chapter seven

Chapter Seven

The Letter

The boardroom table stretched like a snake, cold and glossy under the chandelier light. Sienna sat at the end—silent, poised, out of place.

Damien hadn’t spoken to her since last night.

He hadn’t looked at her either.

Not when she walked in beside him.

Not when the board members nodded politely at her, with curiosity barely veiled behind smug expressions.

She was just there. Like a doll dressed up in pearls and shoved into the spotlight.

Eleanor sat at the head of the table, regal in a blood-red suit, her fingers tapping against her wine glass with rhythmic precision.

“As you all know,” Eleanor began, “the Westwood name must continue to carry weight. Reputation. Legacy. The merger with the Callahan Group will ensure that.”

Everyone murmured approval.

Except Damien.

He sipped his drink, disinterested, eyes trained on the window. Sienna kept hers on the documents in front of her—until a cold hand rested briefly on hers under the table.

She jumped.

Damien didn’t even glance at her.

But his hand stayed. Just a second longer than necessary.

And then it was gone.

Just like that.

---

Later that evening…

Sienna wandered the east wing of the mansion, her heels echoing against marble. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Eleanor had warned her to stay in the west wing.

But she needed space.

Silence.

Answers.

She pushed open a door and froze.

A study. Old. Dusty. Books lined the walls. Faded photographs in golden frames.

She stepped inside, brushing fingers over the desk—until her eyes landed on a sealed envelope.

Yellowed. Unopened.

Her name was on it.

To Sienna.

She frowned. Picked it up. It wasn’t Damien’s handwriting. It was—

Dante’s.

Her heart stuttered.

Hands trembling, she opened it.

---

Sienna,

If you’re reading this, then something has happened. I knew this family would bury my truth eventually. I never thought it’d be you in this house.

But I’m glad it’s you.

Because if there’s anyone who might find what I couldn’t… it’s the girl who was never meant to belong here.

Find the red box in the piano room.

And be careful.

Not everyone here wants the past uncovered.

—D

---

The letter slipped from her hands.

Dante knew something. Something important. Something Eleanor didn’t want found.

She spun around—

Damien stood at the doorway, arms crossed.

Her stomach dropped.

“How long have you been there?” she whispered.

“Long enough.”

His face was unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“You knew about the letter, didn’t you?”

Silence.

“Damien, what’s in the piano room?”

His jaw flexed. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He took a step closer. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Sienna.”

She stared at him. “Then tell me.”

Another step.

“I’m warning you.”

His voice was low. Dangerous.

But it didn’t scare her anymore.

“I’m not the one keeping secrets,” she whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Maybe regret.

“Go back to your room,” he said, softer now. “Don’t come here again.”

“I’m not afraid of Eleanor.”

“You should be.”

She turned to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm.

Not harshly.

Not gently either.

Just enough to stop her.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he muttered.

She looked up at him, tears burning behind her eyes.

“Then start acting like it.”

For a moment, their faces were inches apart again. The same tension from the night before—thick, hot, unbearable.

But this time, he leaned in.

Barely.

His lips ghosted hers. Not a kiss. Just a hint of one.

Then—

He pulled back.

Cold again.

“Don’t go near the piano room,” he said, turning away.

And he left her there—heart pounding, lips trembling, fingers still clinging to the letter like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

---

Somewhere else…

Eleanor stared at a security monitor.

She’d seen it all.

The letter. The touch. The almost-kiss.

She picked up her phone.

“Tell the staff to seal off the piano room,” she said calmly. “And if Sienna tries to get in…”

She smiled.

“…remind her what happens to little girls who dig too deep.”

.