The kitchen was quiet except for the low simmer of the kettle and the rhythmic tapping of Siena's nails against the marble counter. She stood barefoot in one of Alexander's shirts, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from the shower, eyes fixed on the toaster as it owed her an answer.
She wasn't used to mornings like this—mornings that came after a storm but before the next. The headlines had exploded across every media platform last night. Whitestone's fall was loud and messy, and Alexander had barely slept.
He walked in now, dressed in dark jeans and a simple grey sweater, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved toward the fridge.
"Didn't expect to see you up this early," he said, voice scratchy with exhaustion.
Siena glanced at him. "Didn't sleep much."
He pulled out a bottle of water and leaned against the island. "Same."
The air between them was heavy—not uncomfortable, but charged, like two people who had been through fire and weren't quite sure if it was done burning yet.
"I saw the papers," Siena finally said. "Vale's face is everywhere."
Alexander nodded. "And Jensen resigned late last night. His attorney sent a statement denying everything, but the damage is done."
Siena looked down at her tea. "It's not over, is it?"
"No. Not even close."
She hesitated. "And us? Are we over yet?"
He froze for a moment, then set the bottle down.
"No," he said firmly. "Not unless you want us to be."
Siena held his gaze. "I don't. But I also don't want to wake up one day and realize I've built something with a man who's still halfway closed off."
He stepped closer. "I'm trying, Siena. I know it's not enough yet. But I'm trying."
"I see that," she said quietly. "But I also know trying only goes so far if we keep ignoring the things we don't want to talk about."
"Like what?"
"Like your father. Like how much of this—your obsession with control, your need to fix everything—is about him. About not becoming him."
Alexander went still.
She didn't say it to attack him. Her voice hadn't even risen. It was soft. Honest. Like she wasn't accusing him—but just... finally naming the ghost between them.
He looked away, jaw tight.
"I'm not him."
"I know," she said. "But sometimes I think you're more scared of becoming him than you are of actually losing me."
His chest rose and fell.
"That's not fair."
"Maybe not. But it feels true."
He didn't answer for a long time.
"I used to think if I controlled every variable, I'd never be like him. Never hurt anyone the way he did. But control isn't the same as love. I'm still learning that."
Siena took a deep breath. "So am I."
She walked over, stopping just in front of him.
"We both have damage. But I'm here. Still standing. Still choosing you."
He met her eyes. "Then maybe we can figure it out together."
"Maybe."
A beat passed, then she added, "But I'm going to need more than maybe, Alex."
He cupped her face gently. "Then I'll give you more."
---
The rest of the day moved in fragments.
Phone calls. Statements. A quick visit from Reeve, who came armed with folders and updates but left when he noticed the tension in Alexander's shoulders and the weariness in Siena's eyes.
"You need a break," Reeve had muttered, packing up.
"We don't take breaks," Alexander had replied.
Reeve had paused, then shot a glance at Siena before saying, "Maybe you should."
By late afternoon, Siena retreated to the small rooftop terrace. The air was crisp, the wind curling around her as she wrapped herself in a blanket and sat down with a notebook.
She didn't write anything. Just stared at the blank page.
There was a story in her bones now. Something bigger than revenge, bigger than business. A truth about power and silence and the quiet wars women fought every day, sometimes without saying a word.
Dael's voice had started something. Siena wanted to make sure it didn't end there.
Behind her, the door creaked open. Alexander stepped out, holding two cups of coffee.
"I figured you could use this," he said, handing her one.
She took it, letting her fingers warm around the ceramic.
"Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while, the city humming below them.
"Do you remember that night at the charity gala?" she asked.
Alexander blinked. "Which one?"
"The one three years ago. You wore that ridiculous navy tux with the pocket square that didn't match."
He chuckled softly. "That was on purpose."
"Of course it was."
"You were in red. Tight dress. High slit."
She smirked. "You noticed."
"You made it impossible not to."
There was a pause. Something nostalgic passed between them.
"I remember dancing with you," he added. "Thinking you were the only person in the room who saw through me."
"I did."
He looked at her. "You still do."
And then, softer: "That scares me."
Siena's eyes were gentle. "It scares me too. But I'd rather be scared with you than safe with someone who doesn't see me."
He reached for her hand.
They sat like that for a while—two people no longer running from the weight of who they were, but slowly learning to carry it.
Together.
---
That evening, Siena walked into the guest room where Dael was resting. The younger woman looked up from a book, eyes shadowed with fatigue.
"You okay?" Siena asked.
Dael nodded, but it was the kind of nod that didn't mean yes. Just... I'm here.
Siena sat beside her.
"I wanted to tell you something."
Dael turned toward her.
"I admire you," Siena said. "For speaking up. For surviving. I know you didn't ask for this war. But you showed up anyway."
Dael's lips trembled. "I was so scared."
"I know."
"And I still am."
Siena took her hand. "That's what makes you brave."
Dael blinked fast. "I'm not used to anyone saying that."
"Well, get used to it," Siena said gently. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
---
The next morning came with a knock at the door.
Alexander opened it to find an envelope on the floor. No sender. Just his name, written in clean, deliberate script.
He opened it slowly.
Inside was a single photo.
A woman.
His mother.
But not from any family album he'd seen.
This was recent.
Fresh.
The photo was timestamped.
Three days ago.
His blood ran cold.
He turned toward the hallway, voice sharp.
"Siena!"
She appeared instantly. "What is it?"
He handed her the photo.
Her eyes widened.
"I thought she was dead," he whispered.
Siena looked at him. "We both did."
Alexander stared down at the photo.
Everything he thought he knew?
It had just changed.