Obsession

Keeping Up Appearances

"A game of borrowed knives... you only get to play it once."

Sienna placed a small bouquet of daisies before the headstone.

The late-summer sun was relentless, baking the stagnant air until every breath felt like inhaling fire. Around the cemetery, lush trees provided shade, but the manic, hysterical screeching of cicadas only added to the restless irritation in her chest.

Sienna knelt, her fingers brushing the photograph on the marble. For a few heartbeats, she was elsewhere.

"Two worthless lives, that's all. My family has more money than God! You think I can't afford a couple of deaths?" "Who do you think you are? You think you can touch me? They say the wicked wear gold belts while the righteous rot in unmarked graves. I’ll tell you right now: even if I was drunk, even if I hit them on purpose, what are you going to do? Who can prove it?" "Pathetic. Take the cash and get out of my sight. Don't let me see your face again."

Some things, no matter how much you try to hypnotize yourself into forgetting, remain etched in the mind. The past was supposed to be a faded dream, a debt settled and gone, yet those sharp, grating voices circled her head like vultures, a nightmare she couldn't outrun.

Sienna had grown up in a house of quiet simplicity.

In the early 2000s, Hong Kong had returned to the fold. Beneath the neon glow and peeling billboards, the ghosts of the opera stage lived out their tragic lives on old film reels. While the soulful, smoky voices of Anita Mui and Teresa Teng drifted through the damp alleys of Mong Kok, the skyscrapers were beginning to rise, one by one.

She had been left in an alleyway, an abandoned infant in the rain, until a couple took her in.

Though she wasn't the biological child of Samuel and Elena Vane, they had loved her as their own, never having children of their own. Samuel was a teacher with a quiet passion for antiques; Elena had been an opera singer with eyes that could hold a thousand stories but none of the world’s cynicism. They lived a life of gentle respect in a small, traditional house in the southern districts.

Back then, the songs on the radio were sweet. Life wasn't grand, but it was beautiful.

And then—

Then came the trip to the South. The sudden screams on the asphalt, the screech of tires, and the dull, sickening thud.

With that one sound, her world ended.

Outside the cemetery, the shadows of the trees lengthened as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It was a deep, bruised red. Red like the blood on the pavement four years ago. Red like the stacks of hush money thrown at her feet to buy her silence.

The irony of it all was almost funny.

Four or five years wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like a lifetime. Perhaps she had been staring too long, but the familiar faces on the headstone were starting to look like strangers. Sienna’s lips parted, but no sound came out—only a persistent ringing in her ears. She closed her eyes and slowly stood up.

She turned to leave, saying nothing. The air remained still, the cicadas screamed, and she cast a long, pale shadow against the grass.

Sienna didn't expect to run into anyone outside the cemetery gates.

A Bugatti Veyron was idling by the road—a loud, flashy red that screamed for attention. The window slid down, revealing Jaxson Miller’s mocking grin. He let out a low whistle. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, darling."

It was the same tired script. "What brings you here? Need a lift?"

"I'm just checking the feng shui for your future grave," Sienna replied, her eyes cold and crystalline.

She had no interest in small talk. She began to walk.

The engine roared, the wide tires splashing through a puddle as the red Bugatti lurched forward, cutting her off and blocking her path.

Sienna’s brow furrowed. She looked at him with a face devoid of emotion.

"Leaving so soon?" Jaxson asked, his tone playful. "Don't you want to catch up?"

Sienna stood her ground, a thin smile touching her lips. "It seems you’ve made it your life's mission to get on my nerves, Jaxson."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," Jaxson said, offering an exaggerated gasp. "The last person who crossed you just watched his family empire go up in smoke. He hasn't even had his funeral yet—I’m not in a hurry to join him." He offered a cryptic, knowing smile. "You’ve got a hell of a technique, Sienna."

Sienna’s smile remained light, indifferent. "You’re overthinking it."

He was clearly looking for a fight, determined to wear her down. Even as she ignored him, the supercar crawled along beside her, keeping pace like a hungry predator.

Sienna reflected on the fact that birds of a feather really did flock together—specifically, that Sebastian Thorne didn't have a single normal friend.

She stopped abruptly. "Jaxson, do you know how my grandfather lived to be a hundred?"

"Are you telling me to mind my own business?" Jaxson gripped the steering wheel with one hand, nodding in mock agreement. "I’m actually trying to give you some advice. Playing with 'borrowed knives' is a one-time trick. You play with fire, you get burned. If you hold a blade you can't control, don't be surprised when it cuts your own hand."

"You’re giving me far too much credit." Sienna found him exhausting. Since she couldn't avoid him, she stopped trying. "I wasn't the only one who benefited. You’ve known Sebastian for years—how can you be so dense? Without his permission, how could I have done anything under his nose? How do you think I'm still standing here?"

She let out a soft laugh. "I didn't borrow the knife, Jaxson. I am the knife."

Sebastian Thorne had been an architect of destruction since he was a teenager—ruthless to his enemies, calculating with his allies. Since taking over the Southern operations last year, he had purged the upper management with a violence that left the veterans trembling. When the old-guard "foxes" complained to the Thorne patriarch, the old man had simply sent Sebastian a piece of calligraphy with a single piece of advice:

"Use the hand of lightning, but show the heart of mercy."

The old man hadn't criticized him; he’d feigned illness and stepped back. He knew that in a world without sentiment, Sebastian was the only one fit for the throne. How could a man that obsessed with control, who focused on the total picture, be so blinded by l**t that he’d let her use him?

The wind in the South had shifted long ago.

The Thorne and Lane families had been at each other's throats for years. Engaging in an all-out war looked bad for business, but "going to war over a woman" was the perfect, messy excuse to distract the public. The semiconductor industry was the future, but it was a long-term play. Those with the tech but without the capital were destined to be swallowed or destroyed.

Even if Sienna hadn't targeted the Hensleys, Sebastian would have found another way to break them.

"You certainly know the score," Jaxson chuckled, looking at her as if she were a rare, exotic specimen. "You’ve played the part of the innocent so well these last two years. I almost believed you actually had feelings for him."

"Don't trouble yourself over my heart," Sienna said, her voice soft and biting. "Since in your eyes our relationship is just something sordid, why would you expect 'feelings'? It's just an act. He likes a certain kind of woman, so that’s the woman I become."

The words were born of spite, a jagged defense mechanism.

She was having a terrible day, her mind was a chaotic mess, and she was done playing nice.

Jaxson watched her walk away, the mocking grin fading from his face.

The woman was a master of the game, using her beauty and her brains to pull strings. In another life, she’d have been a queen toppling empires. But if she was willing to burn the Hensleys for revenge, what would she do if she found out the truth about what happened back then? That it was actually—

Jaxson’s thought was cut short as his eyes met a pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.

Sebastian was in the back seat. He didn't know when the man had woken up. The cold, murderous gaze cut through the air in the car, heavy with a suffocating violence. Meeting those eyes felt like being bitten by a viper; the chill went straight to Jaxson's bones.

Jaxson jumped, a visible shiver running through him.

"When did you wake up?" He glanced at the mirror, trying to gauge Sebastian’s mood with a forced laugh. "Sienna wouldn't get in. I couldn't move her. You want to try, Sebastian?"

Sebastian didn't answer. He stared unblinkingly at Sienna’s retreating back. His face was a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes were a storm of dark, unreadable thoughts.

The aura of violence coming off him was enough to make a man's heart stop.

The silence in the cramped car was deafening, a terrifying stillness that lasted until Sebastian kicked the back of the driver's seat.

"Drive," he commanded, his voice a low, raspy growl.

"You aren't taking her home?" Jaxson asked. He didn't dare look back, but the confusion was evident in his voice. "Then why did you make me drive all the way out here?" He rubbed his nose. He had been scared for his life a second ago, but his mouth got away from him again. "Then again, she did say she was just 'acting' for you. She's probably too tired to put on the show right now."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes.

He didn't have to say a word. Jaxson shut his mouth instantly.

If he didn't learn when to stop, he really would be picking out his own burial plot. Jaxson was a survivor; he knew when the air had turned lethal. He slammed his foot on the gas, and the Bugatti surged forward.

Sienna was already far ahead, but as the car blurred past, she caught a glimpse of the interior.

She thought she saw someone in the back seat.

She wasn't sure.

Sienna’s eyes narrowed, but before she could dwell on it, a car pulled up beside her. A driver stepped out to open the door for her. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sat inside.

Sienna didn't plan on staying in Hong Kong much longer. Her flight back to Shanghai was the next day.

After a final shopping spree with Chloe, she returned to the villa late. The Repulse Bay estate was a fortress of privacy, nestled between the mountains and the crescent moon of the bay, offering an unobstructed, intoxicating view of the Victoria Harbour skyline.

Sienna kicked off her heels, watching tiredly as the housekeeper moved armfuls of designer boxes into the walk-in closet.

Her mood was hollow.

It was a strange state of being. Ever since leaving the cemetery, she’d been plagued by a sense of unease and emptiness, as if a tightly wound string in her chest had finally snapped. She felt listless, ungrounded.

Sienna was so deep in her own head that when she saw the figure sitting in her bedroom, she didn't react at first.

Through a plume of pale blue smoke, Sebastian looked at her, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

His expression was brooding, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn't yelling, but the sheer weight of his silence made her heart race with fear.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sienna asked, blinking. A wave of guilt washed over her, making her freeze for a few seconds before she instinctively moved toward him. "You scared me."

The silence was a physical weight, grinding at her nerves. His gaze was so cold it made her bones feel soft.

She stopped about three feet away from him.

"Sebastian? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his hand shot out, locking around her waist and hauling her onto his lap. He crushed his lips to hers—there was no gentleness, no "testing the waters." It was a sudden, violent invasion.

The intensity was overwhelming.

Sienna lost the ability to think for a few seconds, but as the situation turned darker, she managed to pull her head back, gasping for air. "No." She pressed her hand against his chest, her last shred of reason taking hold. "Not today. I... I'm not feeling well."

The scent of him, cold and clean, was usually addictive, but it vanished in an instant.

Sebastian caught her jaw in a grip so tight his knuckles left a mark. Before she could protest, he loosened the hold, his thumb slowly, agonizingly dragging across her lower lip, coming to rest at the center.

His eyes were perfectly calm, his voice dropping to a lazy, dangerous drawl. "Then we’ll find another way."

His intent was unmistakable.

"Sebastian." Sienna gripped his shirt, her voice trembling, a soft, vulnerable note breaking through.

She was resisting. And her resistance was the most intoxicating thing about her.

Sebastian watched her—the way her lips flushed red, the way her eyes grew hazy. He was addicted to the life and color she brought to his world, the way she looked in her silk dresses. But as his desire climbed, so did the white-hot rage in his chest.

—It's just an act. He likes a certain kind of woman, so that’s the woman I become.

Sebastian’s eyes turned to ice. With one hand, he locked around her wrist and yanked, sending her tumbling onto the carpet at his feet.

He didn't reach out to help her. He sat back, his wrist resting lazily on his knee. The dark prayer beads shimmered with a dull, oily luster.

"What? Do I need to teach you?" He looked down at her, his posture relaxed, his voice terrifyingly calm.

He had never looked at her like this.

Sienna sat there, dazed, her mind still catching up. She couldn't tell if he was joking or if this was a new kind of cruelty. "I don't like this," she whispered, her voice muffled.

"You don't like it?"

Sebastian let out a short, dry laugh. He caught her by the nape of the neck and dragged her closer until their faces were inches apart.

His expression was rakish and wild, but his voice held no warmth. It was low, slow, and chilled to the bone.

"I do."