Chapter 5
847 Words
Sienna’s POV
I refused to let him get under my skin.
It didn’t matter that Leo Hawthorne had stood there, all smug and infuriating, calling me sweetheart like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t a loaded word soaked in memories I had spent years trying to forget.
Like it wasn’t a reminder of how wrong I had been about him.
I forced a deep breath, dragging my suitcase out from under my bed. Packing. That was what I needed to focus on. Not Leo, not Napa, and certainly not—
The past.
But my traitorous mind had other ideas.
Because the moment I reached for my closet, the moment my fingers brushed against a forgotten sweater stuffed in the corner, I was gone.
Six Years Ago
It was summer in New York, and the heat was oppressive, thick and sticky even at night. The rooftop of our shared brownstone was our escape, a place where the world felt far away, where we weren’t the rising Hollywood actor and the ambitious chef-to-be—just two people who had somehow collided into each other’s orbit.
Leo sat on the ledge, one long leg dangling over the side, the other bent with his arm resting casually over his knee. A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, the smoke curling into the night sky.
I was barefoot, my legs pulled up against my chest, my arms wrapped around them as I watched him. He was always beautiful, but in moments like this—unfiltered, without the flashing lights or cameras—he was something more.
"You’re staring," he said without looking at me.
I snorted. "You wish, Hawthorne."
His lips twitched. "Oh, I know you do."
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest betrayed me.
We were always like this. Sharp words and teasing insults, balanced on the edge of something that neither of us was brave enough to name.
Leo turned toward me then, his gaze too intense, too knowing.
"You always sit like that when you’re nervous," he said, nodding at my curled-up position.
I hesitated. "I’m not nervous."
His smirk was slow, lazy. "Liar."
I hated that he could read me like that. Hated it.
But I hated even more that he was right.
Tomorrow was my big audition for a culinary internship in Paris. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if I got it—
If I got it, I’d be leaving.
Leo exhaled slowly, dragging his gaze away. "You’re gonna get it, you know."
My throat tightened. "You don’t know that."
He flicked his cigarette away, the ember vanishing into the darkness below. "Yeah, I do. You’re annoying as hell, but you’re also the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you don’t stop until you get it."
A smile tugged at my lips. "You make me sound like a psychopath."
He grinned. "You kind of are."
I nudged him with my foot, and he caught my ankle, his fingers wrapping around it, holding me there.
Something shifted.
The air between us went thick, charged.
Leo’s grip on my ankle tightened for just a second before he let go, his eyes unreadable.
"You’re gonna leave," he said quietly.
The words shouldn’t have hurt.
But they did.
I swallowed. "If I get in, yeah."
He nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on mine.
And then he smiled—not his usual cocky smirk, but something softer.
"Don’t forget about me when you’re off making fancy food for French people."
I laughed, but it came out wrong. Like there was something cracking open inside me.
"As if I could," I said.
Leo tilted his head. "Promise?"
The way he said it—quiet, serious, almost like a plea—made my chest ache.
I forced a smirk. "What, you afraid I’ll run off with some hot French chef?"
His jaw tensed. Just for a second.
Then he grinned. "Nah. No one’s ever gonna put up with you like I do."
I rolled my eyes, shoving his shoulder, but I was smiling.
And then—
"Sweetheart."
It was soft, barely more than a murmur.
But it wrecked me.
Because it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t playful.
It was something else entirely.
I froze.
Leo’s gaze flickered to my lips, his fingers twitching against his knee.
For one dangerous, suspended second, I thought—
I thought—
But then he looked away. Like nothing had happened.
And I told myself it was nothing.
That it didn’t mean anything.
Because if it did—
If it did, then leaving would have been impossible.
Present Day
I yanked myself back to reality, my breath shaky.
Damn it.
Damn him.
I dropped the sweater like it had burned me and forced myself to focus.
The past was the past.
Whatever had existed between me and Leo was dead and buried.
I had one goal now—survive the next year, claim my share of the estate, and walk away without looking back.
That was all.
That was everything.
And this time?
I wouldn’t make the mistake of letting him in.
- Writer
