Sienna
Three days passed, and Dominic hadn't returned to the penthouse.
Not a call. Not a message. Not a trace of where he'd gone.
The silence was almost worse than his presence. Almost.
But not quite.
Because at least when Dominic was here, I could study him—read the flickers of guilt, or calculation, or whatever else he tried so hard to bury behind those cold grey eyes.
Now, there was nothing. Just the sterile quiet of a penthouse too large for one person and the echo of my thoughts bouncing off every marble surface.
I'd spent the last two days in my father's old office, combing through every folder, every password-protected drive, and every encrypted file. But whatever secrets my father kept—the ones he said could "bury Russo"—they weren't here.
And every hour that passed, I felt myself slipping deeper into a world I didn't recognize.
A world where I wore diamonds I didn't buy, attended charity galas I didn't believe in, and slept in a bed I didn't choose—beneath the roof of a man who might have destroyed everything I once loved.
A knock on the penthouse door jolted me from my thoughts.
I wasn't expecting anyone.
I padded across the velvet rug in bare feet and opened it without checking the security screen. Careless. Foolish.
But I was too tired to care.
A man stood there in a perfectly pressed navy suit. Mid-thirties. Clean-cut. Too polished to be harmless.
"Sienna Russo?" he asked in a clipped tone.
My stomach dropped at the name.
"Yes," I replied, my voice calm but cold. "Who are you?"
He opened his jacket slowly, pulling out a folded legal document. "You've been subpoenaed."
"For what?"
"For testimony in your father's upcoming fraud hearing," he said. "The prosecution believes you may have knowledge relevant to the case."
The paper felt heavy in my hand, like it had already decided something for me before I had a chance to fight it.
I shut the door without another word.
He didn't knock again.
Dominic
He watched her from across the ballroom.
Glass of bourbon in hand. Jaw tense. Heart somewhere between regret and strategy.
She was radiant in black silk, her hair twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She wasn't smiling, but she wore the mask of grace effortlessly.
Like she'd done this her whole life.
Like she hadn't just been handed a subpoena that would drag her into a courtroom against her father.
He hadn't meant for it to reach her.
The prosecution was moving faster than expected. He'd tried to stall them. Called in favors. Pulled strings. But someone on the inside had made sure she was dragged in early.
And now here she was, standing beneath a crystal chandelier, holding a champagne glass she wouldn't drink from, looking like a goddess carved from sorrow.
Luca stepped beside him. "You going to tell her?"
"No."
"She'll find out eventually."
"She already suspects me. If I confirm it, I lose her completely."
Luca raised a brow. "And you care about that?"
Dominic didn't answer.
Because he did.
Too much.
Sienna
The gala was a smokescreen. I knew that much.
Everything in this world was, now.
Champagne instead of clarity. Music instead of truth.
But I'd come anyway.
Because the more they tried to drown me in luxury, the more I remembered why I was here: to survive it.
To use this marriage the same way Dominic used it—for power, protection, and advantage.
I spotted him near the entrance, talking to some politician with a champagne-colored tie. The light caught the silver threads in Dominic's lapel, and for a second, he didn't look like the man who'd destroyed my family.
He looked like the man who could've been my equal.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Our eyes locked across the room.
I didn't smile.
He didn't either.
But he moved toward me.
Like gravity had decided for us.
"Mrs. Russo," he greeted when he reached me, his voice low and smooth.
"Dominic," I said, carefully avoiding any warmth.
"I see you received your invitation."
"You mean the subpoena?" I lifted my champagne glass without drinking. "Yes. How thoughtful."
He didn't flinch. "I didn't want this."
"But you let it happen."
His jaw ticked. "Not everything is within my control."
"That's rich coming from you." My voice dipped dangerously. "You control the board, the press, even the prosecutors who put my father in handcuffs. And now you want me to believe you couldn't stop a piece of paper?"
He didn't speak for a long moment.
Then, quietly, "I tried."
The words disarmed me. Not because I believed them. But because I wanted to.
I wanted, for a split second, to believe this man wasn't the villain.
And that was dangerous.
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Don't testify."
"Why?" I asked. "Afraid of what I'll say?"
"I'm afraid of what they'll make you say."
"I tell the truth."
He gave me a look so unreadable it made my skin prickle. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Later That Night – The Penthouse
I couldn't sleep.
The city lights stretched far beyond the window like stars that refused to dim. The silence of the penthouse felt too sterile, too rehearsed. Like even the shadows were curated.
I sat on the sofa, staring at the subpoena on the glass coffee table.
Tomorrow, I'd meet with the prosecutors.
And Dominic knew that if I opened my mouth—if I spoke even a fragment of what I suspected—it could unravel everything he'd built.
And maybe that's why he showed up in the middle of the night.
No knock.
No warning.
Just the quiet click of the penthouse door unlocking and the sound of his footsteps crossing the floor like thunder wrapped in velvet.
He looked at me like he'd expected me to be asleep. Or gone.
But I wasn't.
I stood, arms crossed. "Did you come to threaten me?"
"No." His voice was rougher now, stripped of its usual polish. "I came to ask you something."
I waited.
"I need you to trust me," he said.
The laugh that left my throat was bitter. "You're about three betrayals too late for that."
"I know," he said quietly.
And for the first time, there was no mask. No arrogance. Just a man who looked tired of playing the villain.
"I can't tell you everything yet," he went on. "But I need you to hold on a little longer."
"To what?"
"To the part of you that still sees there's more going on than you know."
I stared at him, trying to read what he wasn't saying.
And then I asked the only question that mattered.
"Did you frame my father?"
The silence that followed was a scream.
He didn't answer.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't confirm it.
He just stepped back, eyes shadowed with something that looked like guilt—or grief.
"I'll see you at the courthouse," he said finally.
Then he left.
Dominic – Outside the Penthouse
He stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door like it was a battlefield he'd lost.
She was slipping away.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Unless he told her the truth.
But the truth could destroy them both.
And Dominic Russo had never gambled with something he couldn't afford to lose.
Until now.