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.

“Still the same old trash, huh?”

The words sliced through Sienna Brooks like a blade dipped in ice.

Across the office, Camille Blake stood with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her designer heels clicked deliberately on the polished floors as she walked past the stunned team of designers.

The creative director, Vanessa Crowe, looked between Camille and Sienna with a spark of surprise. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, we go way back,” Camille said, casually flipping her sleek hair over one shoulder. “She’s a thief. Always has been. Steals ideas. Steals people. Once, she even tried to steal my fiancé.”

Gasps erupted across the office floor.

Vanessa turned a mocking eye toward Sienna. “I guess when stealing’s in your blood, it just… flows naturally, huh?”

The accusations landed hard. But Sienna stood her ground.

“If you’re going to drag my name through the mud,” she said sharply, “then do it with proof. Otherwise, it’s just gossip.”

Vanessa scoffed. “Surveillance footage is proof.”

Sienna didn’t flinch. “Your office is always locked after hours. How would I even get in unless you left it open yourself?”

Vanessa waved a dismissive hand. “I stepped out and forgot to lock it. A mistake—one that a lowlife like you took advantage of.”

“Fine,” Sienna snapped, her tone cold. “Then let’s bring in the police. Let them sort through the evidence.”

The murmurs died down instantly. The air grew tense.

Because no one wanted the police involved—not even Camille.

Her plan was to humiliate Sienna, blacklist her from the industry, and crush her spirit—not trigger an investigation.

Still, Camille smiled like the devil in a silk blouse. “Police, huh? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Sienna? You really want your record made public again?”

Sienna’s eyes narrowed.

Camille turned to the watching crowd and announced, “Didn’t know our little office mouse here used to have sticky fingers? Or that she flunked out of university after being caught cheating on her entrance exam? Or that she seduced her advisor just to pass?”

Whispers rose like wildfire.

“Damn… she really pulled that kind of stuff?”

“She looks so plain—I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“I feel gross just sitting near her…”

“Total snake.”

Sienna stared Camille down, her voice tight but calm. “You know what really happened.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver. “All I know is, the official report said thief. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Back then, Sienna had hoped the truth would come out. That the system would clear her name.

It didn’t.

And now, facing this same twisted game, she suddenly realized the police might not help her this time either. Not without hard proof.

Camille turned to Vanessa with a sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Vanessa. No need to blow this up. Just handle it in-house. Quietly.”

Vanessa nodded eagerly. “Of course, Miss West. I’ll deal with it.”

Then she spun on Sienna. “Someone like you has no business in the design world. You’re a virus. And for the record—I’ll be posting a company-wide statement on Design & Form about what you did.”

Sienna’s stomach dropped.

Design & Form wasn’t just some local blog. It was the top platform in the U.S. design industry.

A post like that would destroy her.

Security arrived at the door, waiting for Vanessa’s cue.

Vanessa didn’t hesitate. “Throw her out.”

Sienna was tossed out like garbage, her résumé and portfolio still on her desk upstairs.

The heat from the sidewalk hit her like a wall, but her body was colder than ever.

A black luxury SUV rolled up beside her. The window lowered.

It was Camille.

She looked at Sienna like a hunter staring down a wounded fox.

“All that time overseas. Fancy degrees. Hard work. For what?” Camille asked with a snort. “You thought you’d come back and reclaim your place? Honey, you were never part of this world.”

Sienna didn’t answer.

Camille leaned closer. “You think this is revenge? This is just a reminder. Stay out of my life. Stay away from my company. And stay the hell away from the West family.”

Sienna clenched her fists at her sides.

“You always act like you’re above everything,” Camille continued, voice dripping with venom. “But I see right through you. Always hiding behind men. Always clawing for a place at the table.”

She paused. “Let me make this crystal clear—as long as I’m breathing, you will never touch what belongs to me.”

And with that, the SUV sped off.

Sienna stood alone on the sidewalk.

For a moment, all she could hear was the sound of her own breath, shaky and uneven.

No job. No backup. No support. Again.

She turned and walked home.

The apartment was quiet when she got in. Too quiet.

She made herself a cup of cheap coffee, opened her laptop, and started applying for jobs.

She’d survived worse. She’d clawed her way through college in a foreign country. She’d held two part-time jobs at once and still made top marks.

This?

This was just a new fight.

She was halfway through uploading her portfolio when a knock came at the door.

She opened it—and froze.

Standing there was a sharp-faced man in a dark suit. Next to him was a younger assistant with a tablet in hand.

“Dad?” she asked, shocked.

The man frowned. “So you are back.”

This was Charles Brooks, her adoptive father and second heir of the Brooks estate.

He looked at her like she was some stranger on the street. “You didn’t think to tell me you were in the country?”

Sienna straightened her spine. “I wanted to make something of myself before I came to see you.”

He didn’t soften. “You’ve been back a week and already disgraced the family name.”

Of course, she thought. Camille had already called him.

She led him into the apartment, small and sparsely furnished, and poured him a cup of tea.

“I didn’t leak that design,” she said quietly. “It’s a setup.”

Charles looked around, unimpressed. “You think this place—this life—proves your innocence?”

Sienna said nothing.

Charles stood up, brushing invisible lint from his blazer. “You’ll come home tonight. The media’s already whispering. Do us a favor—stop embarrassing the Brooks name.”

Then he left.

Sienna didn’t follow.

She stood still for a long moment, then whispered to the empty room:

“I never planned to go back.”

Serena Blake sat alone in her tiny apartment, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. Her adoptive father’s unexpected visit had left her shaken. She had returned to New York under the radar, never intending to reconnect with the so-called Blake family. Yet now, they wanted her back?

Her father, Henry Blake, had always been cold. One simple word summed up their relationship: business, not family.

She spotted his phone on the coffee table. He must’ve left it behind. Out of habit, she grabbed it and rushed downstairs—only to stop short near the curb.

“I don’t get it, Mr. Blake,” his assistant said. “Why are we taking Serena back in? After that scandal, she’s practically poison.”

Henry’s voice was calm, calculating. “She used to catch Damien Cross’s eye. Now that he’s in New York, I intend to send her to him again.”

The assistant blinked. “Didn’t she humiliate him years ago? And let’s be honest, she’s not as striking as she used to be. Why would he want her now?”

Henry gave a slow, cruel smile. “Men never forget the woman who got away. Even if he doesn’t want her for love, he’ll want her for revenge.”

Serena’s stomach turned.

That was the plan? Hand her back to the same man who had once nearly destroyed her?

Her hands trembled as she slowly returned upstairs. Her body felt numb, but her mind was reeling.

She had always been the outsider in the Blake family. An orphan taken in for appearance's sake—never love. Henry had tried to pawn her off to a powerful businessman once before. She escaped then, barely. And now he was trying again.

No. Never again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

She hadn’t even eaten since last night, but instinct kicked in. She opened the door cautiously—only to see him.

Damien Cross.

The man who had haunted her for years. The man who, last night, she thought she’d escaped for good.

She froze. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Damien didn’t say a word. He stepped forward, lifted her effortlessly off her feet, and carried her straight to a black SUV idling at the curb.

“Let me go!” Serena kicked and struggled, her voice rising. “You can’t just—this is kidnapping!”

But the car doors shut with a thud, sealing her in. Soundproofed. Useless to scream.

“Quiet,” Damien said coolly, eyes narrowed. His voice had the weight of ice and thunder combined.

“You’re insane,” she hissed, backing away from him. “You drugged me and—what the hell do you want now?”

Damien sighed and leaned closer, so close she could feel the chill in his words. “I didn’t drug you. I was drugged.”

Serena blinked. “So I was just the unlucky collateral damage?”

He didn’t flinch. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now you need to take responsibility.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “Marry me.”

She stared at him, genuinely stunned. “You’re out of your mind. I don’t even know you. You show up, ruin my life, and now you want me to marry you?”

Damien’s tone turned businesslike. “It benefits us both. My family’s pressing me to settle down. Yours is trying to sell you off again. We make this marriage official, and both sides back off.”

Serena frowned. “You want a fake marriage?”

“No. A real one. Legal. No room for interference.”

She laughed, bitter. “So I’m supposed to trust the man who practically abducted me?”

“I’m giving you a way out,” Damien said calmly. “Once we’re married, no one can touch you—not your father, not your past. In exchange, I get to shut my family up.”

Serena leaned back in her seat, the silence growing heavy. As crazy as it was… he had a point.

Her adoptive father was ready to throw her to the wolves—again.

And Damien, for all his cold detachment, was offering her protection… in his own twisted way.

“Fine,” she said after a long pause. “But this is business. No strings, no expectations.”

Damien’s lips curved into something almost like a smirk. “Marriage is always business, Serena. I just happen to negotiate well.”