Sienna
The name Sienna Hart-Russo was heavier than I thought it would be.
It weighed on my tongue, on the edge of every business introduction, in every curious glance from strangers who recognized my face but didn't know what to make of the new title. The media had spun it into something glamorous—heiress marries ruthless billionaire in a quiet, elegant ceremony—but behind their glossy words was confusion.
Because no one understood.
Not the board members who'd once smiled at me like a child trying on her father's crown. Not the reporters circling like vultures waiting for the first crack in this picture-perfect alliance. And definitely not the man I had married.
Dominic Russo didn't ask me how I felt the next morning.
He didn't care.
Instead, he handed me a schedule—like an assistant would to his boss—and told me I had to attend a press lunch with the board of Hart-Russo Holdings that afternoon.
"We need to appear unified," he said, sipping his espresso as if we hadn't just become husband and wife by coercion.
"You mean I need to pretend I'm not being held hostage in designer heels," I muttered, dragging a spoon through my untouched bowl of yogurt.
He glanced at me. "You're not a hostage, Sienna. You're a CEO's wife. You signed the contracts. You walked into this willingly."
"Because you had my father arrested," I snapped.
His gaze didn't flinch. "Because your father broke the law."
I rose from the stool, anger heating my chest like wildfire. "Don't pretend this wasn't orchestrated. You planned this from the start—every move. You knew about the fraud investigation before the SEC ever filed it, didn't you?"
He stood, slowly. Not threatening. Not loud. Just... controlled.
"Do you want to test me, Sienna?" he said, voice low. "Because I don't recommend it."
For a moment, the penthouse grew silent. The kind of silence that pulses under your skin and makes your instincts scream to run.
I didn't run.
I looked him in the eye.
"No," I said softly. "But I will find out what you're hiding. You don't get to own my name and bury the truth in the same breath."
Something flickered in his eyes then—approval? Amusement?
God, I couldn't tell.
Dominic Russo was a fortress, and every time I thought I'd spotted a crack, it sealed shut before I could look again.
The lunch was held at the Manhattan Capital Club—a gleaming temple of wealth and whispered power, where billionaires made mergers over lamb chops and ruined rivals with a raised glass.
I wore a deep burgundy suit that hugged my body like a shield, with a gold brooch my mother once gave me. If I was going to pretend I belonged, I might as well wear armor.
"Mrs. Hart-Russo," the hostess greeted me with practiced charm. "Right this way. Mr. Russo is already seated."
Of course he was.
He always arrived first. Set the tone. Controlled the narrative.
The moment I stepped into the private dining room, I felt every gaze land on me. The board members—old men with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes like sharks—smiled politely, but I could sense their unease.
I was no longer just Richard Hart's daughter.
I was Dominic Russo's wife.
And no one knew what that meant yet.
He stood when I approached. "Sienna."
His voice was smooth. Professional. The kind that could be piped into conference calls and investor briefings without raising a single heartbeat.
I took the seat beside him, my smile carefully shaped, my spine straight as a ruler.
"Thank you all for coming," Dominic said, folding his hands. "I wanted today's meeting to be informal—just a check-in between family."
Family.
The word tasted strange in this context.
"We've all heard the rumors," Dominic continued. "But let me assure you, Hart-Russo Holdings remains strong. Sienna will continue in her role as CEO, and I will offer strategic support as her husband and financial advisor."
Strategic support. Like a man offering to help his hostage decorate her cage.
I smiled politely. Said nothing.
After all, this was his show.
Let them think I was the graceful bride. The obedient daughter. The quiet heiress.
Let them underestimate me.
It was easier that way.
That evening, I locked myself in my father's old study.
It was the only room in the Hart estate Dominic hadn't touched yet. And it still smelled like my father's cologne—leather, tobacco, something old and rich and haunted.
I opened drawer after drawer.
Read every ledger.
Checked behind the wall panels, under the floorboards, inside old book covers.
Still nothing.
No red-taped file.
No smoking gun.
Just dust and echoes.
I sat on the floor beside the desk and closed my eyes, breathing through the rising frustration.
That's when I remembered something.
My father's pocket watch.
He never went anywhere without it. And it wasn't just a timepiece—it was an heirloom, handed down through generations. Gold, engraved with the Hart family crest, and always ticking.
I stood up so fast I nearly knocked the chair over.
The safe.
Not the one in his office.
The one in his bedroom closet, behind the false wall panel.
I ran up the stairs and into the master suite. The room had been untouched since his arrest—sealed in silence and memory. The closet smelled faintly of cedar and wool suits.
My hands trembled as I pulled back the panel.
There it was.
The old safe.
I punched in the code—his mother's birthday. One I'd memorized as a child just to feel special.
Click.
Inside, nestled between old deeds and dusty envelopes, was the watch.
And beneath it—
A flat black envelope.
No red tape.
But I knew what it was.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside were documents. Bank records. Letters. A single photograph of Dominic Russo shaking hands with an SEC official.
Stamped with a date that preceded my father's arrest by two months.
Bile rose in my throat.
He did know.
He'd been working with them before the investigation even started.
He hadn't just benefited from my father's fall.
He orchestrated it.
Dominic
He knew the second he stepped through the door that she'd found something.
The energy had shifted.
She stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, a thin folder in her hands. Her face was still, but her eyes burned.
She didn't say hello.
Just held out the folder.
He took it.
Flipped it open.
A slow breath escaped him. "I see you've been busy."
"You lied."
"I never lied. I withheld."
"Same thing."
"No," he said quietly. "It's not."
She stepped closer. "You used me. You used my father. You set him up."
He didn't speak.
Didn't deny it.
The silence between them stretched like wire, tight and ready to snap.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because your father was reckless," he said. "He made promises he couldn't keep. I did what I had to—for my family. For the company. For you."
"Don't you dare say you did this for me."
"You want the truth, Sienna?" he asked, stepping closer. "I've wanted you in my world for a long time. But your father was never going to let that happen. He saw me as a threat."
"Because you are one."
"Maybe," he said. "But now you're mine."
She slapped him.
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
His jaw twitched—but he didn't raise his voice.
He just stared at her.
"I won't forgive you," she said.
"I'm not asking you to."
She turned to leave.
He didn't stop her.
But as she walked away, Dominic's hand closed around the folder.
And his eyes turned cold.
Because there was still one thing she didn't know.
She had her father's file.
But she didn't have the whole story.
Not yet.