Handwritten notes on the back of receipts and random Post-it notes.
Scribbled sketches of cakes, and cut-out photos of rustic ovens and sunlit storefronts.
The chaos of my vision board.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, my phone occasionally lighting up with texts from Lucy, but mostly I’m zoning out. My mind is trying to stitch together some semblance of hope from all this chaos.
Hope is thin here. But it’s all I have.
A sudden noise breaks through the quiet. The sharp, heavy thud of boots on marble. I freeze, heart kicking up, and then another pair, and another.
Footsteps, deliberate and loud, filing through the front entrance.
Instinctively, I rise and peer cautiously around the corner toward the hallway. A group of men, at least half a dozen, stream into the house.
Dark suits, broad shoulders, and faces hardened by years in the business.
The front door swings open again, and Ben steps inside, his sharp black suit impeccably tailored, but his expression unreadable.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. This house, the one I’m supposed to be getting used to, feels less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.
Ben’s men. His guards.
His world.
He pauses when he sees me, softening just enough to say, “Go upstairs, Sienna. I’ve got some things to take care of. I’ll take you out to dinner later. Go take a nice warm shower.”
His voice is calm but firm. No brooding or no argument in it.
I hesitate, curiosity burning hotter than fear, but his gaze pins me. I nod slowly and retreat, climbing the stairs in a haze of worry and questions.
From the top step, I stop and listen when I know I shouldn’t. I’m asking for it, at this point. I’m searching for clues to a world I don’t want to be a part of, and I’m making it harder for myself here.
The less I know, the better.
But Ben’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and controlled, and the words he’s saying churn my stomach into knots.
“We either take the empire by force. Either send Nikolai to the grave, or we outmaneuver him completely. Dismantle everything my father’s built from the inside.”
Another voice, one of his men, answers, cautious but eager. “And if we move on the old man first?”
“Too risky. We need to weaken the family structure so we come out on top. That’s the only way.”
My pulse races, and I cover my mouth with my hand, heart pounding so loud I’m sure they can hear it.
This is a war.
A bloody war I never signed up for, but my opinion doesn’t matter.
I step back and lean against the wall, my mind drifting to the night before.
The way Ben pressed me against the kitchen counter while I jabbered on the phone to Lucy about cupcakes and cinnamon rolls. The way his hands were both commanding and gentle, how the quiet in the room seemed to coil around us, pulling tight. How I’d told myself I was just playing along, but the truth was; I hadn’t felt that alive in months. That raw.
I bite my lip, feeling the ghost of his touch still burning against my skin. And the dark knot of dread that’s nestled deep in my chest—the daunting truth that Ihaveto get pregnant. I’m supposed to carry his heir. His future.
But after hearing his words, the violent undercurrent of this family business, the stakes so high they’re willing to kill their own, how could I possibly bring a child into this?
A child who might inherit this world of power, violence, and distrust?
