Chapter 3.

~ Sienna's POV ~

“Chloe Martinez is back!”

I feel all the blood drain from my face. “That’s—”

“Mr. Ashford's ex,” she continues “You know, the one he never got over. Someone spotted them at the airport last night.”

She is back.

Chloe is back.

Maya chatters on.

“Apparently, she has been in Paris for two years, and now she is back but nobody knows why. Everyone's talking about it. Look.”

She says as she pulls out her phone, scrolls through some pictures and turns the screen to me.

And then I see it.

It’s a paparazzi shot that was taken at the airport. Vincent is there. He's wearing a charcoal suit looking handsome and all. But it’s his face that kills me.

He isn't scowling. He isn't looking at his phone.

He is looking at her. Actually looking.

Chloe is standing next to him holding a little boy. A boy. He looks about three. The same age my baby would have been if I hadn't…

Vincent has one hand on the small of her back, guiding her and the boy towards the waiting SUV.

And he is smiling.

Actually smiling. A soft, tender curve of his lips that I haven't seen in three years. A smile he has never, not once, directed at me.

I feel a physical blow to my chest, as if someone has swung a sledgehammer into my ribs. The nausea rises, swift and violent.

“They say she’s back for good.” Maya whispers, oblivious to the fact that she is twisting a knife into my gut.

“Sienna? You okay? You look really pale.”

“I'm fine,” I hear myself say. “Just... didn't sleep well.”

I turn my face away from her, pretending to organize a stack of files so she won't see the tears gathering in my eyes. “I think you should get back to work now. We have a lot to do.”

“Right. See you at the meeting.” And with that she is gone. 

Now left alone, I sit in my chair, staring at Vincent’s office, the one I had been grateful to see empty when I stepped in. Now I know why he's absent. He wasn't running late. He was with her. 

The realization crashes over me with the weight of a tidal wave.

If she’s back, what happens to me?

What if he decides to divorce me or just throw me out of his life now that Chloe is back?

My heart leaps for joy as the thought runs through my head. 

But will Vincent ever let me go? What if he uses the NDA and agreement I signed against me.

No, he can't. The agreement states that I am liable to pay a million dollars if I walk away, not if he divorces me.

“Earth to Sienna?”

Maya's voice cuts through the fog, yanking me back to reality.

I blink my eyes, disoriented. When did she come back? How long have I been sitting here, lost in thoughts?

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“What?” The word comes out thick, my mind still in a haze.

“You better take that, it's been ringing for ages.” She points at the Cisco phone on the corner of my desk, its red light blinking insistently.

I clear my throat twice, trying to dislodge the lump that has formed there before answering the call. “Ashford Corp, Mr. Ashford's office.”

“Sienna! Thank God.” It's Marcus, the project lead for the VA Hotel launch in Maldives. There is panic in his voice. “Where is Mr Ashford? I’ve been calling his phone for twenty minutes. We have a problem.”

“He’s… unavailable,” I say, my mind drifting back to the paparazzi photo I saw on Maya's phone. “What’s the problem, Marcus?”

“Unavailable? You don’t understand. The Italian marble for the lobby. It’s stuck in Genoa.”

The paparazzi image is gone from my mind in an instant.

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck? The shipping manifest was cleared three days ago. IronClad Logistics guaranteed the slot.”

“They pulled it!” Marcus is shouting now, and I can hear chaos in the background; multiple voices, phones ringing, the sound of people who are watching millions of dollars slip through their fingers. 

“IronClad issued a compliance hold ten minutes ago,” he continues. “They're claiming a discrepancy in the weight documentation. They've grounded the cargo, Sienna. If that marble doesn't leave the port in the next four hours, we miss the installation window. The investors arrive in five days. If the lobby is bare concrete when they walk in, Ashford Corp loses the financing. We lose everything.”

“Hold on, Marcus,” I say, punching the hold button.

My hands are shaking, but not from fear of the millions we are about to lose. I’m shaking because I know exactly who isn’t going to answer me.

I pick up my phone and dial Vincent’s number.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

‘You’ve reached Vincent Ashford. Leave a message.’

I hang up and dial again.

Nothing.

Damn it.

“Maya,” my voice comes out sharper and louder than I intend, startling her in the process.

“Get the legal team in the conference room. Now. I also need the port authority in Genoa on line two. And find me the contact for Stratos Air Freight.”

Maya stares at me, confusion written all over her face. “Stratos? But we ship by sea, and Mr. Ashford said air freight is too expensive for—”

“Well, Mr. Ashford isn't here!” I snap, my voice rising. “He's unreachable, and if we don't fly that marble out tonight, the VA Hotel launch fails. Do you understand what that means?”

She nods as she walks out of the office.

I take a deep breath, pushing the image of Chloe and that little boy and Vincent’s smile out of my mind.

I have to fix this.

Mr Brooks and his team are already seated in the conference room when I walk in.

“Mr. Ashford isn't joining us?” Mr Brooks asks, clicking his pen on the table.

“Mr. Ashford is handling a personal emergency.” I lie as I sit down. But it's not really a lie, is it? He is handling something, though it can't really be called an emergency.

“We have a compliance hold in Genoa. IronClad is choking us, deliberately or not. We need to bypass the docks entirely.”

“We can't bypass IronClad,” Mr. White, one of the senior members of the legal team, interjects. “They control the shipping lanes for that region.”

“We can if we fly it, we contact Stratos, split the shipment into four loads. The shipment leaves tonight and lands tomorrow afternoon. The installation team can begin on schedule. All you have to do is draft the contract.”

“But that will cost three times the shipping budget!” Mr White protests, and I can see the others nodding.

“And the penalty for missing the opening is fifty million dollars,” I counter. “Plus we lose the financing deal, which puts the entire expansion at risk. Do you want to explain to the board that we were unable to launch VA Hotel because you were worried about the shipping budget? Or are you going to draft the contract for the charter and save this company millions?”

The room falls silent. I can feel their glare from my seat, their discomfort at taking orders from Vincent's assistant, the girl who answers his phones and makes his coffee. But they also know I'm right.

Brooks nods slowly. White hesitates for another moment before finally getting to work.

Two hours later, the charter is finalized and just like that, I spend the next few hours on the phone, my Italian accent rusty but functional as I continue begging a port manager in Genoa to release the crates to the trucks I’ve just hired. 

Done with the grovelling, I move next to cancel the meetings Vincent should have attended, soothing the egos of powerful men who feel insulted by his absence with carefully crafted lies about family emergencies and urgent personal matters.

By 8:00PM, the crisis is contained. The marble is on trucks heading to the airport in Milan. The installation team in Malé has been briefed on the new timeline.

I hang up the phone and slump back in my chair. The adrenaline that has been keeping me upright for hours finally crashes out of my system, drowning my whole body in exhaustion and I feel like throwing up.

I did it. I saved that bastard.

Again.

I saved his hotel, his reputation and everything he has built. Everything he cares about.

And he doesn't even know. He won't even thank me. He'll probably be annoyed that I authorized the expense without his approval.

I unlock my phone with numb fingers. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.

Just fresh articles that have popped up in the last few hours.

'The Return of the Queen? Vincent Ashford Reunited with First Love.'

‘Billionaire's Secret Family Revealed?’

There’s a new photo. It’s grainy, taken through the window of a restaurant downtown. Le Jardin. His favorite spot. 

In the photo, he is leaning across the table, holding Chloe’s hand. He looks... devastated. But in a good way. Like a man who has found water after dying of thirst. 

My phone suddenly rings and my heart sinks when I see Vincent's name on the screen.

“Sienna!” He shouts as soon as I pick the call.

“Vincent, where have you been? Marcus—”

“Cancel my meetings for tomorrow,” he says, cutting me off. “And get a presidential suite ready at one of our best hotels. Fill it with lilies. White ones. Not those cheap roses you usually order.”

“But... the update meeting for the hotel launch is tomorrow. The investors are flying in. After what happened today, you need to—”

“Cancel it!” he yells. “Are you deaf? Cancel the damn meeting! I have more important things to deal with.”

More important things.

Chloe.

She has always been more important, more important than the company I just spent twelve hours saving.

“And one more thing,” he adds, his tone dismissive.

“Make sure the lilies are fresh. If I see a single wilted petal, you'll be paying for them out of your paycheck.”

The call goes dead.

Is he serious? His company almost lost millions today. And he's... he is busy buying flowers for her and planning romantic gestures, really?

I sink slowly into my chair, exhausted from the events of the day. Using my phone, I book a ride home before pulling up the florist’s number, the one I've called a hundred times before for client gifts and event decorations.

“I need a delivery to the VA Hotel presidential suite. Tonight.” I say when they answer, and I hate how well trained my voice sounds. 

“Of course, Ms. Hayes. How many arrangements?”

“Just one. White lilies. Make it... make it beautiful.”

“Certainly. And the card? What should it say?”

“No card,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just the flowers.”

For a second, a thought crosses my mind. What if I cancel the order? What if I send dead roses instead or nothing at all? What if I let him arrive in an empty room and look stupid?

But I don't because of the habit and the stupid rule I let get stuck in my brain that says he matters. 

After I hang up, I sit in the dark, the receipt for the lilies glowing on my screen.

Tomorrow, the investors arrive. I should go home and sleep. But as I look at the city lights, I realize... for the first time, in a long time, I'm not scared to go home.

Because home is where he isn't.

And honestly? I think I prefer it that way.