SIENNA
The sun rose quietly over the city skyline, casting golden streaks across the floor-to-ceiling windows of Dominic Russo's penthouse. I didn't sleep much. The unfamiliar mattress, the silence, and the knowledge that a stranger now wore the title husband weighed heavily on my chest.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room I'd claimed as my own, dressed in a navy silk robe that wasn't mine. It hung too perfectly on the door handle when I arrived last night, a not-so-subtle reminder that Dominic had already decided I'd be staying.
He was always ten steps ahead.
I made my way into the kitchen barefoot, following the scent of espresso. I didn't expect to find him there. Shirtless. Hair still damp from a shower. His broad back was turned to me, the muscles shifting slightly beneath his skin as he reached into the cabinet for a mug.
He didn't turn when he spoke.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"No," I said, voice low.
He handed me a cup without looking. I took it. Carefully. Like it might burn me in more ways than one.
"You'll get used to it," he murmured.
I wasn't sure if he meant the coffee or the insomnia.
For a moment, we drank in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the city and the soft clink of ceramic against marble countertops. He didn't ask how I slept. He didn't have to. We both knew the answer.
Eventually, I said, "Your people sent over my schedule. There's a board meeting tomorrow."
"I know," he replied.
"And a charity gala this weekend."
He finally looked at me then. "You'll need something to wear."
I lifted a brow. "You planning to pick out my dress too?"
"No. But if you show up in another navy funeral gown, someone might call a therapist."
I didn't smile. But I didn't bite back, either. "I'll call a stylist."
"I already did."
Of course he did.
DOMINIC
She moved through my world like she didn't belong in it—but claimed every inch she touched.
Sienna Hart-Russo was no longer the naïve woman who walked into her father's office three weeks ago in a pale blue suit, clutching ledgers she hoped would save his legacy.
She was harder now. Still soft in her voice and manner, but sharpened around the edges. Like glass that had cracked and reformed into a new shape.
"Don't follow the script tomorrow," I said.
She turned to me. "What script?"
"The one they'll expect. Obedient wife. Shiny new ornament."
"I was never anyone's ornament."
"That's why you're here."
Her eyes narrowed. "You mean married to you?"
"I mean in that boardroom. Tomorrow, half the men around that table will look for cracks. Weakness. I want them to see exactly who you are."
"And who is that, Dominic?"
I stepped closer, deliberately lowering my voice. "The daughter of a titan. The woman who inherited his instincts. The only person in this city who doesn't flinch when I walk into a room."
There it was again—that quiet tension between us. Part challenge. Part something else I hadn't yet named.
But she held my gaze, unblinking. "I'll be ready."
SIENNA
I spent the rest of the morning reviewing the HartCorp quarterly reports. Numbers never lied—but men like Dominic learned to twist them into weapons.
As I sat in the study, flipping through a recent investor memo, I paused. My fingers brushed a name I hadn't seen in years.
Lucien Graves.
The name was buried in a footnote. Minor shareholder. Private investor. But it rang in my head like a gunshot.
I hadn't seen Lucien since my father's last fundraiser—just weeks before the arrest. I remembered him clearly. Tall, sharply dressed, with the kind of smile that made you question if he'd charm you or destroy you.
He and my father had exchanged tense words in the corner of the ballroom. I was too far to hear them, but close enough to see the look in Lucien's eyes—sharp and cold.
And now he was investing in HartCorp?
My stomach twisted.
I needed to know more.
Flashback – Two Years Ago
"Lucien Graves is not a friend, Sienna," my father warned, his voice low but firm. "He's not an enemy either. He's what comes when you owe favors you can't pay."
"What did you promise him?"
Richard Hart looked away. "Nothing I can't handle."
But he hadn't handled it.
Weeks later, he stopped attending events. His health declined. And Lucien stopped calling.
Until now.
Present Day – That Evening
I didn't tell Dominic about the name I found. Not yet.
He returned late, after midnight, smelling of cologne and strategy.
I was still in the study. Still reading. Still pretending to be calm.
He looked at me curiously. "You're working late."
"So are you."
He poured himself a drink. "Graves is circling."
I blinked. "You know about him?"
"I know everything that moves around this company. Especially snakes."
"Then why haven't you cut him out?"
Dominic walked over to me, slow and deliberate. "Because sometimes, snakes lead you to bigger prey."
I swallowed. "You think he's involved in what happened to my father?"
"I think Graves never bets on a losing side. Which means either he knows something—or he's planning something."
I stood, spine straightening. "Then we find out which."
Dominic gave me a strange look. Not amused. Not mocking.
Impressed.
He offered me his glass. I took a sip, even though I hated scotch.
The burn felt earned.
DOMINIC
She didn't know I already had someone watching Graves.
She didn't know the reason I'd allowed Graves to slither back into HartCorp was because the man had secrets I needed.
About her father.
About the file.
About the past that had set all this in motion.
But if Sienna wanted to investigate him herself, I'd let her.
Let her sharpen her teeth.
Let her learn how deep this game really went.
And when the time came for truth to rise?
We'd either stand on the same side of it.
Or burn together.
SIENNA
Later that night, I stood on the penthouse balcony, city lights flickering like embers below. My ring felt heavy on my finger.
I didn't take it off.
Not because I'd accepted it.
But because this was war.
And even in war, armor matters.
Dominic came to stand beside me. We didn't speak for a long time.
Then he said, quietly, "You don't have to trust me."
"I don't."
"But eventually, you will."
I turned to him. "You sound very sure of yourself."
"I have to be."
I searched his face. The shadows, the angles, the lies he wore like cologne.
"Why me?" I asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Then, softly, "Because you were always meant to be more than someone's daughter."
His words shouldn't have touched me.
But they did.
And for a single breath of a moment—I didn't feel like I was drowning.
I felt like I might learn to swim.