Chapter 4: Sienna
THE PRESENT DAY
I didn't understand why Corbin was acting that way, nor could I comprehend why he had nearly murdered Ian with a single look. I watched him as he frowned, his eyes radiating a silent rage that sent shivers down my spine. I helped clean up the mess in the kitchen before my shift ended. The restaurant was still bustling, and the clatter of plates and glasses increased the pressure in the air. I knew I needed to get home, even if there was no one waiting to greet me when I walked in—at least not for now.
Once I finished in the kitchen, I said goodbye to Ian with a faint smile. I headed to the staff room to get my things, the sound of my footsteps echoing on the cold tile floor. I opened my locker and pulled out my bag, feeling a slight relief as I shrugged off the work jacket that always seemed to tighten around my chest.
"Are you finished yet?" His deep, raspy voice echoed in the small space, making me shudder. I jumped slightly in surprise, my heart beating a little faster.
I turned slowly to look at him, a knot forming in my stomach at the proximity of his dominant figure.
"Yes, sir. I'm going home now. Can I help you with something?" I tried to keep my voice professional, though I noticed him scowling. The gears in his head seemed to be working at full speed for a second—a look I was all too familiar with. The tension between us was both familiar and uncomfortable, a mixture of the old attraction and a new, unsettling feeling.
"No. You may leave. I'm sure there's someone waiting for you at home." I opened my mouth to correct him but stopped myself. That was none of his business. However, his expression showed he was waiting for an answer, as if, in his mind, the matter was of vital importance.
He took a step forward, his imposing presence filling the space between us. His incredible blue eyes pierced through me, deep as the ocean, and for a moment, I felt lost in them. He shouldn't be this close to me; it was a dangerous combination. When I turned to close my locker, I felt his warm breath against my ear, a touch that sent a chill through me.
"I asked you a question, and I don't like having to ask the same thing twice," the gravity in his voice paralyzed me.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I could feel his massive, muscular frame looming over mine. I took a deep breath and turned to face him, cursing my impulsiveness. Now he was just inches from my face. His warm, minty breath hit my nose in a way that was deliciously painful, while his eyes drifted down to my parted lips. The connection between us, though strained, filled me with a strange mix of fear and desire.
"Excuse me, but that wasn't a question; I'd say it was more of a statement," my voice sounded steadier than I actually felt. Without another word, and without thinking of the consequences, I brushed past him and walked away, feeling his gaze boring into my back.
I hate having to run away every time I'm near him; it's an instinctive reaction I just can't avoid. His presence still has the same effect on me as it did when I was a teenager—a mix of admiration and unease. Except now, he's no longer the boy I once fell in love with. This man is different: colder, more calculating, and intimidating. He doesn't show a hint of feeling or compassion; it's as if he's completely devoid of emotion. Sometimes I think a tragedy scarred him, that something terrible happened, or maybe he was always like this and I never noticed because I was always so wrapped up in him. Corbin was no longer my Corbin; now he was an empty shell, a shadow of who he used to be.
I walked to the parking lot and headed straight for my flashy car, feeling a bit ridiculous. Who needs such an extravagant vehicle? I didn't understand why my father insisted on giving me such a luxurious car. How was I supposed to go unnoticed with my little silver Mercedes waiting for me? That car, which should have been a source of pride, felt more like a burden—a reminder that I don't fit into the world I live in.
I live in a comfortable ten-story apartment complex. Luckily, my place is on the fourth floor, which gives me a slight advantage (I've had to take the stairs when the elevator breaks down). Most of the time, the elevator works fine, but in those moments of frustration when I have to climb the stairs, I wonder why I chose to live here.
I entered the underground garage, parked the car, and on autopilot, grabbed my bag before stepping out and walking like a zombie toward the elevator. I located the number four on the panel and pressed it with a heavy heart. As the doors closed, a sense of claustrophobia washed over me. I could see my pathetic reflection in the doors, and it didn't help my mood. Though I don't have a thin, slender body, it's not bad either: a flat stomach, narrow waist, and wide hips with a generous rear. But I couldn't say the same about my breasts; they're quite large for my taste, an extra burden I often feel in situations like this.
The doors opened, and I stepped out, walking down the long hallway that seemed to stretch even further in my mind as I approached my black door. I opened it and stood thoughtfully on the threshold before going inside.
A wave of melancholy washed over me. What happened to my Corbin? Where had that kind, funny boy gone?
I sighed tiredly, letting out a small lament, and finally entered my lonely home.