vaults. Jamison would be told.
Jamison would know I had called him frightening.
He was frightening.
Everyone knew that.
But men like Jamison were allowed to be frightening when it made other men obey. Women were expected to find a graceful way to live beside it.
So I said nothing.
I built courage in tiny, useless pieces.
One night, I wrote the question in a notebook and tore the page out.
Another night, I stood outside my father’s study for six minutes and walked away when I heard him laughing on a call.
Another time, I opened my mouth at breakfast, looked at my mother’s perfect posture and my father’s absent face, and asked for more tea instead.
Then a black box was carried upstairs by one of the house staff while I was stretching my ankle on the bedroom floor. My mother followed it in, eyes bright with the kind of interest she usually saved for jewelry and leverage.
“It’s from Crow styling,” she said.
Crow styling.
Great.
The lid lifted to reveal black tissue paper sealed with a small gold Crow crest. Beneath it was a dress made of pale champagne silk, elegant, with a structured bodice. Tiny black beads had been sewn along the cuffs and neckline in a pattern like feathers.
It was beautiful.
My mother touched the fabric. “It must be for the launch.”
“What launch?”
She looked at me as if I had forgotten something obvious on purpose.
“The Crow business launch tomorrow night. The private one.”
“There was already the hotel launch.”
“This is different. The west wing. Private gaming floor, investor suites, rooftop restaurant.” She smiled a little. “Crow men do enjoy making one event into six.”
I sat on the rug, my ankle band in my hands.
“I didn’t know I was going.”
“You are engaged to Jamison Crow.”
I looked at the dress.
“I’m not sure he wants me there.”
My mother’s expression cooled. “What Jamison wants privately is irrelevant. Publicly, you have a place.”
A place…beside him. Close enough to soften his edges for people who feared him, but not close enough to be protected from the edges myself.
“I have a rehearsal tomorrow.”
“At ten in the morning. The launch is at eight.”
I had no answer.
My mother looked at me for a moment. “You’ve missed too many events.”
“I was injured.”
“And then you had a headache.”
Her mouth thinned.
I looked away first.
“Wear your hair up. The neckline deserves it.” She touched the dress again.
Then she left.
I stayed on the floor long after the door shut. The dress remained open on my bed. A summons in silk. Fantastic.
The next night, I wore it.
My hair was pinned up the way my mother wanted, though I left a few pieces loose around my face because I needed something of mine.
My ankle was wrapped beneath my heel where no one could see.
The dress fit perfectly.
Crow styling had my measurements, of course.
The car took me alone to the new Crow hotel and casino.
Harlan’s streets were busy with traffic, Veil screens flashing launch clips over the sides of buildings.
The hotel rose at the river’s edge, black glass and gold architecture, its upper floors glowing.
Crow banners hung from the entrance. Holographic crests that shimmered as cars passed beneath them.
Everything was controlled.
The line of security outside could have protected a small country.
My family car stopped at the private entrance. A Crow guard opened my door and offered his hand. I stared at it for half a second too long before taking it.
“Careful, Miss Bellemere,” he said. “The curb is wet.”
“Thank you.”
He helped me out.
Crow guards were gentler with me than my fiancé.
Inside, the launch, the private floor was expensive, low amber lighting, velvet seating, and glass views over the river. A casino floor spread beyond the entry lounge, private wealth disguised as entertainment.
Jamison stood surrounded by men in tuxedos and women in jewel-toned gowns, all of them orbiting him. He looked impossibly large. Dressed in black, and a whiskey glass held loosely at his side.
His gaze found me before I reached him.
I stopped in front of him. Nodded my head slightly. A small, polite acknowledgment.
“Jamison.”
Jamison looked at me for a long moment, eyes moving over my face, my dress.
“Who sent the dress?” he asked.
I blinked. “Crow styling.”
His jaw shifted.
“I assumed you knew,” I added quickly, then stopped.
Quickly was the girl who rushed to fill every pause before he filled it with cruelty. I closed my mouth.
Marcel appeared with Emmie a moment later. Emmie’s face warmed when she saw me, then grew cautious when she read the air between Jamison and me.
“Sienna,” she said. “You came.”
“Yes.” I smiled at her. “The hotel is beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Her eyes softened. “You look beautiful too.”
“Thank you.”
Marcel greeted me with a kiss beside my cheek. “How’s your ankle?”
“Better, thank you.”
Harrison lifted his glass. “She’s using full sentences with us. That’s promising.”
Jamison looked at him.
Harrison smiled with no fear at all.
Normally, I would have laughed. Tonight, I lowered my gaze.
The silence that followed was awkward enough that Emmie tried to rescue it.
“Have you started rehearsals again?”
I felt Jamison beside me.
A large, dark presence I had trained myself to monitor without looking.
He hated when I talked too much.
So I answered Emmie carefully.
“Yes.”
Her brows drew together slightly. “That’s good. Are you happy to be back?”
“Yes. Very.”
Another pause.
Harrison’s humor faded.
Emmie tried again. “Is Madame Aveline being terrifying?”
“A little.”
Jamison’s glass shifted in his hand.
A group of investors approached then, and I was grateful for them in a way that made me feel ill.
Jamison’s face changed before they reached us. The private, vicious mood hardened. The kind of menace wealthy men admired when it made them money.
“Crow,” one of the men greeted.
“Davenport,” Jamison replied.
Introductions moved around the group. I stood beside Jamison, hands clasped, posture perfect, smile soft.
That was what I was good for.
The monster of Harlan became easier to approach when there was a pale girl beside him looking harmless enough to imply he had one human attachment.
People looked at me and relaxed by half an inch.
I softened the outline of him.
Tonight, I did it while terrified of standing too close.
A woman in sapphire silk asked how I liked the hotel.
“It’s extraordinary,” I said.
That was safe.
A man joked about whether Jamison had built the casino to bankrupt half of Harlan personally.
I smiled because everyone else did.
“Only the half that deserves it.” Jamison said.
They laughed too loudly.
I did not.
I stood there for nearly an hour while people came and went. Investors. Dynasty heirs. Men from old money families who pretended not to fear Crow capital. Women who complimented my dress and then looked at Jamison to see whether he cared.
He spoke business.
Every few minutes, one of his brothers checked on me without making it obvious.
Marcel asked if I wanted water.
I said no.
Harrison asked if I had seen the rooftop yet.
I said no.
Emmie asked if I wanted to sit with her.
I said I was fine.
I kept my answers small.
Jamison hated it when I pulled attention. So I became easy to ignore.
It worked beautifully.
At some point, Emmie slipped beside me while Jamison spoke to a casino partner.
“You’re very quiet tonight,” she said softly.
I smiled at the crowd. “I’m trying not to be difficult.”
Her face shifted. “You are not difficult.”
I did not answer.
Because if I did, I might say something honest, and honesty had consequences.
“Sienna, look at me.” Emmie lowered her voice. Her eyes searched mine. “Did he tell you to be quiet?”
“No.”
That was true.
He had not told me tonight.
He had told me enough times before.
Her mouth trembled for a second before she controlled it. “Come sit with me.”
I looked past her to Jamison. His gaze was already on us. He didn’t look angry, but he was watching.
“I’m okay,” I said.
After the investor group left, Harrison came closer, his hands in his pockets, expression lazy in a way that fooled no one.
“Sunshine,” he said, “I think the rooftop has dessert towers.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Want to inspect them for quality?”
“She’s staying.” Jamison spoke before I could answer.
The words cut clean through the offer.
Harrison looked at him.
“So she can decorate your left side?”
Jamison’s expression hardened.
“Harrison.” Marcel’s voice came from behind us.
Harrison did not look away from his brother. “What? That’s what she’s doing. Standing there being sweet enough that people forget he bites.”
My face burned.
Jamison turned fully toward him.
“Pick your next words carefully.”
“I usually don’t.” Harrison smiled, but there was no amusement in it.
“Harrison,” Marcel said again, sharper.
I stepped in because I could not help it.
“It’s fine,” I said.
All three Crow brothers looked at me. I immediately wished I had stayed quiet.
“I don’t mind standing here.”
Jamison’s eyes held mine.
“You don’t mind,” he said.
I shook my head.
“No.”
Harrison exhaled through his nose and looked away. Emmie touched his arm before he could say anything else.
The launch continued.
Music began on the rooftop level, the sound drifting down through open glass and gold-railed staircases. Veil drones moved outside the windows, filming the river, the hotel lights, the Crow crest turning slowly above the entrance.
My family car had been sent early because I had asked for it before arriving. That had taken courage too. A tiny amount, but mine.
I had told the driver to wait two streets away until I messaged him.
I did not want Jamison responsible for my way home. I did not want to stand beside a valet while he forgot me or remembered me too late.
I wanted an exit I did not have to beg for. Near midnight, Jamison finally turned to me.
“I’m taking you home.”
I stared at him. For a second, I thought I misheard.
“My family car was sent early,” I said.
“What?”
“My car is already here.” I kept my voice polite. “So it’s fine. You don’t have to.”
His eyes narrowed. “You arranged a car?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I arrived.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“Smart girl.” Harrison made a quiet sound behind his drink.
Jamison’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me.
I held my clutch with both hands.
“I didn’t want to waste your time,” I said.
There was a shift behind his eyes. As if the sentence had gone somewhere he had not armored properly.
His phone rang. The sound cut through the moment. I looked down at the screen lighting in his hand.
Crow business. I knew he would answer it.
I could have stood there while he chose the phone in front of me, then hurt myself by pretending the choice had nothing to do with me.
Instead, I saved him the trouble.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said.
He looked from the ringing phone to me.
“Sienna.”
I nodded once. Then I turned and walked away.
Veil drones filmed the shining new empire Jamison Crow had built while something in me quietly learned how to leave it.
I did not look back until I reached the private entrance. Through the reflection in the black glass door, I saw him still standing where I had left him.
Phone ringing in his hand.
Eyes on me.
Then the guard opened the door.
My driver waited at the curb. I got into the car before Jamison could answer his phone.
Or before I could hear him choose it.