The story broke on a Thursday.
Not from a tabloid.
From ArtForm Weekly.
A respected publication.
A photo of them—Sienna in his lap at a rooftop dinner, his mouth on her shoulder, her eyes closed like the world didn't exist.
The caption?
"The Billionaire and the Bond: Luca Hayes' New Muse Raises Eyebrows—and Questions."
Within 24 hours, it was everywhere.
Not what they did.
But how they looked doing it.
Sienna was powerful. Art world royalty. A curator with a reputation for edge and elegance.
But in that photo?
She was soft.
Exposed.
And the internet had opinions.
"She's too smart to fall for a man like him."
"Looks like he finally bought a black woman to tame."
"She's glowing. You can't fake that glow."
"Why does it feel like she's the one in charge?"
Sienna scrolled in silence, thumb trembling over the screen.
Luca stood behind her in the kitchen, shirtless, coffee forgotten.
He saw the stiffness in her spine.
"Sienna."
She turned slowly.
Held up the phone.
"They don't even know us, Luca. But they want to define me by you."
His face darkened. "They're vultures."
"They're watching me bend," she whispered. "They're using my submission like a scandal."
He walked to her.
Took the phone.
Set it down face down.
"You don't owe anyone softness except the people who earn it."
"I didn't want to be anyone's public fantasy," she said. "Not like this."
"You're not."
"I am now."
He took her face in his hands. Gentle. Grounded.
"You're not weak because you let me take you apart in private. That's not submission. That's fucking power. And if they can't see that, they're not worth seeing."
Her voice cracked.
"Then tell me you can hold this. Not just the sex. Not just the nights. This. The noise. The eyes. The judgement."
He didn't flinch.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her so close her ribs pressed to his.
"Let them look."
"What?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Let them see what it looks like when a man worships a woman so deeply, the only thing scandalous about it is that it's real."
She stared up at him.
Eyes glassy. Lips trembling.
He kissed her forehead. "Let them see your strength in the way you choose me every night."
"And what about you?" she asked, voice breaking. "Can you carry me when I can't hold myself?"
He leaned in.
Pressed his lips to hers.
And whispered: "I already am."
Later that week, he gave an interview.
It wasn't planned.
But when a reporter cornered him outside a gallery and asked, "Are the rumors true? Is it just a fling, or something more?"
He looked dead into the camera and said:
"She's not a fling. She's the reason I believe in truth again."
The footage went viral.
Sienna watched it alone.
Then again.
And again.
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
Not because the world stopped talking.
But because now?
She was ready to give them something worth talking about.