The next morning was slower than usual.
There was no scheduled crisis, no board meeting looming, no reporters outside the building for once. And yet, Siena felt a tension beneath her skin she couldn't explain.
Alexander had gone down early to his private office on the 37th floor. He had promised her it was just to sign off some paperwork and would return before noon, but as the hours inched by, Siena found herself pacing the living room barefoot, her thoughts restless.
The conversation with Trent replayed in her mind, along with Alexander's quiet, grounded response.
He had listened. He hadn't judged. But still…
She wondered if it had cracked something inside him anyway—some silent worry about what else she hadn't said.
---
At 10:34 AM, Siena received a call.
It wasn't Alexander.
It was Camille.
"Siena," she said quickly, "you need to turn on the TV."
Siena moved to the living room, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the news.
Her heart dropped.
It wasn't Alexander in trouble this time.
It was her.
A video was playing—grainy footage from a year ago, taken at some gala, clearly by a phone. Siena was standing with Trent, mid-conversation. She looked upset. He looked angry. The clip ended just as he grabbed her arm.
But the headline underneath read:
"Siena Hart: Playing the Victim? Sources Claim History of Manipulating Billionaires."
Siena didn't move.
Her chest tightened as the news anchor droned on, spinning a narrative she didn't recognize. Words like "strategic relationship," "career advantage," and "emotional leverage" filled the air like poison.
"How the hell did this leak?" she muttered.
Camille sighed on the line. "It's not just the footage. Someone—maybe Trent—sold a version of your past to a tabloid. They're running with it like it's gospel."
Siena's voice was hoarse. "What's Alexander going to think?"
"You already told him the truth. Stick to it."
"He might believe me. But the world won't."
"Then let them watch us prove them wrong."
---
Alexander returned by noon, just as promised, but Siena met him at the door with the remote still in hand and tension in her jaw.
"I need you to see something," she said.
She played the clip.
He watched silently.
Then, as the anchor began listing off unverified allegations, Alexander picked up the remote and shut the TV off mid-sentence.
He didn't speak immediately. He walked toward the windows, his hands in his pockets.
"You okay?" he asked.
Siena blinked. "I thought you'd be the one asking me that."
"I am." He turned around. "Because I can take a few lies on the news. But I care about how they're making you feel."
She exhaled, nearly collapsing onto the sofa. "Like I'm being dragged backward into a life I've tried so hard to leave."
He crossed to her, knelt, and gently touched her knee. "Do you regret telling me about him?"
"No. I regret not saying it earlier."
"Then it's not on you. It's on whoever wants to paint your past in their version of the truth."
"Do you believe me?" she asked, even though she hated that she needed to ask it.
"I don't just believe you," he said. "I know who you are."
Her throat tightened. "I don't want this to ruin what we're building."
"It won't," he said, firm and steady. "Unless we let it."
---
But while Alexander's support was unwavering, his PR team wasn't so forgiving.
By the afternoon, his office was filled with advisors demanding damage control—again.
"This is the second public storm in less than two weeks," said Jenna, the head of communications. "First you, now Siena. The press is calling it toxic symmetry."
Alexander's brow lifted. "Toxic what?"
"Symmetry," Jenna repeated, scrolling through her tablet. "As in, they think you both attract scandal."
Alexander folded his arms. "We don't spin lies. We clean up the truth."
"Yes, but perception still shapes reality."
Reese spoke up from the corner. "What are you recommending? That Alexander distance himself from Siena to calm the press?"
There was a tense silence.
Jenna didn't answer directly, but her silence was louder than any suggestion.
Alexander's jaw tightened. "She stays."
"Then we'll need a unified media response," Jenna said, quickly shifting tone. "An interview. Something where you both speak."
"No," Alexander said. "Not again. Not unless Siena wants that."
The room turned to her.
Siena hesitated in the doorway, having overheard the last part.
She stepped in. "If I don't speak, the silence will be filled by people like Trent. If I do speak, they'll say I'm acting. Either way, I lose."
Alexander stood beside her. "Then we redefine what winning means."
---
That evening, they sat together again, this time not on the balcony, but on the carpeted floor by the couch, a bottle of wine between them.
"Want to know what scares me most?" Siena said softly.
Alexander handed her a glass. "Tell me."
"That I'm becoming one of them. The people who live in crisis mode. Who expects fire every time they wake up."
Alexander took a sip. "Maybe that's not weakness. Maybe it's survival."
"I don't want to just survive."
He looked at her for a long moment. "Then what do you want?"
She hesitated, then answered honestly. "Peace. But the real kind. The kind that doesn't leave when the cameras show up."
Alexander leaned closer. "Then we fight for it."
---
The interview aired two nights later.
It wasn't flashy.
It was calm. Clear. Quiet.
Alexander addressed his earlier scandal. Siena addressed the video and her history. Neither of them blamed anyone, but neither of them hid.
They spoke like humans. Not headlines.
And this time, the world listened.
Not everyone believed them, of course. But something shifted.
It was the first time Siena had spoken about her trauma in public. The first time she had named the manipulation for what it was. And when the credits rolled, she sat back on the couch and stared at the screen as if it had just shown a different version of her life.
Alexander reached for her hand.
She didn't let go.
---
Three days later, a letter arrived at the penthouse.
No return address. Just her name, typed.
Inside was a single line.
"You may have survived me, Siena. But don't think you've escaped."
There was no signature.
Just that message.
Siena read it twice before she sat down.
Alexander found her there twenty minutes later, still holding the paper.
"What is that?" he asked.
She showed him.
He read it.
Then he folded it once, very carefully, and placed it on the table.
"I'll find out who sent it," he said.
"We already know who."
"I'll prove it."
Siena swallowed. "He's not done with me."
Alexander shook his head. "Then we won't be done with him."