CAN SOMEONE PLZ TELL ME THE TITLE OF THE NOVEL??? I read it in a free link but there is no updates after chapter 25 and I couldn't find the right title

My boyfriend of 3 years cheated. With. My. Stepsister.

I was literally recovering from surgery alone while he was warming her hands on the ski slope.

So I said yes to a blind date my mom forced on me.

Wrong table. But we got married that same afternoon.

Now my ex is crying, grabbing my wrist, "Enna, can we start over?"

My husband steps forward, arm around me, smiles coldly, "Sorry bro, that's MY wife.

"And you're pulling on the wrong woman."

Who's my flash husband?

His mortal enemy since childhood.

---

“Enna, my uncle’s got a girlfriend now!”

Sienna Ballard woke to the sharp sting of hospital disinfectant burning her nostrils. The fresh surgical scar on her lower right abd0men throbbed with every shallow breath—she’d just had her appendix removed hours earlier. Before they wheeled her into the OR, she’d sent Jonathan Callahan a quick text: Surgery soon. Wish you were here. No reply. Not then. Not now.

Her phone buzzed. It was Jocelyn Callahan—her best friend and, unknowingly, Jonathan’s niece.

Sienna’s grip tightened until her knuckles blanched white. Her voice came out thin, strained. “You… already know?”

“Wait—what? You know too?” Jocelyn paused, then laughed lightly. “Ohhh, right. You’re his secretary. Of course you’d hear the office gossip first. Wild, right? I kept wondering why he stayed single forever. Turns out he was just… waiting for her.”

Her?

Sienna’s lungs seized.

“But Kassidy is so annoying,” Jocelyn went on, whining. “That fake baby voice, total pick-me energy. What is Uncle Jonathan even thinking?”

For one terrified heartbeat Sienna thought Jocelyn had discovered her secret three-year affair with Jonathan. But no—this was about someone else. Jonathan was publicly dating another woman?

Pain lanced through her incision. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper and forced out, “Jocie… are you sure?”

Just weeks ago—before his overseas trip—Jonathan had pulled her na..ked body against his every night, strong arms locked around her waist, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear until her breathing slowed and she drifted off in the cradle of his warmth. How could that same man now want someone else?

Jocelyn sʌked her teeth. “One hundred percent. Hang on—I’m videoing you.”

The audio cut. A video call popped up.

“Enna, look—pink ski suit? That’s Kassidy. Black one next to her is Jonathan.”

The footage was distant, but unmistakable. “Ugh, disgusting. They’re all over each other. He’s literally cupping her hands to warm them… and—yep, they just kissed. Right in front of me. I’m about to hurl.”

Sienna’s stomach twisted worse than the surgical wound. She knew that focused, possessive look on Jonathan’s face. He’d worn it when he pinned her wrists above her head against his headboard, murmuring filthy promises against her throat while he drove into her slow and deep, drawing out every shudder until she begged.

He’d sworn he’d go public when she hit twenty-five. Five days from now.

Instead, at her most vulnerable—stitches still fresh, body aching—he was living his public fantasy with another woman.

A nurse pushed the door open. “Bed 36—dressing change time.”

Jocelyn’s voice sharpened. “Enna? Are you in the hospital?”

Sienna swallowed the lump in her throat. “No… just visiting a friend who’s sick. Talk later, Jocie.”

“Okay! WhatsApp me!”

The phone vibrated again. Sienna clutched it, heart hammering, silently begging the universe. But it was only Jocelyn:

“Enna, I seriously used to think Jonathan was gay. Turns out he’s into the whole princess vibe.”

“She kinda looks like you, tho.”

Sienna had heard that comparison her whole life.

She and Kassidy Stafford shared no blood. After Sienna’s father died, her mother remarried into the Stafford family, bringing Kassidy along as her new stepsister.

Sienna squeezed her eyes shut, closed the chat—and a Twitter notification flashed.

From Kassidy.

“My personal coach!”

Followed by a giggling emoji and a fresh photo: Kassidy beaming, Jonathan gazing down at her with unmistakable tenderness. Taken minutes ago.

For three years Sienna had begged Jonathan for a single photo together—any proof they existed. He always refused.

Now she understood: it wasn’t the camera he hated. It was being seen with her.

In the picture his eyes were soft, utterly consumed by Kassidy. Seconds later a comment appeared.

JC: My princess.

Sienna’s nails carved half-moons into her palms. She tapped his profile anyway—punishing herself.

Valentine’s. Christmas. New Year’s.

Every “late night at the office,” every “business trip,” every “client dinner”—he’d been sliding between Kassidy’s th1ghs, tasting her, whispering the same dirty praises he once growled against Sienna’s skin while she came apart beneath him.

The betrayal carved deeper than any scalpel. Ice settled in her marrow; breathing hurt.

So she’d only ever been Kassidy’s stand-in? A warm body until the real prize came home?

Something inside her snapped.

Sienna grabbed her phone and texted her mother, Ariella Wagner.

“Mom, that blind date? I’ll do it.”

Ariella—who rarely wasted warmth on her—replied almost instantly.

“Finally. Address in your messages—Room 1012. And behave properly. Understood?”

A bitter, sarcastic smile curved Sienna’s mouth. Of course Ariella was desperate to trade her for a profitable match.

Once the IV finished, she flagged a taxi to the restaurant.

Meanwhile, after skiing with Kassidy, Jonathan glanced at his phone—several missed calls—and hesitated.

He thumbed the screen to return one when Kassidy’s voice floated over, sweet and needy.

“Jonty… my boots are soaked through.”

###Chapter 2

He locked the device, eyes softening with that familiar indulgent smile. “Coming, baby. Sit still—I’ll take care of you.”

Sienna must be fine in home. What could possibly be wrong?

Sienna had long since stopped expecting her mother to put any real effort into finding her a decent match for this blind date.

Ever since Ariella remarried into the Stafford family, every ounce of her attention and affection had gone straight to Kassidy—the perfect, pampered stepdaughter.

Sienna was numb to the favoritism by now. It was just background noise.

She took a steadying breath, pushed open the door to private room 1012, and froze.

The man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window wasn’t some middle-aged businessman her mother would normally pick.

He was tall—easily six-foot-three—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow, athletic waist, one hand casually tucked in his trouser pocket. The late-afternoon light outlined every clean line of him. Relaxed. Almost indolent.

He glanced over at the sound of the door. A brief flash of surprise crossed his face; one dark, sharply arched brow lifted.

She had to admit it—he was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair.

Sienna pressed her lips together, closed the door behind her with a soft click, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat. She waited in silence while he finished his call.

When he ended it, he turned fully, sat down, and let his gaze slide over her. His eyes narrowed just slightly.

“You are…”

“Sienna Ballard. Your blind date.” She met his stare evenly. “If you think we could make this work, I’m open to getting married. Right away.”

Jonathan’s callous betrayal had stripped away any illusions she once held about men and love.

It no longer mattered who the groom was.

All she needed now was a ring on her finger and a legal shield.

A slow, faint smile curved the corner of his mouth. His voice came out low, lazy, edged with the faintest rasp.

“Get married?”

She squared her shoulders. “Yes. That’s the entire point of an arranged marriage like this, isn’t it? You can keep as many mistresses as you want—I won’t interfere. Sleep with whoever, whenever. Just don’t expect me to play nanny to any illegitimate children you father along the way. I’ll pretend they don’t exist, and that’s the most involvement you’ll get from me.”

She kept going, words coming faster now.

“A one-year contract would be ideal. For those twelve months I’ll be the model wife in public—perfect smiles, arm candy, whatever’s required. After the year is up, we dissolve it cleanly.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“And don’t worry about money. I won’t touch a cent of your family’s fortune. If you want extra security, we can sign a prenup today. Ironclad.

If the terms sound acceptable, we can draft a simple agreement right now. What do you say?”

In her mind she was being more than reasonable.

For a man who clearly played the field, a quiet, obedient cover wife who asked for nothing would be a gift.

But the way he looked at her…

His gaze felt like the black depths of the ocean at midnight—cold, searching, pulling at something low in her belly. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.

“Sure,” he drawled, that rasp deepening just enough to send a faint shiver down her spine.

He paused, eyes never leaving hers.

“It’s still early. Want to get married now?”

***

By 5:30 p.m. Sienna stepped out of City Hall, the fresh marriage license clutched in slightly trembling fingers.

She slipped it into her bag without reading the names printed on it.

It didn’t feel real.

She was *married*?

To a complete stranger?

Wasn’t this… insanely fast?

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“What’s wrong? Regretting it already?”

She shook her head quickly. “Nothing to regret. I just—there’s something I need to handle. I should go.”

“Wait.” His hand closed lightly around her wrist, stopping her mid-step.

The contact was cool, deliberate. Her skin prickled where his fingertips pressed.

“What’s your number?”

Right.

They were legally bound now. Not exchanging contacts would be absurd.

She recited the digits; he dialed immediately. Her phone buzzed in her palm.

She still hadn’t looked at his name on the certificate.

“You’re…”

“Messiah.”

“Spell it for me?” She held her phone out.

He took it, their fingers brushing—his skin noticeably cooler than hers, sending another small, involuntary jolt through her.

He typed slowly, deliberately, then handed it back.

She glanced down.

Messiah.

“Okay.” She swallowed. “Should we… go our separate ways now?”

She needed to get to Jonathan’s villa before she lost her nerve—pack her things, erase every trace of the last three years she’d spent warming his bed, cooking for him at 3 a.m., arching under him while he whispered how good she felt clenching around him.

###Chapter 3

Messiah gave a small nod, expression unreadable.

“Want a ride?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take a cab.”

They separated without another word.

Less than five minutes later, her phone lit up with a new WhatsApp message from the number she’d just saved.

Your Husband.

Heat crept into her cheeks despite herself.

When she went to set his contact name, her thumb hovered… then typed simply:

Messiah

They’d agreed to act the part of a loving couple for one full year.

He’d solved her most urgent problem in a single afternoon.

She would hold up her end—convincingly.

The man she used to keep pinned at the very top of her chat list still hadn’t answered any of her messages.

With a quiet, bitter smile she long-pressed his profile, unpinned the conversation, and blocked the number.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

***

Later, standing on the sidewalk with the marriage license still in her hand, Sienna dialed her mother.

“Mom, I did it. I went through with the setup. I’ll play along with the marriage alliance like you wanted.”

Her voice hardened. “But about our original deal—the one where I get a position in Dad’s company? Forget that. I want something else.”

Her father had been the only son, no close male heirs. When he died, the boutique hotel chain he’d built from nothing passed to Ariella to manage.

After the remarriage, Ariella lost interest almost immediately, delegating daily operations to her brother’s side of the family while she clung tightly to the controlling shares.

Ariella’s tone was wary. “And what exactly do you want?”

Sienna’s smile was pure sarcasm.

“All the shares still registered in your name. Every last one.

And Kassidy has to move out of Silveroak Villa. Completely.”

Silveroak Villa was the modest house her parents had shared right after their wedding—the place where Sienna had spent her earliest, happiest years chasing fireflies in the garden and falling asleep to the sound of her father reading bedtime stories.

After her father’s death she’d moved in with her grandparents in the city; the villa sat empty for years.

Then, two years ago, Ariella handed the keys to Kassidy so she could use it as a private piano practice space. Now every room smelled like Kassidy’s perfume and was cluttered with her designer clutter.

Sienna was finished letting other people live in her memories.

Ariella sighed, clearly unbothered by the house itself. To her it was just property with a pretty view nestled between hills and water. The Staffords had plenty of houses.

“Fine. I’ll transfer Silveroak Villa into your name. But the shares, Enna… don’t you think you’re asking for too much?”

Sienna gave a short, humorless laugh.

“Mom, Grandma and I were both legal heirs when Dad died. How is claiming what’s rightfully ours ‘too much’?”

Ariella’s tone shifted—irritated, but not willing to fight.

“Once your marriage to the Stewart family is properly finalized and made public, I’ll sign over the shares.”

Sienna ended the call without another word.

She wasn’t worried about Ariella reneging.

If her mother tried, she’d walk into the nearest lawyer’s office and file for divorce the same afternoon.

Messiah slid behind the wheel of his electric-purple Bugatti, the engine snarling to life beneath him like a barely-leashed predator. He tore through the city streets toward the Stuart family mansion, windows down, letting the night air wh1p against his skin. The faint scent of Sienna’s perfume still clung to his collar from when their hands brushed earlier—clean, faintly floral, unexpectedly addictive. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, remembering the exact moment her pulse jumped under his touch.

He pulled into the long driveway, kilIed the engine, and strode through the massive double doors.

Colter Stewart stood in the foyer like a storm cloud, arms crossed, face carved from granite. The moment Messiah stepped inside, a glossy gossip magazine sailed through the air and landed at his feet with a slap.

“Last time it was some random model nobody’s ever heard of,” Colter growled. “This time a D-list star? You trying to put me in an early grave?”

Messiah let out a low, amused chuckle, bending to retrieve the magazine and casually brushing invisible dust from the cover. “Relax, Dad. If you keel over, who’s left to lecture me about settling down?”

Colter’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. “You little— What sin did I commit to end up with a son like you?”

The tabloid headlines weren’t what truly enraged him.

It was the photos inside—always men, always young, always draped over Messiah in compromising poses. Colter couldn’t stomach the possibility that his only child, born late in life after years of longing for an heir, might never produce a legitimate successor. The Stuart name—forged in battlefields, expanded into a sprawling empire spanning real estate, technology, finance, healthcare, and beyond—would die with Messiah if he didn’t produce a son.

###Chapter 4

“I don’t care who you screw in private,” Colter bit out. “But you will get married this year. I just heard Rafael Callahan’s boy is locking in a marriage alliance with the Callahan girl. Rafael’s already gloating. You really going to let me lose to that smug bas-tard after everything?”

The Stuart-Callahan feud was generational poison.

Colter’s late wife had once been Rafael Callahan’s first love; the love triangle had scarred both families for decades. Since then the rivalry had spilled into every arena—business deals, children, charity galas, even who could produce the most grandchildren. Colter had dominated every round. He refused to let Messiah hand Rafael the final victory.

Messiah’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, voice dragging with lazy amusement.

“Getting married…”

He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the crisp, newly minted marriage license. “Already handled. Right here. Want a look?”

Colter’s scowl fractured. “You *did*?”

His eyes widened comically. “Hand it over!”

Messiah passed the document over with mock ceremony. “Need your reading glasses, old man?”

“Shut it!” Colter snatched the paper, scanning it furiously.

Messiah Stuart.

Sienna Ballard.

Date: today.

“You didn’t fake this just to screw with me, did you?” Suspicion lingered in his tone.

Messiah shrugged one shoulder. “Too much effort. If you’re still doubting, I’ll bring her by sometime. Let you see for yourself.”

Colter stared at the names again, softer now. “Sienna Ballard… pretty name.” Then his eyes narrowed. “What’d you do—blackmail her? Threaten her?”

Messiah’s smile turned wicked, edged with something darker. “Dad… behave. We don’t want to scare my new wife away on day one.”

Inside, though, a different question circled lazily in his mind:

How long until Sienna realized she’d accidentally married the wrong man?

***

Sienna dragged her two suitcases down the front steps of Jonathan’s villa, the late-afternoon sun slanting gold across the driveway. The maid—arms full of grocery bags—froze when she saw her.

“Ms. Ballard? Business trip?”

Sienna forced a small, polite smile. “Yes.”

“Oh! I didn’t know. I just stocked the fridge—your favorites are in there. When will you be back? Text me ahead and I’ll make that mushroom risotto you love.”

Come back.

The word landed like a slap.

Sienna’s smile thinned. Soon another woman would be mistress here—sliding between Jonathan’s silk sheets, m0aning his name while he gripped her h1ps the way he used to grip Sienna’s, driving into her until she shattered around him. There would be no coming back.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m leaving now.”

The maid watched her go, unease prickling at the back of her neck.

Inside the villa, she noticed the absence immediately.

All the soft pink throw pillows, the cute ceramic trinkets Sienna had scattered around to make the place feel less cold—they were gone.

Upstairs, she opened the walk-in closet doors and exhaled in relief. Sienna’s clothes still hung neatly on one side.

What the maid didn’t know: every single garment left behind was a gift from Jonathan—dresses he’d chosen after nights of rough, desperate sekx; lingerie he’d peeled off her with his teeth; silk blouses he’d ruined by coming on them while she knelt between his th1ghs.

Sienna had taken nothing he’d ever bought her. Only the plain, practical pieces purchased with her own salary.

Still unsettled, the maid dialed Jonathan. He was still in Alvernon, thousands of miles away, vacationing with Kassidy.

“Mr. Callahan? Ms. Ballard left today. She took quite a few things with her.”

Jonathan paused mid-stride. “Where did she go?”

“She said… business trip. A few days.”

Confusion creased his brow. Sienna was his personal secretary. He was overseas. What business trip could she possibly be on without him knowing?

He opened his messages to text her—just as Kassidy’s voice floated from the kitchen, sweet and coaxing.

“Jonty?”

He set the phone face-down and hurried over.

“Everything okay, Kassie?”

Kassidy stood at the counter, pouting over a small cut on her finger from slicing fruit. “I’m so clumsy… I just wanted to make something nice for you.”

Jonathan grabbed the first-aid kit instantly, kneeling to wrap the tiny wound with careful fingers. When he finished he cupped the back of her head, stroking her hair the way he used to stroke Sienna’s after he’d fʌked her raw and left her trembling.

“I like the clumsy you,” he murmured, voice low and indulgent.

Kassidy ducked her head, cheeks pink. “You’re so bad…”

Then, casually: “Jonty, we’re flying back tomorrow. Can I invite Sienna to my welcome-home party?”

Jonathan’s gaze flickered. Of course he knew—Sienna was Kassidy’s stepsister.

“I thought you two didn’t get along.”

“We don’t.” Kassidy blinked up at him, eyes wide and guileless. “That’s why I want to fix things. Mom and her have been tense lately, and I think it’s partly my fault. I want to do something nice for Mom.”

###Chapter 5

Jonathan’s expression softened. “That’s my Kassie. Always thinking of everyone else.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “But let’s hold off on inviting her. I don’t want anything ruining your homecoming.”

Kassidy’s lashes lowered, hiding the brief flash of triumph in her eyes. “Okay.”

She had always known Sienna was nothing more than her understudy.

Months ago Jonathan had left his phone unlocked; Kassidy had scrolled through the messages—filthy late-night texts, photos of Sienna’s flushed, na..ked body arched in pleasure, pleas for him to come home early so he could bury himself inside her again.

After that discovery, Kassidy had only needed to drop the tiniest hints, the softest pouts, and Jonathan had come running.

That Twitter post with the skiing photo? Deliberate. A public claiming.

Tomorrow, when the real prize stepped back onto home soil, the placeholder would finally be erased.

The next morning, Sienna returned to the Callahan Group headquarters to hand over her workload. Every step through the familiar marble lobby felt like walking over broken glass.

Mandy Beltran, Jonathan’s executive assistant, met her at the desk with genuine regret etched across her face.

“Sienna, are you absolutely sure about resigning? If it’s salary-related, I can push the higher-ups for a raise. You know I’d fight for you.”

Higher-ups.

Meaning Jonathan.

A faint, humorless smile touched Sienna’s lips.

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Beltran. This is personal.”

Sienna had been the only female secretary Jonathan ever hired.

Every other woman who applied had come with stars in her eyes—dreaming of catching his attention, climbing into his bed, and riding that ladder straight to socialite status. He’d turned them all away.

Sienna, though? She was meticulous, lightning-fast, unflappable. She anticipated needs before they arose, smoothed crises before they exploded, and quietly saved Mandy countless late nights and headaches.

Mandy had grown sincerely fond of her—admired her quiet beauty, her professionalism, the way she never overstepped.

But no one could force her to stay.

Mandy sighed. “All right. I’ll sign off on my end. Whether Mr. Callahan approves it… we’ll have to wait until he’s back from his trip.”

Sienna’s mouth curved just slightly. “Thank you. I’ll head back to my desk.”

She slipped into the pantry for coffee—and froze when she overheard two women from Admin gossiping by the water cooler.

“Hey, did you hear? Mr. Callahan isn’t on a business trip this time—he’s off playing boyfriend!”

“No way. I’ve been here six years and never once heard a whisper about his personal life. He’s always so cold.”

A tongue-click. “That’s the point. The Callahan and Stafford families have had this marriage alliance locked in forever. He’s been waiting for her to finish school and turn legal age. Paparazzi snapped them, but he kilIed every photo to protect her. Honestly? I’m kinda sh1pping them hard.”

Sienna’s hand shook. The paper cup wasn’t aligned with the dispenser. Boiling water cascaded over the back of her hand in a searing rush.

She gasped, yanking her arm back. An angry red welt instantly bloomed across her skin, throbbing viciously.

“Enna! Oh my god—are you okay?” someone cried. “Cold water—now! Before it blisters!”

She nodded numbly. “I’m… going.”

In the restroom she thrust her hand under the faucet, letting icy water numb the burn while the words echoed in her skull.

Jonathan and Kassidy were already at the marriage stage.

All those nights she’d lain beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist while he thrust slow and deep, whispering how perfectly she fit him, how no one else could take him the way she did—had been nothing but a holding pattern.

She’d waited like a fool for him to claim her publicly.

Her phone buzzed on the sink. Jocelyn.

“Enna, Jonathan’s throwing Kassidy a welcome-home dinner tonight. I really don’t wanna go alone—come with?”

Sienna blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. So he was already back.

“Sorry, Jocie. I have to work late tomorrow.”

***

Later that afternoon, after getting her burn re-dressed at the hospital, Sienna’s phone rang again—Mandy, sounding frantic.

“Sienna? Are you done at the hospital? My daughter’s fever just spiked and I can’t leave her, but there’s an urgent document Mr. Callahan has to sign *right now*. Could you swing by the office and handle it? I’d owe you forever.”

Sienna never turned down an emergency. “Of course, Ms. Beltran. I’m on my way.”

Outside the private dining room, she paused, contract folder clutched to her chest. The door stood slightly ajar; laughter and clinking glasses spilled into the hallway.

“Kassie, Jonathan can’t peel his eyes off you for a second. Congrats in advance, huh?”

Jonathan lounged back in his chair, one arm draped possessively along the back of Kassidy’s seat, fingers brushing the bare skin of her shoulder in lazy, intimate strokes.

###Chapter 6

Kassidy giggled, poking playfully at his flat stomach before hiding her face in mock embarrassment. “Stop it! Jonty, they’re teasing me.”

He tilted his head, voice low and warm. “They’re not teasing. Unless… you don’t want to marry me?”

The words sliced straight through Sienna’s chest.

She thought the pain had already numbed her. She was wrong.

She knocked once—sharp.

“Who is it?” someone called.

Sienna pushed the door open and stepped inside, eyes locking directly on Jonathan at the head of the table.

“Mr. Callahan. This document is time-sensitive. It needs your signature now.”

A rich pIayb0y at the far end leered openly, drawl thick with suggestion. “Well, damm, Jonty. Your secretary? Way too pretty to be stuck filing papers.”

His gaze raked over her body without shame. Sienna’s skin crawled.

Jonathan’s dark eyes narrowed for a split second—surprise flickering—before his expression smoothed into cool indifference.

“Come here. Hand it over.”

She crossed the room, placed the folder in front of him. He signed with the same bold, slashing strokes she’d seen a thousand times—strokes that had once traced possessive patterns across her inner th1ghs before he spread her open and licked into her until she sobbed his name.

He slid the signed pages back without looking up. “You can go.”

Kassidy’s eyes darted to Sienna, then softened into calculated sweetness.

“Jonty, wait. Sienna is my sister, after all. She should stay and join us.”

Before Sienna could react, Kassidy reached out and seized her scalded hand, squeezing with feigned affection.

“Sienna, it’s been forever. Come sit with us—catch up.”

Pain exploded white-hot up Sienna’s arm. Tears pricked instantly. She wrenched her hand free with a sharp gasp.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice cracked but held. “Enjoy your dinner. I’m going back to the office.”

The room went stunned-silent.

Jonathan’s brows snapped together, voice dropping into dangerous territory.

“Kassie was just being nice. What’s with the attitude?”

He leaned forward. “Apologize. Now.”

Sienna curled her nails into her palms until she felt the bite of blood.

“I did nothing wrong. I won’t apologize.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “If you want to fire me for this, Mr. Callahan, go ahead. I have nothing else to say.”

She turned on her heel and walked out. One more second in that room and she would shatter.

Behind her, irritation flashed hot across Jonathan’s face. He shoved his chair back.

“You all start eating.”

He followed her into the hallway.

The table erupted in murmurs.

“Looks like Jonty’s secretary is about to get it.”

“Kassie… did you just say she’s your *sister*?”

Kassidy forced a thin smile, saying nothing.

In the corridor—

“Sienna, stop!”

Jonathan caught her arm from behind, fingers firm around her bicep.

She forced calm into her voice. “Mr. Callahan, what else do you need? If you stay out here too long, your girlfriend might get the wrong idea.”

His frown deepened, something almost tender flickering in his eyes.

“I told you—you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone. What happened to your hand?”

He had noticed the burn.

Sienna let out a cold, brittle laugh.

“Not your concern anymore. We broke up, didn’t we?”

“Broke up?” He scoffed, tone icing over instantly. “Who ever said we were together?”

The words landed like a blade between her ribs. Pain radiated outward until her fingertips tingled. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“I see. Don’t worry. From now on, we’re strangers.”

Jonathan’s face darkened. He watched her walk away, jaw tight, something unreadable storming behind his eyes. He took one step to follow—

“Jonty… you’re not coming back in?”

Kassidy’s soft voice drifted from the doorway.

He drew a slow breath, forced a smile, and turned.

“Coming, Kassie.”

***

The moment Sienna rounded the corner, the dam broke.

Tears streamed hot down her cheeks.

Every last wall she’d built inside herself crumbled.

She stumbled outside the hotel, leaning weakly against a cool stone pillar, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

She never noticed the tall figure approaching until a broad hand braced against the pillar beside her head, caging her in without touching.

A familiar deep, lazy voice murmured close to her ear, warm breath brushing the sensitive skin beneath it.

“Looks like my wife’s got her heart broken.”

The night was dim, streetlights casting long, soft shadows across the hotel facade. Messiah leaned against the stone pillar with casual arrogance—one knee bent, foot braced flat against the base, a single hand propped lazily beside Sienna’s head. He tilted his face closer, bringing the sheII of his ear right to her trembling lips, waiting.

Sienna, still hiccupping through quiet tears, felt heat crawl up her neck the moment she registered who it was—her husband, technically, the stranger she’d married in a blind panic only hours earlier.

###Chapter 7

She swiped at her cheeks, trying to stifle the sniffles, but a few stubborn ones escaped. Her nose twitched; even in misery she looked strangely endearing.

Her voice came out thick and raw. “What are you doing here?”

Messiah’s dark eyes flickered with amusement. A slow, roguish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Saw a pretty girl crying in the dark. Felt wrong to just walk past.”

He drawled, low and lazy, “So I came closer to see who it was.”

A beat.

“Turns out it’s my wife.”

Sienna frowned, wariness snapping back into place like armor.

“Mr. Stewart… let’s be very clear. This is a marriage alliance. Nothing more. We’re not close.”

The air between them went suddenly still, charged.

Messiah studied her for a long second, then took one deliberate step back. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something cooler, more assessing.

“Alliance or not, you’re still my wife.”

He jɜːrked his chin toward the curb where his outrageous purple Bugatti crouched like a predator under the streetlights.

“Where to? Get in the car.”

He swung the passenger door open and crooked a single finger—beckoning, not asking.

Sienna pressed her lips together until the last ghost of sadness vanished from her expression.

“No, thank you.”

He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the quiet night.

“Hurry up. I’d rather not end up splashed across tomorrow’s headlines because my brand-new wife is sobbing in public over another man.”

His voice dropped, edged with warning.

“If that happens, I’ll be very unhappy.”

The words boxed her in. She was exhausted, emotionally gutted, and the thought of walking home alone right now felt unbearable.

Reluctantly, she slid into the low passenger seat.

It was her first time inside a car like this—sleek, aggressive, vibrating with restrained power.

Jonathan had always preferred executive sedans or heavy SUVs—safe, predictable, like the way he used to pin her wrists above her head and take her slow and deliberate, drawing out every gasp until she was begging.

He owned sports cars, sure, but he’d never once offered her a ride in one. She’d only ever seen them gleaming in his garage while she waited na..ked on his bed.

She turned her face to the window.

Messiah glanced at her sidelong.

Her lashes were still wet, the delicate skin around her eyes flushed pink from crying.

“You got dumped?” This time there was no teasing lilt. His tone was quiet. Serious.

Sienna turned to look at him. In the low dashboard glow she noticed the faint edge of a tattoo peeking above his open collarbone—black ink curling like smoke against tanned skin.

“Sort of,” she said softly.

“But don’t worry. He’s my ex now. He won’t cause you any problems.”

She swallowed. “And I haven’t forgotten our agreement. We stay out of each other’s personal lives. You’re free to do whatever—or whoever—you want.”

She knew his reputation. Messiah Stuart, notorious pIayb0y. The man who supposedly preferred men, who changed lovers like most people changed shirts.

Messiah pulled up outside her apartment building.

“Is an hour enough time? Pack a bag and come home with me.”

“Come home with you?” she echoed.

“Yeah.” He leaned one forearm on the steering wheel, watching her. “Or do you want to keep living separately?”

Only then did the implication sink in.

She kept her face composed.

“No rush. We can move in together after our families have officially met.”

She hadn’t secured the hotel shares yet. Living under the same roof could wait.

Messiah pressed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a brief flash of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Fine. As you wish.”

The second her feet hit the pavement, the Bugatti’s engine growled and the car vanished into the night.

Sienna stood frozen on the sidewalk.

Was he… angry?

###Chapter 8

At eleven o’clock that night, Jonathan’s driver dropped him off at the Rivermark Estates villa—the home where he’d quietly installed Sienna three years earlier.

He hadn’t expected to end up here tonight.

A single warm light glowed in the entryway.

He loosened his tie as he stepped inside and called out on pure instinct:

“Enna, make me some honey water.”

Silence answered.

Only then did the memory of their earlier confrontation crash back.

He’d p1ssed her off—badly.

He dropped onto the sofa, covering his eyes with one hand. When he heard soft footsteps approaching, the corner of his mouth lifted in faint, smug expectation.

No matter how sharp her words had been, she always came back. She always forgave him. She always ended up on her knees between his th1ghs again, lips swollen and eager, taking him deep until he forgot why they’d ever fought.

But when he lowered his hand, it was only the maid standing there.

“You?” His voice flattened.

The maid froze, then forced a smile.

“Yes… it’s just me, Mr. Callahan. Ms. Ballard said she was going on a business trip. She hasn’t come back yet. I heard the door and knew you were home.”

She glanced at the faint scent of alc0hol on him. “You’ve been drinking? I’ll make the honey water.”

“No need,” he snapped, irritation flaring. “Go back to your room. I’m going upstairs.”

The maid’s lip curled inwardly as she turned away.

To the maid, honey water was honey water. She’d never understood the obsession.

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose, dragged out his phone, and opened their chat.

The history was painfully one-sided—pages of her messages, his read receipts.

He started to type: Where are you?

Irritation surged. He deleted every letter, powered the phone off, and tossed it onto the cushion beside him.

He must have spoiled her too much. That was the problem.

One small argument and she thought she could just disappear?

***

The next morning Sienna woke with dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes.

Today was her last day working as Jonathan’s secretary.

She found Mandy at the desk.

“Ms. Beltran, my mom’s been pushing me to go home for blind dates. Today might be my final day here. I’ve emailed you all the handover documents.”

Mandy blinked, startled by the sudden urgency.

“What about your final paycheck? You’re not going to collect it?”

Sienna’s mouth curved faintly. “No.”

Mandy hesitated, then nodded. “Give me half a day. I’ll speak to HR and get you a formal resignation letter. It’ll look better when you apply elsewhere.”

Sienna considered it. Half a day wouldn’t change anything.

“Okay. Thank you.”

She was at her desk, quietly packing personal items into a small box, when she felt the weight of a stare burning into her back.

She didn’t look up.

Not until a pair of polished black leather shoes stepped into her line of sight.

Jonathan stood beside her desk, looking down at her.

He tapped the surface once with a fingertip—sharp, commanding.

“Ms. Ballard. My office. Now.”

He turned and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Behind him, Sienna’s fingers curled around the small potted cactus on her desk. For one wild second she imagined hurling it at the back of his perfect head.

But she was an adult. She breathed through it and followed.

She pushed open his office door.

“Mr. Callahan. What can I do for you?”

He jɜːrked his chin toward the door behind her.

“Close it. Come here.”

She left it cracked—barely—and stayed ten full meters away.

“Mr. Callahan,” she repeated evenly, “what can I do for you?”

He gave a slow, mocking pull of his lips.

“You used to beg me to hold you all night until you fell asleep in my arms, your bare skin pressed against mine, legs tangled, my c0ck still half-hard inside you even after we finished.”

His voice dropped. “What’s with the sudden distance now?”

Her face remained calm.

“Mr. Callahan, I’ve resigned. Very soon I won’t be your employee anymore. Is there a problem with me keeping a professional distance?”

“Resigned?” A cold, dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

“Who gave you permission to resign?”

He leaned forward, sneer curling his lip. “Sienna… playing hard to get doesn’t work on me.”

She smiled slowly—cold, deliberate.

“I don’t have time to play hard to get.”

His voice rose, sharp enough to cut.

“Then why the heII are you resigning? Am I not paying you enough? Name one company that pays better than the Callahan Group!”