chapter 9
807 Words
Chapter Nine
The Fire Beneath the Ice
Sienna couldn’t sleep.
The image in the photograph haunted her.
Her mother.
Not with her father.
But with Dante.
She sat at her desk, the photo spread out beside the open letter. Her mind swirled with questions.
Was Dante not just her uncle?
Had her entire life been a lie?
The envelope crinkled in her hand as she reread the words: “You don’t know who you are.”
A knock at her door startled her.
This time, it wasn’t soft.
Firm. Intentional.
She slipped the photo under her pillow and opened the door.
Damien.
Shirtless, hair damp like he’d just showered, but his eyes were intense. Burning.
“What—”
He walked past her, closing the door behind him.
“We need to talk.”
She crossed her arms, pretending her heart wasn’t racing from the sight of him in sweats, veins in his arms prominent, scent of soap still lingering on him.
“You barge into my room at 2 a.m. and say we need to talk?” she scoffed.
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin. “About what?”
He turned, stepping dangerously close. “The photo. The letter. The box. I know you saw it.”
“I did,” she whispered.
“So now you know.”
“No, Damien.” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. Who was my mother to Dante? Why was he so obsessed with protecting me? And why did you keep this from me?”
His jaw clenched. For once, he didn’t respond with cold silence or mockery.
“I promised him,” he said tightly. “I promised I’d keep you away from this.”
“But why?” she pushed. “What’s so bad that I can’t know?”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers like he was at war with himself.
“You want to know?” he said lowly. “Then fine.”
He moved so quickly she didn’t have time to react—his fingers grabbed her wrist, pulling her to the window.
“There,” he said, pointing to the far end of the estate. “See that greenhouse?”
She nodded slowly.
“Dante died there.”
She froze. “W-what?”
“Not an accident. Not suicide. He was killed.” His voice cracked. “Because of something he knew. Something about your mother.”
Sienna’s breath left her body.
She turned to face him, but he was already retreating—back to that wall of ice he always hid behind.
“Why tell me this now?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want you digging and ending up like him.”
“Why do you care?”
The question hung between them.
She didn’t expect him to answer.
But then he did.
Softly. Barely audible.
“Because you’re not like them.”
Her eyes widened.
“Like who?”
He stepped toward her again, this time slower.
“Everyone in this house. My mother. My father. Me.”
Her heart fluttered at the way he said me like he was ashamed.
“You… you kissed me yesterday,” she blurted, voice small.
He looked away.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“But you did.”
Silence.
Then he spoke, voice rough with emotion. “I’ve lived my whole life pushing people away. Using them. Breaking them. You think I don’t know what I am?”
She swallowed hard. “Then why not push me away?”
His eyes lifted to meet hers—and in that moment, something cracked between them.
Something fragile. Dangerous.
“I’ve tried,” he admitted. “God, I’ve tried.”
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, lingered by her cheek.
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
Her breath hitched. “Then let me show you.”
He didn’t kiss her.
Not this time.
But he looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
And that—that—felt more intimate than any kiss.
---
Later…
Damien sat in his room alone.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her—about the way her voice cracked when she asked why he cared.
He wasn’t supposed to.
But she was undoing him.
Piece by piece.
He opened his drawer and pulled out the newspaper clipping he’d hidden years ago.
“Young Woman Found Dead—Ties to Ross Family Suspected.”
Beneath it, a photo.
Annabelle Ross.
And beside her… his father.
Not Dante.
Not Sienna’s supposed father.
His.
Damien’s hands trembled.
Because if what Dante feared was true…
Then Sienna wasn’t just illegitimate.
She was something else entirely.
And if anyone found out—
She wouldn’t just be hated.
She’d be hunted.
- Writer
