Sienna Hart stood in the center of the boardroom, sunlight pouring in from the wall of glass behind her, making the polished marble floors gleam like the cover of a luxury magazine. She looked every inch the heiress—immaculate black suit, crimson lipstick, composure carved into her cheekbones. But inside, she was unraveling.
It had been two weeks since her father's sudden death.
Two weeks since Richard Hart—the media mogul, empire builder, and until recently, the only person who'd ever made her feel small—was laid to rest beneath cold earth and colder headlines.
Media Titan Dies in Sleep. Cause Undisclosed. Daughter Inherits Legacy.
Legacy, they said.
More like a ticking bomb.
Sienna had flown back from Milan, leaving behind her flat, her freelance fashion consulting gigs, and a man who thought he meant more to her than he did. She wasn't ready for this. She had never wanted the throne. But here she was—sitting in her father's chair, wearing his name like it fit her.
"Miss Hart," said the CFO, a wiry man named Lane whose loyalty had always leaned toward the balance sheet, "your father's estate remains tied up in probate, but the board expects direction on the merger with Harrington Media."
"Postpone it," Sienna said, her voice quiet but firm.
Lane blinked. "Postpone? That deal's been two years in the making."
"My father's not here to finalize it. And I don't sign anything I haven't personally vetted."
A few murmurs echoed around the room. Someone coughed. The tension thickened.
"Then I suggest you start reading faster," a voice drawled from the doorway.
The room stilled.
A tall man stood leaning against the doorframe, the kind of man who didn't belong in boardrooms—but made them his.
Sienna had never seen him before, but something about him twisted her stomach.
He was dressed in dark charcoal slacks and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms and a silver watch. His jaw was cut like granite, lips curved in a smirk that didn't quite touch his eyes. Eyes that were a stormy steel-blue—dispassionate, predatory.
He stepped into the room like he owned it.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, straightening.
He smiled lazily. "Dominic Russo."
Lane cleared his throat. "Mr. Russo represents a private equity group. He's here on behalf of…"
"No." Dominic cut him off, eyes locked on Sienna. "I'm here on behalf of myself."
The room watched as he slid a folder across the table toward her.
She didn't reach for it.
He raised a brow. "You should read it."
Sienna hesitated, then opened the folder. Inside were scanned copies of contracts, financial documents, and—her breath caught—signatures. Her father's.
Loan agreements. Large ones.
Unpaid.
Her stomach twisted.
"You're saying my father owed you…?" She glanced back down at the number. Her voice dropped. "Three hundred million?"
Dominic didn't blink. "Plus interest."
"That's impossible."
"I assure you it's not. You can ask your legal team. They've already received the original files."
"You're lying."
He stepped closer, voice smooth as silk over steel. "I don't lie, Miss Hart. I collect."
"Collect what, exactly?"
He leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Everything."
A chill ran down her spine.
"This company," he continued, straightening, "now belongs to me."
The silence that followed was deafening. Sienna could barely process it.
Lane broke in awkwardly, "Miss Hart, if I may… the loan was secured against Hart & Rowe's global assets. Including the broadcast rights, the European publishing arm, and the East Coast real estate holdings."
Dominic cut in. "Which makes me your majority stakeholder."
"No," Sienna said, her voice low and shaking with restrained fury. "You don't get to waltz in here and steal what my father built. What I intend to protect."
His eyes narrowed. "Then we have a problem."
She snapped the folder shut. "Leave."
For a moment, she thought he would.
But Dominic Russo was not the kind of man who obeyed commands. He studied her instead—assessing her the way a predator might examine prey it wasn't sure it needed to kill.
Then, finally, he said, "We'll speak again. Soon."
And he walked out without another word.
—
Later That Night
The house felt like a mausoleum.
Sienna sat in her father's study—his leather chair still warm from the past—and stared at the fireplace even though it wasn't lit. The folder sat beside her, taunting her with its truth.
Richard Hart hadn't just been hiding debts.
He'd been sinking.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated, then picked up.
"Hello?"
"You're going to fight me," came Dominic's voice, low and intimate, like smoke and velvet. "But you're going to lose."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because your father made promises he couldn't keep. And because he tried to betray me before he died."
Sienna's blood ran cold. "You were working with him?"
"We had a deal. He broke it. And now… you're his debt."
She gritted her teeth. "I'm not a pawn in your revenge fantasy."
"No," he said, after a pause. "You're the prize."
The line went dead.
—
Three Days Later
Sienna stood outside the federal courthouse, clutching her coat tightly against the wind as reporters yelled her name.
"Miss Hart! Is it true your father was arrested for wire fraud before his death?"
"Did you know he falsified records to secure loans?"
"Is Hart & Rowe going bankrupt?"
She pushed past them, heart hammering. None of this made sense.
But the documents didn't lie. The charges—buried until now—were real. Somehow, her father had manipulated more than just money. He'd hidden everything.
Or someone had helped him fall.
And then pushed him into the grave.
—
That Evening
Dominic's penthouse overlooked the city like a god surveying chaos.
Sienna stood in his private lounge, hands clenched, heels echoing on polished floors. "I don't believe you framed my father," she said slowly. "Not yet."
He sipped his drink. "But you will."
"Why tell me any of this? Why let me keep fighting?"
"Because," he said, setting the glass down, "I don't want your company."
She frowned. "Then what do you want?"
"You."
Her heart skipped.
"I want you to marry me."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You want to keep your father's legacy alive. I want access to certain contracts your company still holds in Europe. This is mutually beneficial."
"You're insane."
"No." He stepped closer. "I'm offering you salvation. In exchange for a ring."
She slapped him.
He didn't flinch.
"You'll come around," he said, turning to leave. "You always do."
Sienna stood frozen, staring at the city through glass.
She was cornered.
And Dominic Russo?
He had just moved his queen.