Chapter 2

By the time I returned to the penthouse, the silence of the empty rooms felt less like loneliness and more like a finalized decision.

I didn’t cry. I didn't tear through the apartment throwing the things they had bought me. I simply walked into the bedroom, opened my closet, and pulled out my suitcase.

I had barely begun packing when the front door clicked open. Christian walked in.

He stopped in the doorway, his eyes falling on the half-filled luggage. His jaw tightened.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

I didn’t answer. I reached for the zipper.

He crossed the room in three strides and caught my wrist. His grip was tight enough to bruise, slamming me back against the wall.

He lowered his head, pressing his face into the curve of my neck, attempting to use the same physical dominance that used to make me yield.

"Julian was right about you," Christian murmured, his voice cold against my skin. "You act like you have so much pride, but you’re incredibly easy. We played a little game, and you gave us everything."

My fingers went still against the wall.

"Let me go, Christian. We are done."

His eyes darkened with that familiar, sadistic amusement. "Please, Sienna. You’ve been in my bed for a year. Stop acting like a martyr. One more night isn’t going to kill you."

He reached for his tie, pulling it loose as if to bind my hands.

"Get off me." I struggled, my voice rising.

The bedroom door suddenly swung wide open. Julian and Valerie stood in the hallway.

Julian’s brow furrowed slightly at the scene, but Valerie just covered her mouth, her eyes bright with amusement.

"Wow, Christian," she giggled, leaning against Julian’s arm. "I didn’t know you guys liked to play rougher than Julian and I did."

"That’s enough," Julian said flatly.

Christian finally stepped back. He didn't look apologetic; he just looked annoyed that he had been interrupted.

My wrists ached, but I calmly buttoned my coat and reached for my suitcase again.

Julian stepped into the doorway, blocking my path.

"Valerie felt bad about earlier," he said, his tone suggesting I was being an unreasonable child. "She had a private chef send up a truffle fondue spread for us to clear the air. Sit down and eat, Sienna."

I looked at him. "I broke up with you two years ago, Julian. Why would I take orders from you?"

Julian’s expression hardened, treating my defiance as another failure of mine.

"Don't flatter yourself. We've all seen you naked. Stop acting like a prude and sit down."

He seized my arm and pulled me toward the dining room. I lost my footing and was forced into a chair at the table.

A heavy copper pot of boiling cheese and oil bubbled over an open flame in the center.

Julian immediately picked up his fork, carefully dipping the best cuts of Wagyu beef and placing them gently onto Valerie’s plate. Christian stood behind her, pouring her a glass of vintage wine.

For years, I had arranged Julian's schedules, managed his diet, and cooked for him when he was working late.

Now, I sat across from them with an empty plate, watching them perform the care they had always expected me to provide.

When I made no move to pick up my fork, Julian looked up, a heavy scowl on his face.

"What is it now?" he demanded, letting out a harsh breath. "Can you just stop looking so miserable and ruining the mood?"

At his tone, Christian and Valerie both turned to look at me.

All three of them wore the exact same expression—a mixture of exhausted irritation and open disgust.

I stared at the bubbling pot in the center of the table. I am deathly allergic to truffles.

I had told them this in a hundred different ways over the years.

Yet somehow, my physical safety was simply another detail they couldn’t be bothered to remember.

In the past, I would have swallowed the humiliation. I would have forced a bright, agreeable smile, carefully picked around the food, and apologized for being difficult just to keep the peace.

But tonight, looking at their resentful faces, the urge to accommodate them was completely dead.

I was done pretending.

I stood up. I picked up my porcelain plate, walked over to the bin, and calmly scraped the expensive cuts of meat directly into the trash.

"Eat it yourselves," I said.