Sienna didn't sleep.
Every time she tried—every time her eyes fell shut—the voice from the phone call was waiting for her. That voice had been low, calm, deliberate. The kind of calm that carried certainty. The kind that told you your choices didn't matter anymore because someone else had already decided what would happen to you.
Seven days.
The words didn't just echo. They crawled under her skin, burrowed deep, and pulsed with her heartbeat.
By morning, she sat at the kitchen table, cradling a mug between her palms like warmth alone, might anchor her. The coffee had long since gone cold, the surface a dull film, untouched. She barely noticed. Across the hall, Lila's bedroom door was closed, a thin line of light slipping beneath it onto the floorboards. That soft glow should have steadied Sienna—it usually meant her sister was awake, safe, probably scrolling on her phone. But this morning, it only sharpened the restless edge beneath her ribs.
She moved through her café shift as though her body remembered what to do even if her mind didn't. Steam hissed, cups clinked, orders blurred into one another. She smiled at customers, her lips tugging into practised shapes that never reached her eyes. The smell of roasted beans, once comforting, turned hollow. When the last table finally cleared out, she wiped the counter twice, her rag sliding over the same ring of condensation again and again, just to keep her hands from trembling.
When she stepped outside, the air hit her colder than it should have.
A sleek black car waited at the curb, engine purring, almost too still for the city's usual chaos. The tinted window slid down with smooth precision, like it had been timed for her alone.
"Get in," Adrian Wolfe said.
The sound of his voice was another command dressed as an invitation.
Sienna should have walked away. Every instinct screamed at her to turn, to run, to disappear into the crowd and pretend none of this existed. But her feet betrayed her. Against reason, against pride, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The car smelled of leather and cedar—rich, clean, expensive. As soon as the door shut, the noise of the city dulled, replaced by a heavy, private hush. It felt like crossing into another world, one where he set the rules, and she was already playing a part.
Adrian sat beside her, too composed, watching her with eyes that seemed to see through layers she hadn't even admitted to herself. The way he studied her reminded her of a surgeon poised over a table—precise, clinical, already certain of his next move.
They didn't exchange a word as the city blurred past. Not until the elevator doors opened into a penthouse that stole her breath.
Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, framing the skyline as if the city had been put on display for him alone. The lights glittered like a thousand promises waiting to be broken. Everything about the space radiated quiet wealth—unapologetic, unforced. The kind of luxury that didn't have to try.
"Why am I here?" Sienna asked, her voice sharper than she intended. The vastness of the living room, which could have swallowed her entire apartment twice over, made her feel small enough already.
Adrian poured himself a drink but didn't touch it. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, as though every detail had its place.
"Because," he said evenly, "I don't like leaving problems unsolved."
Her arms folded across her chest like a shield. "My problem isn't your problem."
That was when he turned. The city lights slid across the sharp planes of his face, cutting shadows and angles that made him look even more untouchable.
"Ten thousand. Seven days. Collectors who don't send friendly reminders." His voice was calm, almost too calm. "That sounds like a problem to me."
Her mouth went dry. "You've been watching me."
"I've been watching them," he corrected. His gaze didn't waver. "And I don't like who they work for."
"Who?"
His silence stretched for a beat, thick and intentional, before he said, "Someone who enjoys leverage. That's the only name that matters right now."
The words scraped something raw inside her. Still, she forced herself to meet his stare. "What do you want, Adrian?"
He set the untouched glass down with a soft click. "Three months."
Her laugh came out wrong—hoarse, disbelieving. "Of what?"
"Of you," he said, simply. "Publicly. You'll be my fiancée. Events, interviews, dinners. You'll wear the ring I give you, smile for the cameras. You'll live here. We'll look convincing."
Her skin prickled. Her heart slammed against her ribs. "So—your prop."
"My partner," he corrected, the word smooth but firm, like he believed it could reshape the reality he was offering. "You'll have choices. What you wear. How we appear together. You'll have a driver, security, a stipend. And most importantly—protection."
Her throat closed. "And my sister?"
"Paid in full the moment you sign," he said. "No payment plans. No negotiations. The collectors will forget your name before the ink dries."
The words were oxygen and poison at once. Relief tangled with dread until she couldn't separate them.
"What do you get," she asked quietly, "that you can't already buy?"
Adrian's expression barely shifted. "There's a merger. Family-run. They want roots. Stability. A man who looks like he's building a life, not circling for the kill. I need to look… settled."
"And you chose me."
Something flickered at the corner of his jaw, the faintest twitch. "I chose someone who won't crumble under pressure."
The silence that followed pressed into her skull, loud with her own heartbeat. Beyond the glass, the skyline glittered, indifferent.
"No," she whispered at last.
His brows lifted, the smallest break in his composure. "No?"
"I'm not for sale." She forced the words steady, though her stomach flipped. "I won't trade myself for your optics. Even for Lila. We'll find another way."
For a fraction of a second, surprise ghosted across his face. Then it vanished, buried under control.
"There is no other way that works in a week."
"Then I'll make one."
Her voice trembled, but her feet carried her toward the elevator.
"You're brave," Adrian said behind her, quiet enough that she almost didn't hear. "That won't stop them."
She didn't turn. The elevator doors slid shut, reflecting her face back at her. Not a brave woman's face. A desperate one, gambling with a life that wasn't only hers.
Outside, the air cut sharper. She pulled her coat close, walking fast, needing the sting of wind against her skin. The city tilted toward evening, lights bleeding into wet pavement, cars hissing past. She took the long way home, stretching the distance, because she wasn't ready to paste on calm for Lila. She wasn't ready to hear how hollow her no sounded out loud.
Her feet ached when she finally reached her block. Her mind felt scraped raw.
She was steps from the front door when she saw it.
A small, dark rectangle by the curb, half in the gutter.
Her heart knew before her eyes focused.
Lila's phone.
Sienna dropped to her knees, the cold concrete biting through her jeans. The screen was cracked in spiderwebs, and the corner dented as if it had been hurled down. A faint smear marred the casing—brownish, faded. Dirt, she told herself. Just dirt.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She pressed the side button. The display blinked awake long enough to reveal a notification.
Unknown Number: Seven days left.
Her stomach dropped. She checked the call log—two missed calls in the last hour. A text before that: Tick. Tock.
The world narrowed.
She looked up and down the street, desperate. A couple argued across the road, a bus wheezed to a stop, a cat darted under a parked car. But no sign of Lila.
"Lila?" Her voice broke into the street, too thin, too hopeful. "Lila!"
No answer.
Her thumb hovered over the broken glass again, finding the wallpaper beneath the cracks: the two of them at the lake, wet hair, real smiles. The sight carved a hollow ache right through her chest.
Her hands shook as she dug for her own phone. She didn't scroll. Didn't think. She opened the one thread she knew would answer.
Adrian Wolfe.
Her pride clung by its fingertips. For a heartbeat, she hesitated. Then the image of that smear on the phone case burned through her, and pride was nothing compared to fear.
She typed: I'll do it.
His reply came before her breath returned.
Good. My driver is two blocks away. Stay where you are. Don't speak to anyone.
The words blurred until headlights swept the curb, painting her in white. The same black car eased to a stop. Its door opened from the inside, waiting.
Her legs moved before her mind could object.
She slid into the backseat, clutching Lila's ruined phone like it might keep her anchored. The car pulled away in silence, city lights streaking past. Her reflection in the glass looked unfamiliar—drawn, unsteady, eyes wide with something halfway between terror and resolve.
Her screen lit up again. A second message.
Good choice, princess. See you soon.
Her throat closed. She clenched the phone until the cracked glass bit into her palm.