Chapter 1

Sienna's POV

There’s a very specific kind of silence that comes after a landlord says, “You’ve got till Friday.”

It’s not peaceful. It’s not thoughtful.

I stared at my reflection in the microwave, holding a lonely slice of bread with no matching spread, wondering if breakfast could count as just vibes.

Rent was long overdue. My bank account had $20.00.

And to top it off, the fan in my room now made a wheezing sound like it was slowly dying of heartbreak.

My phone buzzed. ~Remember you have till Friday. No excuses.~

I threw the bread back into the plastic bag and groaned into my hands. I wasn’t dramatic by nature, but this? This felt like a good time for a breakdown montage with sad music and rain.

Instead, I got a knock at the door.

I jumped. Paused.

Another knock.

Landlord? Loan collector?

I opened it a crack—just enough to peek.

“Oh thank God, you’re home!”

Liz barreled inside, one fake eyelash hanging on for dear life. “Please, I need your help.”

“I’m not babysitting your nephews again,” I warned. “Those twin boys are feral.”

“No, not them. Today is… different. Can you pretend to be someone for, like, tonight? Please?”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Surely not.

“Come on, girl.” She kicked the door shut behind her. “Before you say no—”

“I’m already saying no.”

“—there’s this rich lady I served at the restaurant today. She told her friends she needs someone to pretend to be her at The Velvet Room tonight. Some private event. I said I knew someone who could.”

“A joke, right?”

“I may have already told her you’d do it.” Liz winced. “And if I back out, I would be in trouble. Rich people have… networks. Shadowy ones. Like Yelp, but scarier. Please. Just two hours. Cash in hand. We split it forty-sixty.”

“Sixty-forty,” I corrected.

“Deal.” She didn’t even hesitate.

My rich-girl fantasy lasted exactly until I remembered reality—my new delivery job. Glamorous, right? It kept the lights on—most nights—but this gig? This could actually help. All I had to do was not mess it up.

“But what if I get caught?” I muttered as I strapped on my helmet. The question hung in the air like a bad smell.

I shook it off, humming Money, Money, Money like a broke-girl musical star.

---

My first delivery was at a hospital. Simple. In, out, boom. I dropped off the brown paper bag and was halfway through congratulating myself when I spotted someone who made my soul jump out of my body—

Trey. One of the debt collectors.

“Not today,” I hissed, spinning so fast I nearly knocked over a gurney.

And then I smacked into someone.

Hard.

I stumbled back, mid-apology, when the man I’d hit recoiled—violently—like I’d slapped him. His face twisted in disgust, and he wiped his sleeve as if I’d smeared disease on him.

He pushed me.

I fell.

In the most undignified moment of my adult life, I let out a yelp that echoed down the corridor.

Trey spotted me instantly.

“Sienna?” he called. Of course.

Crap.

I curled forward, clutching my stomach. “Ahh—my belly—my appendix! Or kidney! Something is… paining me…”

The man I’d collided with barely glanced back, striding away with stiff shoulders and coldness. Rude.

Trey rushed over, rant already loading. “You! You think I wouldn’t find you? You think you can just disappear—”

I groaned louder, rolling slightly to make it look real. “It’s my appendix. Maybe. Or something serious. I think I’m dying.”

“Wait—you okay? Should I get a nurse?”

“Yes—no—maybe,” I gasped, pressing my hand to my stomach like I’d seen in dramas.

He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before his gaze hardened again.

Two hours later, I was still in a hospital bed pretending to have cramps while Trey waited in the lobby like a bouncer at the gates of my nightmares. I couldn’t risk walking past him.

When I finally attempted a quiet escape out the back, I managed to tiptoe to the parking lot, duck behind a car, and hide.

Five seconds later, the car drove off. With me still leaning on it.

I ended up on the ground, dusty, defeated, and questioning my life choices.

I scrambled behind a second car, heart pounding.

Footsteps approached.

“Miss?” a voice said.

I held my breath.

“Miss, will you excuse me?” Irritated now. “I want to take something out of my boot.”

Boot?

I peeked up—and nearly choked.

The same man from earlier. Pushy, rude, rich-looking.

My pulse slammed. Every hair on my neck stood up.

I shot upright—then immediately dropped back down when I spotted Trey scanning the lot.

“I’m just… uh… looking for my necklace,” I stammered, pretending to search the ground.

He stared at me like I was some crazy being.

Honestly, fair.

I crawled to hide behind the next car.

Eventually, Trey gave up.

By the time I got back to the delivery office, my manager looked like he was two seconds from weaponising his clipboard.

“Where have you been?” he barked. “Three customers say they didn’t get their food.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

He docked my pay. Of course he did.

Fantastic.

The fan in my room was wheezing again. Or sobbing. Honestly, same.

---

That evening, Liz appeared dressed like a knockoff Kardashian, smelling faintly of perfume samples.

“Hope you didn’t forget about tonight,” she said, shoving a garment bag at me. “She’s expecting you at The Velvet Room. Be confident. Be classy. Be not yourself.”

“Wow. Inspirational.”

The outfit inside the bag screamed expensive—and also, don’t breathe near me. Liz styled my hair, gave me a pep talk that was 60% encouragement and 40% threat, then pushed me into a cab.

The Velvet Room looked unreal. Tall glass doors. Soft golden lights. A fountain that sparkled like it were filtered. Even the pavement glowed.

The cab stopped, and a man in a black suit opened the door with a professional nod, as if I belonged here.

I stepped out, channelling every etiquette video I’d ever watched at 2x speed.

I approached the entrance, handed the hostess a sleek black envelope, and held my breath.

She scanned it. “Welcome, Miss Vanessa. Enjoy your evening.”

Miss Vanessa. Me. Tonight.

Inside, everything was warm gold and soft shimmer. Chandeliers glittered overhead. Guests floated around with champagne flutes, laughing at jokes that weren’t funny.

Rich people carried themselves like they’d never once checked a bank balance.

For thirty minutes, I moved through the room like I belonged. My fingers curled around the champagne flute without hesitation.

I laughed at a joke I didn’t get, letting my shoulders drop for the first time all night. I floated past the guests, heels clicking softly, eyes scanning the glittering crowd, pretending the weight of bills and debt didn’t exist.

Then I saw him.

Tall. Dressed in black.

The rude man from the hospital.

Our eyes met.

I froze.

His gaze lingered. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Oh no.

Not him.

Not here.