Devil’s Den

Sienna

"Sienna!" Ryatt gasped, his voice sharp with disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Kelly's hand slowly rose to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock, as though she couldn't believe what had just happened. Honestly, I didn't blame her. I had always treated her far better than she deserved. Listened to her endless demands. Overlooked every mistake. Ignored every red flag. I'd done everything to make her happy—everything. She had been like a sister to me. Had been. Not anymore.

"What the fuck I am doing?" I pointed at myself, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I can't believe you even have the nerve to ask me that, Ryatt. You two were over here about to fuck each other—my boyfriend and my best friend—on the night of my birthday. My fucking birthday. After I dropped everything to spend it with you both. And you're asking me what the fuck I'm doing?" My voice cracked with rage as I stared him down. "Tell me, Ryatt. In all six years of our relationship, did you ever actually love me?"

His eyes softened—those same eyes that used to melt me. Now, they only made me sick. "Sia... listen," he said, stepping closer, his tone desperate. "We can talk this out. Kelly and I... it's... it's complicated, but—"

"But what?" I snapped, cutting him off. "Complicated? You couldn't keep your dick in your pants when you saw Kelly? She's exactly your type, isn't she? Wild, adventurous, sporty. And me? What am I? Boring? Like your bitch always says—a bore. So why did you date me, huh? Why waste my fucking time you piece of shit?!"

"You can't blame a man for cheating on you because of how boring you fucking are, Sienna," Kelly's venomous voice sliced through the air, her audacity burning like acid. "It's not just Ryatt. No one likes you. No one ever fucking did. The only friends you've ever had were Ryatt and me. And why? Because we pitied you."

"Kelly, stop!" Ryatt snapped, his voice rising, but she wasn't done.

"And you want to know when it started?" Kelly's smirk twisted into something cruel, something wicked. "Two years ago. Remember that trip to Switzerland for your first exhibit? When he said he couldn't go? He didn't go because we went on a vacation instead. A whole week. And we fucked every single day."

"Kelly!" Ryatt shouted, his voice breaking, but Kelly didn't care.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" she sneered. "Nobody wanted you, Sienna. Not Ryatt. Not me. Even when you started dating, he'd always said you were boring in bed. You're as boring as your goddamn art pieces."

A single tear slid down my cheek, hot and heavy with everything I had suppressed for years. I drew in a shaky breath, my chest rising and falling with the weight of it all. Then I looked at Ryatt—really looked at him.

All the years I'd wasted.

All the effort.

All the love.

All those moments and sacrifices.

Wasted.

"Sia, babe, please, listen to me—" Ryatt reached for my hand, but I yanked it away and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the bathroom, cutting through the suffocating silence. His head snapped to the side, his cheek reddening with the impact.

"I should have never loved you," I said, my voice low but steady. Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked out of the bathroom.

"Sienna, wait!" Ryatt called after me. Behind him, I heard Kelly's shrill voice shouting his name, but he didn't stop. He followed me anyway.

He grabbed my hand again, his grip desperate. "Babe, please. I'm sorry," he begged, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again. Please."

"Let go of me, Ryatt!" I shouted, yanking at my arm, but he pulled me closer, his grip like a vice.

His embrace... it disgusted me.

"I'm sorry, Sia. I'm so fucking sorry," he rambled, words tumbling out in a rush. "The thing with Kelly, it doesn't mean anything. I swear, I only love you."

"I said let go of me, you piece of shit!"

"Not until you say you've forgiven me," he insisted, his hold tightening as if that would somehow bind me to him.

Was this asshole out of his mind?

"I will never forgive you, you bastard! Now let go of me!"

"Sia, please—"

Before he could finish, the guards entered, their heavy boots echoing on the polished floor. Without hesitation, they pried him away from me.

I smoothed my dress, finally able to breathe. My chest rose and fell, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt the air return to my lungs.

"What the heck?" Ryatt's voice rose, confusion giving way to anger. "What the fuck is going on?"

"We've been ordered to escort you out, sir," one of the guards said firmly.

"What? Let go of me!" Ryatt struggled against their grip, his movements frantic, but the guards didn't so much as flinch. Instead, they dragged him toward the exit.

He kept yelling, kept calling my name, but I didn't look back. I didn't care anymore.

I walked away.

At the bar, I slid onto a stool and waved the bartender over. "Six shots," I said curtly.

He raised an eyebrow, hesitating, but when he saw the look on my face, he didn't ask questions. The glasses appeared before me in a neat row.

One by one, I downed them, each shot burning its way down my throat and spreading fire through my chest.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. With a harsh swipe of my hand, I wiped them away.

I wasn't going to cry.

Not over him. Not over Ryatt.

But the sobs clawed at my throat, threatening to break free. I pushed off the stool and stumbled toward the dance floor, needing to drown myself in the pulsing beat of the music.

The bass vibrated through the room, loud enough to drown out my thoughts. My body moved with the rhythm, swaying and undulating in smooth, deliberate motions.

I danced like it was the only thing holding me together, pouring everything I had into each movement. For a moment, I felt free—wild, untethered.

But then, the alcohol began to take its toll. My head swam, and the room spun in doubled, glitched shapes. People around me blurred into a chaotic mess of lights and shadows.

Before I could completely lose myself in the haze, strong arms looped around my waist, pulling me back against a solid, unyielding chest.

A soft gasp escaped my lips, but I didn't pull away. Not yet.

The scent hit me then—a familiar cologne, dark and intoxicating, stirring every nerve in my body. My senses snapped to attention.

And then, a deep, velvet-smooth voice whispered in my ear, "Hello, Flower."

My breath hitched.

Alexander.

"What... what are you doing here?" I stammered, my words shaky, my heart pounding against my ribs. I didn't dare turn around.

His lips curved into a smirk, the sensation brushing against my skin as he leaned in closer. He dragged his nose along the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply, his grip around my waist tightening.

"This is my club, Flower," he murmured, his voice laced with dangerous amusement. "So, I could say..." He pulled me sharply against him, our bodies colliding. A soft gasp slipped from my lips.

"You've just walked into the devil's den."