Todos los capítulos de Ruined by Desire: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

Sienna had forgotten how quiet her Monaco apartment could be. Not peaceful quiet or comforting quiet. It was the kind of quiet that reminded her she had once lived here alone, worked here alone, slept here alone — and had fully expected to keep doing so for years.The door clicked shut behind her, and dust motes drifted lazily through the slanted afternoon light. Her suitcase wheels bumped over the threshold. The air smelled faintly of old coffee grounds and the lavender candle she’d burned the last night she stayed here. That felt like a lifetime ago.Luca stepped in behind her, his presence filling the small space instantly. He didn’t belong in apartments like this — too small, too human, too lived‑in. He belonged in penthouses with glass walls and private elevators. He belonged on yachts with champagne chilling in silver buckets. He belonged in places where the world bent around him.And yet he stood here, in her cram

London greeted her with a familiar chill, the kind that slipped beneath her coat and settled against her skin like an old memory. The sky was a muted grey, the kind she’d grown up under, the kind she’d once thought she’d escaped forever. But as the plane descended and the city unfolded beneath her — the winding Thames, the clusters of brick buildings, the blur of traffic — she felt something she hadn’t expected. Relief. A quiet, steady exhale she hadn’t realized se’d been holding. She stepped out of Heathrow with her camera bag slung over her shoulder, her suitcase rolling behind her, and the cool air brushing her cheeks. For the first time in months, she wasn’t stepping into Luca’s world. She wasn’t walking into a penthouse or a yacht or a place where people whispered his name like a currency. She was stepping into her own life again — the one she’d built long bef

London had a way of draining her in the best and worst ways. By the time Sienna stepped out of the studio that evening, her shoulders ached, her fingers were stiff from hours of shooting, and her brain buzzed with lighting adjustments, model notes, and the creative director’s endless revisions. The Maison Laurent campaign was exhilarating, but it demanded everything — precision, instinct, stamina, artistry.She loved it. She also wanted to collapse face‑first into a pillow.The sky was already dark, the city lights reflecting off wet pavement from a brief rain shower. She pulled her coat tighter around her and walked toward the apartment, her camera bag weighing heavily against her hip. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but she welcomed it. It kept her awake. It kept her grounded.She reached the building, swiped the keycard Luca had insisted she take, and stepped into the quiet lobby. The elevator hummed softly as it carried her upwa

The momentum built slowly at first — a whisper, a ripple, a quiet hum beneath the surface — and then, all at once, it surged.By the end of the week, the Maison Laurent campaign had become the center of London’s fashion orbit. The studio buzzed with a kind of electric anticipation each morning, the kind that made even the most seasoned stylists straighten their posture and the models arrive ten minutes early. It wasn’t just the brand’s prestige. It wasn’t even the collection.It was the photographer.Sienna Vale.She didn’t notice it at first. She was too focused, too immersed in the work to see the way people watched her. She moved through the studio with her camera in hand, adjusting lighting, directing models, reviewing shots with the creative director. Her world narrowed to angles and shadows and the subtle shift of expression she could coax from a model with a single quiet instruction.

Luca had always understood himself. He knew his strengths, his flaws, his temper, and the edges of his control. He knew how people saw him and how to use that perception to his advantage. He knew how to command a room, how to silence a crowd, how to make the world bend without ever raising his voice. He had lived his entire adult life with the certainty of a man who had never needed to question his place in it. Which was why the feeling that crept into him over the next few days unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. It began quietly, almost imperceptibly, the morning after the Vogue article. Sienna left early for the studio, her mind already racing ahead to the day’s shoot. She kissed him goodbye with a distracted softness, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, and he watched her go with a warmth that lingered long after the door closed. But once the apartment fell silent, he felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t dramatic. I