CHAPTER TWO

Sienna’s Pov

I woke up with my heart pounding a million miles a minute, a heavy weight sitting squarely on my chest. Last night's nightmare wasn't a dream. It was real. I sat up slowly in my small bed, my muscles aching, and reached blindly for my phone on the nightstand. 

When I unlocked the screen, notifications exploded across the display like firecrackers. My stomach dropped straight down to my toes.

Every single news app and social media platform was screaming my name.

“KANE INTERNATIONAL GALA POISONING: INCOMPETENT EVENT PLANNER BLAMED FOR MASS FOOD SICKNESS.”

I tapped on a major news article, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. The headline featured a picture of me standing near the stage, looking terrified right before Dominic Kane yelled at me. 

The article claimed that our family business, Crestline Events, had cut corners, ignored basic health codes, and used cheap, expired food just to save a few dollars. 

Commenters online were calling me a criminal, saying I should never work again, and demanding that I be sued into absolute poverty.

"This is a total lie!" I shouted aloud to my empty bedroom, hot tears of pure fury stinging the backs of my eyes.

I had checked every single tray. I had trusted the catering company, but I knew in my heart that I didn't make a careless mistake. 

Yet, none of that mattered to the internet mob. They loved having a villain, and I was the easiest target in the world.

Desperate to see the damage, I opened my work email. My chest tightened until it hurt. Three different emails sat at the top of my inbox. Meeting Cancelled. We are taking our business elsewhere. Due to recent news coverage, we cannot work with Crestline Events.

Just like that, our future vanished into thin air.

I threw on a simple sweater and jeans, barely brushing my hair, and rushed out the door. 

The subway ride to our small office downtown felt like a slow ride through torture. When I finally pushed open the glass door of our office, the air inside felt heavy and sad.

My mom was sitting at her old wooden desk, staring blankly at a piece of paper. Her graying hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and dark circles bruised the skin under her kind, tired eyes. 

When she heard me walk in, she quickly tried to force a bright, fake smile on her face, but she wasn't fooling anyone.

"Morning, sweetie," Mom said softly, her voice shaking just a little bit. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Mom, don't," I whispered, walking over and kneeling beside her chair. I gently took her fragile hands in mine. "Have you seen the news?"

Mom’s smile completely faded. She looked down at the paper on her desk and pushed it closer to me. It was a bright pink paper envelope with bold black letters. A final eviction notice.

"The landlord came by early this morning," Mom explained, her voice barely above a whisper, trying so hard to stay brave for my sake. "He said if we don't pay the back rent by the end of the week, he has to lock the doors. And... and our health insurance company called about my upcoming treatment. They denied coverage for the specialized therapy. We have to pay out of pocket, or we stop the treatments."

Hearing those words felt like someone had punched the wind right out of my lungs. My mom was sick, our business was crashing and burning because of a lie, we were about to lose our office, and we had zero money left.

"No," I said fiercely, shaking my head as tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. "No, we are not stopping your treatments. I will fix this. I promise you, Mom. I will find the money somehow."

Mom stroked my hair gently, a sad, helpless look in her eyes. "Oh, Sienna, how? The whole city thinks you ruined that gala. Nobody is going to hire us now."

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed loudly on the desk. I pulled it out, expecting another angry message or a cancellation email. Instead, an unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. I frowned and pressed accept, holding the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice cold and guarded.

"Is this Sienna Brooks?" a smooth, professional voice asked. It sounded like a man who was very used to giving orders and having people obey instantly.

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Marcus. I am Dominic Kane's personal assistant," the voice replied calmly.

Hearing that name made my blood instantly boil. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. All the anger from the night before rushed right back into my veins.

"If Dominic wants to yell at me again, you can tell him to save his breath," I snapped, loud enough that my mom jumped in her chair and looked at me with wide eyes. 

"I don't have anything to say to him. He already ruined my reputation, and he made his cruel opinions very clear. So you can lose my number."

I went to press the red end call button on the screen, but Marcus spoke quickly before I could hang up.

"Wait, Ms. Brooks. Please don't hang up," Marcus said, his tone surprisingly polite, holding zero anger. "Mr. Kane is not calling to yell at you. He wants to request a private meeting."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. A private meeting? After he publicly humiliated me in front of hundreds of rich socialites and destroyed my career? Was he going to hand me a stack of legal papers and threaten to sue me for millions? Or did he want to enjoy watching me cry in his big, fancy skyscraper office?

"A private meeting?" I scoffed, my voice shaking with anger. "You've got to be kidding me. Tell your boss that I am not interested. I wouldn't step foot near him or his company ever again if my life depended on it. Goodbye."

"Ms. Brooks, wait," Marcus said again, his voice remaining totally calm and steady, like a man who was used to people yelling at him. 

"Mr. Kane understands that you are angry, and he knows you have every right to be. But this meeting is important. And before you say no completely... Mr. Kane is willing to pay you for your time."

I froze. The words echoed in my head. Pay you for your time.

My eyes darted across the room to the bright pink eviction notice sitting on my mom's desk. Then I thought about the hospital bills, the empty bank account, and the mounting debts crushing my family into dust. 

I hated Dominic Kane with every single ounce of my soul. I wanted nothing to do with him. But desperation is a heavy, ugly thing, and it has a way of making you listen to things you never thought you would.

My mouth opened, but for a second, no words came out.