Pain.
Blinding, searing pain.
Every bone in Sienna Brooks's body ached like she'd been hit by a freight train. Her mind throbbed in confusion, clouded by pain and fragments of memory.
As she blinked her heavy eyelids open, disoriented and struggling to breathe, a deep, cold voice sliced through the haze like a knife:
"Marry me."
The words hit her like a slap.
Her heart jumped in her chest. She turned toward the voice and found a man sitting across the room—stoic, intimidating, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, and watching her like a hawk.
He looked like he belonged in a Forbes cover story—elegant, composed… dangerous.
Suddenly, everything from the night before came crashing back.
She'd gone to deliver a prototype to her creative director at the Mayfair Grand Hotel. As she was leaving, someone had grabbed her from behind.
Now, as her limbs screamed in pain and the sharp chill of reality hit her, it was clear—someone had drugged her.
And worse, she hadn't woken up alone.
The man before her… he wasn't running, wasn't panicked. No. He was sitting there like he owned the aftermath.
Sienna's stomach turned.
This wasn't just assault—it was something deeper, messier. And the fact that he was still here, offering marriage like it was a solution? It sent every instinct screaming in alarm.
Without saying another word, she grabbed her scattered clothes from the floor and bolted for the door.
Just as she reached it, she nearly collided with another man entering—tall, wiry, clearly shocked.
A second one? Her heart nearly stopped. She didn't stick around to ask questions.
She sprinted into the street barefoot, adrenaline pushing her broken body forward.
Back in the suite, Damien Cross sat like a statue, watching the door Sienna had vanished through.
She had looked at him with… fear.
As if he were some monster.
His assistant, Jason Linwood, cautiously stepped inside, catching sight of the crumpled bedsheets and the tension thick in the air.
"…Sir? Wasn't the sedative supposed to be low-grade?"
Damien didn't respond.
Jason looked rattled. "You've resisted worse before during tactical training. Who the hell slipped you something this strong last night?"
Damien's jaw tightened. He hadn't lost control in over a decade. But the moment his hands touched her… every mental defense had shattered.
"She's not even your type," Jason muttered under his breath, still picturing the woman's messy hair and unflattering glasses. "You should've called me. That girl was… no offense, rough."
Damien's eyes turned icy, silencing him instantly.
Jason cleared his throat. "Right. That family called again. They want a meeting."
Damien's eyes narrowed. That family—who had once publicly humiliated him—now had the gall to request a sit-down?
"And how did they get my itinerary?"
Jason froze. Damien's schedule was ironclad and confidential.
"I'll look into it," he said quickly, backing out of the room.
Damien pulled out a corporate ID card someone had left behind. It bore a picture of Sienna Brooks.
Frizzy hair. Oversized glasses. Not the kind of woman who turned heads.
But those eyes—fierce and quietly brilliant—had haunted him ever since he'd looked into them.
He clenched the badge in his hand.
Sienna didn't stop running until she reached a nearby bodega. Ducking behind it, she borrowed a stranger's phone to file an anonymous report with the police.
Whoever had set her up—she couldn't face them head-on. But the cops could.
She dragged herself back to her apartment, every inch of her aching.
Stepping into the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She stared in horror.
Smeared eyeliner, pale lips, tangled hair, and a haunted expression. She looked like a corpse on a good day.
And he had touched her?
Was he blind—or just sick in the head?
She scrubbed her face with trembling hands and tried to rinse the memories away.
Just then, her phone buzzed. It was her creative director, Victoria Ames.
"Get to the office in thirty minutes. Or don't bother showing up ever again."
Sienna flinched at the venom in her voice.
At the design firm, Sienna barely made it through the door before Victoria slapped her across the face in front of the entire floor.
"You ungrateful traitor! How dare you leak my designs to a competitor?!"
Sienna staggered, stunned. "What are you talking about?!"
Victoria sneered. "You broke into my office last night and sent my prototype to Elevate Studios. Their press release just went out—and my work is splashed all over it!"
"I only went in because you texted me to grab—"
"Oh please," Victoria cut her off, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Do you really think anyone believes I'd set myself up? You're just a failed intern looking for a shortcut!"
The office erupted in whispers. Sienna looked around—every eye filled with accusation.
No one believed her.
And that's when she walked in.
Camille Blake.
The firm's VIP investor—and Sienna's estranged cousin.
"Well, well. I thought I recognized that voice," Camille purred, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. "Four years and you've really let yourself go, Sienna."
Her voice oozed fake sweetness, but Sienna heard the poison behind it.
Once, she had been the brightest star in their social circle. But after leaving the family over a scandal they fabricated, she'd been blacklisted, erased.
Now, Camille was back to finish the job.