Sienna's POV
I turned so fast I nearly dropped the champagne. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape through bone.
What was he doing here? Was he that rich? And why did he look even more intimidating under lighting that probably cost more than my rent?
I tried to look casual. Calm. Like this was all perfectly normal and I totally wasn't living a double life that could crumble in the next five seconds. But, of course, he wasn't going to let me off easy.
He took a step toward me.
I didn't move.
Another step.
Okay, my feet did move—but they felt like they were glued to the floor.
"Hello, Miss."
I whipped around, staring at him like he'd spoken in an alien language. "Huh?"
He raised an eyebrow slowly, weighing me. Then, without waiting for me to gather the pieces of my dignity, he brushed past.
Like I wasn't even there. Like I was a decorative vase or a wall.
My mouth opened slightly. My heart pounded. I watched him greet a woman behind me as if he hadn't just erased my existence.
Did that really just happen? He ignored me? While I was wearing borrowed luxury and pretending my life wasn't falling apart?
Heat crawled up my neck. My chest tightened. Maybe it wasn't just the snub—maybe it was the lies, the fact that I didn't belong here and someone finally saw it.
I gripped my champagne flute until my knuckles whitened, barely stopping myself from throwing it at his head.
My heels clicked toward the exit, louder with every step—a cruel reminder of how fake this night was. Most embarrassing moment of my life, and that's competing with the time I fell off a bus in front of my ex.
By the time I reached the cab, my face burned, shoulders stiff. His dismissal had stuck like glue.
---
The cab ride home felt long and airless. My room welcomed me like a tired sigh. I collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The scene replayed—his look, his coldness, the way he didn't even pause.
My hands trembled. My stomach tightened. And then—
I laughed.
A loud, borderline unhinged laugh that escaped before I could stop it. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the absurdity of living two lives in the same 24 hours. Or maybe it was just me finally losing it.
I lay there, laughing like a lunatic in my too-clean borrowed dress, fists pressed to my stomach, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes.
---
Kieran's POV
Her voice rattled through the room, words blending until they sounded like one long, angry note. Then one sentence cut through.
"Get married within two months or lose your rightful position to your uncle."
Wait—did I hear that right? My brain froze. Replayed it. Processed it again. Still didn't compute.
"Grandma," I took a deep breath, trying to sound as respectful as I could, but it came out all wrong. "You can't just tie my future, my position, to something as ridiculous as getting married."
Her face scrunched. "Will you shut your mouth? Why would you call marriage trivial? When will I see you with a wife? With children? Uhn? Is it until I die?"
There she goes again—playing the emotional card like she always does when she doesn't get her way.
"Two months, Kieran Wolfe." She stood stiff-backed, marched out, and slammed the door.
Great. She used my full name—something she reserves for when she's dead serious.
I dragged a hand through my hair. The thought kept spinning in my head, refusing to let go.
Two months wasn't a deadline. It was a threat. My tie suddenly felt too tight around my neck, and I tugged at it, loosening it just enough to breathe.
Fingers clenching the keys, I stormed out before I said something I'd regret.
I didn't go anywhere meaningful—just drove. Headlights streaked across wet streets. I hoped clarity would hit me between red lights. It didn't.
When I returned home, sleep mocked me. I tried to distract myself with a book, but the words blurred together on the page.
As I lay in bed, my eyes snapped open every few minutes, hearing Grandma's voice chant my full name.
By morning, I felt run over. Dragging myself to the office was a mistake. My head throbbed, my back ached, every blink stung.
"Sir…" James said carefully.
I blinked. "What?"
"Sir… what happened to your eyes?"
I touched under my eyes. "What's wrong with my eyes?"
"Mirror," I snapped.
He handed it over. The second I saw myself, I hissed. Red, puffy, sunken. Like I'd aged five years overnight.
"You dare laugh?" I asked, staring at the disaster in the mirror.
James froze. Wisely.
I lowered the mirror and exhaled. "My grandmother is at it again. Two-month ultimatum. Marriage or everything goes to my uncle."
James opened his mouth. I cut him off. "She commanded it. So find a solution."
"Noted, sir. I'll start drafting a list of potential—candidates," he said carefully.
I shot him a glare.
"Five minutes until your investor meeting, sir."
I made a mental note to deduct emotional damages from his salary.
Hours later, after surviving meeting after meeting, I stepped into the elevator, ready to escape.
The doors began to close when movement caught my eye.
A girl running down the hallway.
No. No way.
The elevator doors slid narrower, but I saw her. Clear as day.
Her. The one who collided with me at the hospital. The one who appeared out of nowhere at the gala, dressed like a billionaire.
Now? She was in a delivery uniform, carrying a bag of food as if this were completely normal.
My brain stuttered.
Delivery girl by day… billionaire by night?
Who the hell was she?
The elevator doors closed, slicing off the view—but not the questions now flooding my head.