●Sienna●
The ballroom smelled like roses and champagne, with just enough perfume to make my head spin. I stood on the edge of the crowd, clutching my purse like a lifeline, wondering why I had even come.
My mother thrived at events like this; it was mostly what she did while my father was out doing whatever politicians did.
Tonight, just like me, Father had been forced to be here. Campaign season was at its peak, and he needed to win people's hearts. Even if he didn't take the presidency this season, by next term he would have enough supporters to make it inevitable.
Being here sucked. And as much as these events claimed to help the poor and needy, most people just showed up to flaunt how wealthy they were. I glanced around the room, trying to find something to occupy my mind, and my eyes landed on Tyler. He was the son of one of Mother's close friends, and he had been trying way too hard to "court" me. I had never been into relationships, but Tyler was definitely not my type.
I averted my gaze and grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. By luck—or misfortune—Mother appeared at my side.
"Sienna, darling, you must meet some of my friends before the evening is over," she said, her voice sweet and urgent, the perfect pitch for a socialite. "This is Madame Fontaine, she's involved with a foundation in Algeria. And you simply have to meet the Rothschilds later—oh, they adore young women who are polite and charming."
Even with my disdain for these introductions, I would rather have met a dozen strangers than endured Tyler. He was a self-centered bastard who thought every woman should fall at his feet.
"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Fontaine," I returned the greeting from the elderly lady Mother had just presented. My eyes drifted automatically toward Tyler—and I saw him pivot, abandoning his attempt on me to make a beeline for a pair of women nearby.
"It's so hard to find young women willing to take the time to help the less privileged. Your mother must be so proud to have you as a daughter," Madame Fontaine said.
I smiled politely, not knowing what to say, but Mother jumped in smoothly.
"What can I say? I raised my girl just right," she replied, her tone both proud and practiced. Then she leaned closer and added, "Dear, why don't you excuse us? I need to talk to Madame Fontaine."
I could not have been more glad. With her words, I stepped away from the ballroom and headed to the balcony. The night air hit me, cool against my skin, and I took a slow sip of wine, letting it burn gently as my eyes scanned the guests below. Most of them were boring, their chatter draining what little energy I had.
If only Maya had been there.
At the thought, I set the glass on the railing and reached for my purse, digging out my phone. But then, I felt a gaze burning on me. My body stiffened.
I straightened and glanced down at the ballroom, but everyone was buried in their own conversations. Shrugging, I turned slowly behind me, but the balcony was empty.
It must have been my imagination.
Ignoring the chill crawling up my spine, I returned to my purse, unlocked my phone, and scrolled through contacts until I found Maya's name. She answered on the first ring.
"Hey, Sienna, how is your dinner going!" Maya's voice was bright, teasing, like sunlight cutting through a storm.
"Wonderfully," I echoed sarcastically, smiling despite myself.
"You sound miserable. Where are you hiding?"
"At the balcony," I admitted. "Escaping the unnecessary acting. Mother, Father… everyone. And Tyler." I grimaced. "God, he's here too. Why does he even exist?"
Maya laughed softly, but I heard the concern beneath it. "Oh no… poor Sienna, I wish I was there to rescue you. It must suck."
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn't see me. "Exactly. And don't get me started on the photos. Apparently, I am the perfect poster child for charity tonight. My mother is dying to plaster me all over social media looking 'graceful and philanthropic.'"
Maya snorted. "Honestly, if they're going to use you for propaganda, they should at least pay you. Or give you a medal. Or let you fake a faint during the photo op."
"I might actually consider the fainting," I murmured.
"Do it dramatically," Maya said. "Make it memorable. That way, they'll never ask again."
I laughed softly, my gaze drifting back toward the ballroom. And that was when I saw Tyler heading straight for the balcony like it was his personal destination.
"Oh shit," I whispered.
"What?" Maya asked.
"Tyler just spotted me. He's coming this way."
She groaned. "Ugh. Abort mission. Abort immediately."
"I wish."
"Okay, I'm officially excusing you," Maya said, her voice playful but warm.
"I'll talk to you later?" I asked, already bracing myself.
"Definitely," she replied. "Call me the second you're free. Or if you need an alibi. Or a rescue."
"I might need all three," I said.
Maya laughed. "You've got this, poster child. I'll be here."
I ended the call just as Tyler stepped onto the balcony.
I had spotted him before he reached me—because Tyler always made sure to be seen.
His blond hair was carefully styled into something that looked effortless but clearly wasn't. A tailored navy suit that screamed old money trying to stay relevant. His hazel eyes lingered a second too long, like he was cataloging me instead of looking at me. The kind of eyes people mistook for warmth until they realized they never quite softened.
I tightened my grip on my phone.
"Sienna."
My name left his mouth and I turned my focus on him slowly, already bracing myself.
"Yes."
His smile widened as his gaze dragged over me. The look on his face made my skin crawl. "You look beautiful tonight."
His eyes stayed on me far longer than necessary, long enough that I felt the urge to leave altogether. I didn't even know what my mother saw in him—how could she possibly think we would make a good couple!
He stepped closer, close enough to invade my space, and before I could react, he reached for my hand. He lifted it and pressed his lips to the back of it, holding it there far longer than required.
I yanked my hand back to my side, shooting him an obvious glare.
He laughed softly, like we were sharing some private joke only he was in on. "Relax, Sienna. People might think we're fighting."
I moved farther away from him, turning my attention back to the crowd below. "People might also think you don't understand when a girl doesn't want you to touch her."
That got a reaction.
Not a full one… but his smile faltered, just enough for me to notice.
"All girls liked getting touched by men," he said casually, like he was stating a universal truth. "Stop acting like you're anything special."
My stomach twisted. This—this right here—was one of the many reasons I disliked him. The way he assumed. The way he believed money gave him access. Like consent was optional when you were rich enough.
His words snapped something inside me.
Maybe I should have blamed him. Or maybe I should have blamed the circle we came from. Men were raised to believe money was permission, that power was the same thing as entitlement. Most of them married women without wealth, women with no safety net, because those were easier to bend. Easier to silence. Easier to control.
I had seen it happen too many times to pretend otherwise.
I lifted my nearly empty glass and decided I was done. I would rather have left than stand there entertaining his childish arrogance for another second.
As I turned around, ready to leave, he reached for my wrist. I quickened my pace, yanking my hand away before he could wrap his fingers around it. "Try something stupid with me, and I might scream," I said calmly.
"You know Daddy doesn't like it when his princess is messed with."
Those words actually did the trick. He knew my father would have screwed him over if I had so much as breathed a word about him acting inappropriately with me.
As I walked away, his voice followed me. "Enjoy the rest of the night, Sienna."
I ignored his words and made my way downstairs.