All Chapters of While Marrying Mr. Steele: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

POV: Sienna (her pov)“You’re playing a dangerous game, Sienna.”Marco’s voice was, almost bored, as he leaned back in the leather chair by the window. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber catching the dim light, and watched me as I closed the suite door behind me.I kicked off my heels, smiling faintly. “I’ve always been good at games,” I said, my tone light, teasing. “And don’t pretend you don’t like it.”“Like it?” His brow arched as he brought the glass to his lips, pausing just long enough to smirk faintly at me. “No. But I do enjoy watching you ruin yourself.”“Oh, Marco,” I sighed dramatically, stepping out of my jacket and draping it carelessly over the sofa. “You’ve been saying that for years. And yet here I am. Still here. Still… worth keeping.”He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, though his dark eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re broke, Sienna.”“Temporarily,” I corrected smoothly, crossing to the little bar cart without looking at him.“You’re broke

I pressed my shoulder into the door until I heard the latch click. Then I turned the key and slid the chain into place, every little metallic sound somehow louder than it should have been.For a moment I just stood there, leaning against the wood, palms pressed flat against it as if I could somehow keep the whole world outside. My breath came fast and uneven. My bag lay forgotten by my feet where I’d dropped it.The quiet in the room rang in my ears.I stumbled to the bed and sat down hard, clutching the edge of the mattress with both hands. My fingers curled into the fabric as my eyes blurred. I didn’t even bother wiping at my cheeks when the first tears came, hot and angry.I’d kept it together long enough down there, long enough to pack my bag, to sit in that room and pretend I didn’t see her watching him. But now the air felt thick, stifling.I sobbed into my hands until my throat felt raw.After a while I got up and went to the little sink, turning the cold tap and splashing my f

"Amelia… please. Can we talk?"I stopped with my hand on the door.Ethan stood behind me in the hallway, his tie loosened, his voice softer than I expected. The storm roared outside, wind whistling down the corridor, rattling the shutters like they could come off any second.“Not now,” I said, without turning.He stepped closer, his cane clicking faintly. “You shouldn’t walk around with your hand like that. It looks—bad. You’re still bleeding through the bandage.”“It’s fine,” I cut in.“I just want to—”“Ethan.” I finally turned my head, just enough for him to see my face. “Go.”He stood there a moment longer, his brow furrowed like he was about to protest, but the words never came. Eventually he sighed and stepped back.The shutters groaned again as he walked away.****Dinner was already underway when I slipped into the dinning room.The long table was bright with candles and gleaming cutlery, but the guests looked weary, restless, like they’d all run out of polite small talk hours

"Amelia… open the door. Please."I stood there for what felt like forever, my hand resting flat against the wood of our bedroom door. My voice didn’t even sound like mine anymore.“Ethan… go away,” she finally said, soft but sharp enough to sting.“Just five minutes,” I tried again. “We can fix this. I—”“No,” she cut me off. A pause, then the sound of the lock turning.I dropped my hand, letting it fall uselessly at my side. My chest ached like I’d been holding my breath for hours.I stood there another few seconds, just staring at the door. Then I turned and walked back down the hallway, the uneven click of my cane the only sound keeping me company.****The storm hadn’t let up. If anything, it was worse now. Rain hammered the windows so hard you could hear it even in the lounge. The wind groaned through the chimney like something alive.I sat in the corner chair, the one I always chose when I wanted to disappear. A half-full glass of scotch sat on the table in front of me. The bott

Ethan's pov I stood outside her door longer than I’d like to admit.The tray shook slightly in my hand. Two cups of coffee, still steaming. A plate of those tiny lemon pastries she liked.What the hell was I even doing?I cleared my throat and knocked with my knuckle. “Amelia? It’s… me.” No answer, not that I was expecting a warm welcome. If she decided never to speak to me again I'll accept that.I tried again, a little louder this time. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”A faint shuffle came from inside, like she’d moved closer. But she didn’t open the door.I let out a short laugh under my breath, though it sounded more like defeat. “Right. Not like I deserve you answering.”I bent to set the tray on the little table outside her door — and felt my cane slide out from under me. The wet tile under my bad leg was slick, and I went down hard, one knee cracking against the marble with a dull smack.“Shit,” I hissed, grabbing for the table as the tray tipped over, cups spilling everywher