Chapter 2

Sienna’s POV 

I slowly took the papers from him, with no true intention of arguing further. 

My eyes skimmed the pages without really absorbing them— confidentiality, non-disclosure, no public statements regarding our relationship or anything about Apex Industries, in exchange for one hundred thousand dollars, payable upon signing.

A price tag. That’s what three years of my life had become.

“And if I refuse?” I asked, though I already knew the answer wouldn’t change anything.

“Then we’ll have a much longer conversation,” Chloe cut in smoothly, arms crossed, “with lawyers who are far less generous than Damian is right now.”

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. I took the pen from Damian’s outstretched hand and signed my name at the bottom of each page. 

Damian folded the signed papers into his jacket, then reached into the other pocket and pulled out a checkbook, scrawling quickly before tearing the check free. 

“For the compensation,” he said, holding it toward me.

Chloe’s hand shot out and plucked it from between his fingers before it ever reached mine.

“Damian,” she said, tilting her head at him with fake concern, “don’t you need this for the Meridian expansion? You told me yourself it’s been consuming cash this quarter.”

She turned the check over in her fingers. “I’m sure Sienna can sort herself out.”

I looked at Damian, waiting for him to correct her. 

“Sure, my love.” He turned to me, his eyes devoid of any form of sympathy. “Sienna is a smart woman. She will sort herself out.” 

Chloe tucked the check into her bag like it had always belonged to her. 

I didn’t ask for it back. I didn’t want anything that had to be fought for in front of her.

“Keep it,” I said quietly, my voice steadier than I felt. “I never needed his money to survive him.” 

I was already turning to leave when Chloe’s voice rooted me to the spot. 

“Sienna.” 

A smirk tugged across her lips as I turned to her, Damian’s hand slowly rubbing her stomach. 

“You wouldn’t want to miss our marriage and the dedication of our child. I promise to invite you.” 

I turned away and walked out, not letting my face crack until I'd rounded the corner and made sure they couldn’t hear me. 

The tears came running like a broken dam. I couldn’t let anyone see me that way, so I took the service elevator and rode it up. 

Floor after floor, until the doors opened onto the rooftop terrace used for private client dinners. 

I made my way to the railing, the city sprawled out beneath me in a blur of lights I couldn’t see even appreciate. 

I pressed a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound, my shoulders shaking with every silent sob.

“That’s quite a view to be crying in front of.”

I spun around, startled, swiping quickly at my face. A man stood a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark overcoat, watching me with quiet curiosity rather than pity.

“I didn’t realize anyone else was up here,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“I like to disappear during these things too.” He stepped a little closer, keeping a respectful distance. “Aren’t you Damian’s  secretary?”

I nodded, not bothering to correct the assumption. It was easier than explaining what I actually was to Damian or what I used to be, and clearly was no longer.

“So what’s making Damian’s secretary cry alone on a rooftop instead of celebrating downstairs?”

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, wrapping my arms around myself against the cold.

He shrugged off his overcoat and held it toward me. “You’re freezing. Take this.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“It’s the wind,” I lied, glancing down instinctively at my stomach, though nothing showed yet. 

Accepting a stranger’s coat felt like one more thing I couldn’t afford to owe someone tonight. 

But when he insisted, I gave in halfway, pulling just the edge of it around my shoulders without putting my arms through the sleeves.

“So what are you doing up here?” I asked, needing to steer the conversation away from myself. “Hiding from the party too?”

“Something like that.” He leaned against the railing beside me. “I came up to clear my head.”

“Really?” I arched my brow. Everyone downstairs had a reason to be there…networking, celebrating. Not many people slipped away just to think.

“Yes,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Though ‘clearing my head’ is a generous way of putting it. I’m trying to make a decision, and downstairs wasn’t helping.”

“What kind of decision?”

He studied me for a moment, as if weighing whether I was actually asking or just being polite. 

“I’m launching a new venture in  Barcelona,” he said. “Renewable infrastructure…solar and battery storage. The kind of thing that takes years to turn a profit, and even longer to convince investors it’s worth the risk.”

“Then why do it?” I asked.

“Because someone has to,” he said. “And because the market everyone’s chasing right now is already saturated. Spain’s energy regulations shifted last year in a way most people haven’t caught onto yet. Whoever moves first gets a five-year head start nobody else can buy back.”

I found myself nodding slowly, my tears momentarily forgotten. “That’s the same logic Damian used when we broke into logistics before anyone thought shipping tech was worth investing in,” I said. “Everyone thought he was reckless. He wasn’t. He just read the regulatory shift months before his competitors did.”

He went quiet, studying me with new interest. “You know a lot. For a secretary.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. 

“I sat in on enough meetings to pick things up,” I said carefully. 

“Also it was my idea.” 

I mean, the majority of the ideas that have brought Apex industry this far has been mine. 

He tilted his head to me with a small smile on his face. “What’s your name?”

“Sienna.”

“Marcus,” he said, extending a hand, which I shook briefly. “So, Sienna…if you understand market logic like that, why are you still just sitting in meetings?”

The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, too ashamed to say I stopped chasing my dreams to build another. 

“I need someone to run operations on the ground in Barcelona,” he continued.

“Someone who understands infrastructure, regulation, timing.” 

He stopped for a moment, then asked. 

“Could you be that someone?” 

I shook my head instinctively. “I can’t. I have responsibilities here. I can’t just leave the country.”

“I’m not asking you to decide tonight,” he said, unbothered by the refusal. “Just think about it.” 

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card, holding it toward me between two fingers. “When you’re ready to stop sitting in meetings for someone else’s company.”

I hesitated before taking it, “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”