Outside, a storm was battering the city, turning the skyline into a blurred watercolor of grey and black. Inside, the only storm was Sienna.
She was straddling Roman on the oversized sofa, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder. The TV was on, muted, casting flickering blue light across her skin. Roman's hands were under the robe, warm and heavy on her waist, his thumbs digging into her hip bones.
"You're distracted," he murmured against her neck, biting lightly at the sensitive neck.
Sienna sighed, tipping her head back. "I'm not. I'm just... thinking."
"Don't think," Roman ordered. He moved one hand up, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark, dilated. "Thinking is for tomorrow. Tonight, you're mine."
He kissed her then, a deep, consuming kiss that tasted of whiskey. Sienna melted into it. This was her drug. This was the only place where the noise in her head stopped. When Roman touched her, she wasn't the Senator's daughter or the future trophy wife.
She ground down against him, friction building. Roman groaned, his grip tightening until it almost bruised. He was rougher tonight, more desperate, as if he could sense the anxiety vibrating under her skin and wanted to fuck it out of her.
The intercom buzzed.
It was a jarring, ugly sound that cut through the heavy atmosphere of the room.
Sienna froze. Roman ignored it, his hand sliding lower, his fingers brushing against her core.
"Ignore it," he breathed against her lips. "Probably the doorman with the food."
The buzzer sounded again. Long. Insistent.
Then, Sienna's phone lit up on the coffee table.
One new message: Dad.
The heat in Sienna's body turned to ice instantly. She scrambled off Roman's lap, pulling her robe tight. She grabbed the phone.
"I'm in the lobby. You have five minutes to come down, or I'm sending my security up to retrieve you."
"Fuck," Sienna whispered. She stared at the screen, her hands starting to tremble. "He's here."
Roman sat up, adjusting his sweatpants. His face darkened. "Tell him to leave. It's 10 PM on a Tuesday."
"I can't," Sienna said, her voice rising in panic. She ran a hand through her messy hair, looking around the room frantically as if the mess could be judged from the lobby. "He knows I'm here. He has trackers on the car. If I don't go down, he'll make a scene. He'll call the Dean. He'll will, He'll... do something."
"Let him try," Roman stood up, crossing the room to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Sienna, stop. You're shaking. You don't have to go down there."
"Yes, I do!" She pulled away from him, rushing toward the bedroom. "I have to get dressed. I can't go down in a robe. He'll know. He'll look at me and he'll know what we were doing."
She disappeared into the bedroom. Roman heard drawers slamming, the sound of hangers clattering.
When she came back out two minutes later, she was a different person. She was wearing jeans and a thick sweater. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, severe bun. Her face was scrubbed clean of any arousal or softness.
"Stay here," she told Roman. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.
"I'm coming with you," Roman said, grabbing his keys.
"No!" Sienna spun around. "Please, Roman. Just... no. If you're there, he'll perform. He'll try to alpha-dog you. It just makes it longer. Let me handle it. Please."
Roman hesitated. He looked at the fear in her eyes.
"Fine," he said, jaw tight. "Five minutes. If you're not back in ten, I'm coming down."
Sienna nodded and fled the apartment.
The lobby was freezing. The air conditioning was blasted high to combat the humidity of the storm.
Senator William Sterling was standing by the fountain in the center of the atrium. He wasn't alone. His head of security, a man named Graves who looked like a vending machine with a gun, stood six feet behind him.
The Senator was scrolling on his phone. He looked impeccable in a charcoal suit, untouched by the rain or the late hour.
"Dad," Sienna said, stopping a few feet away. She crossed her arms, hugging herself.
The Senator looked up. He didn't smile. He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked her over, starting at her sneakers and ending at her messy bun.
"You look tired," he said.
"I'm studying," Sienna lied. "Midterms are next week."
"I know." He took a step closer. "Professor Halloway called me. He's concerned about your attendance. Apparently, you've missed three lectures this month."
Sienna's stomach dropped. "I was sick. I had the flu."
"You were in Cabo with Roman for the weekend," the Senator corrected calmly. "I saw the credit card charges. The flight. The hotel. The spa treatments."
Sienna went silent. There was no point in lying. He always knew.
"You are reckless, Sienna," he said, his voice dropping to a low, disappointed register that hurt worse than shouting. "You treat your education like a hobby. You treat your reputation like a joke."
"I have a B average," Sienna whispered.
he snapped. "Do you think the voters care about your B average? They care about character. And right now, yours is lacking."
He reached out, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. His hand was cold. Sienna forced herself not to flinch.
"I need you to be perfect this week," he said softly. "The Gala is Saturday. The donors are watching. The press is watching. If you stumble, if you look messy, if you embarrass me... I will cut you off. The car. The apartment. The allowance. All of it."
"You wouldn't," Sienna breathed.
"Try me." He dropped his hand. "And tell your boyfriend to keep his hands to himself in public. The photos from the Kappa party were... distasteful."
Sienna felt the blood drain from her face. "What photos?"
"Taken care of," the Senator dismissed. "Graves bought them from the student who took them. But if I have to clean up your mess again, Sienna, the consequences will be severe."
He checked his watch. "Go back upstairs. Study. Sleep."
He turned and walked toward the revolving doors, Graves falling into step behind him.
Sienna stood alone in the lobby. She felt stripped. Naked. He had seen everything—the skipped classes, the trip, the party. She had no secrets. She had no life. She was just a doll in his dollhouse, and he could rearrange her whenever he wanted.
She rode the elevator back up in silence.
When she walked into the penthouse, Roman was waiting by the door. He took one look at her face—pale, eyes wide and glassy—and reached for her.
"What did he say?" Roman demanded.
Sienna walked past him. She went straight to the bathroom.
"Sienna?"
She opened the medicine cabinet. Her hands were shaking so hard she dropped the bottle of pills into the sink. They scattered across the white porcelain.
"Sienna, stop," Roman was in the doorway instantly.
"I can't stop!" she screamed, spinning around. "He knows, Roman! He knows about Cabo. He knows about the classes. He bought photos from the party. He's watching me. He's always watching me!"
She grabbed a pill from the sink. It was white. Xanax. Or maybe Klonopin. She didn't check.
"I just need it to stop," she sobbed, popping the pill into her mouth dry. "I just need the noise to stop."
Roman grabbed her wrists, but it was too late. She had swallowed it.
She collapsed against him, burying her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I hate him," she wept. "I hate him so much."
Roman held her. He wrapped his arms around her trembling body, resting his chin on her head. He looked at the scattered pills in the sink. He looked at the reflection of them in the mirror—two broken kids in a glass tower, playing house while the wolves circled downstairs.
"I know," Roman whispered into her hair. "I know."
He picked her up and carried her to bed. He laid beside her, stroking her hair until the drugs kicked in and her breathing slowed to a deep, artificial rhythm.
He stayed awake for a long time, listening to the storm outside.