Chapter 15
1113 Words
The dinner continues, but the tension at the table is palpable. Camille's smile is tight, her gaze flickering between Sienna and Lucian’s grandfather, irritation creeping into her expression with every passing second. The easy familiarity between them—Sienna’s laughter at the older man’s stories, the fond way he speaks to her—clearly grates on Camille’s nerves.
“She’s practically family,” the grandfather says at one point, patting Sienna’s hand affectionately.
Camille’s grip on her fork tightens. “How sweet.”
Damon, who has been observing the entire exchange with mild amusement, now wears an expression of thinly veiled contempt. It had only taken him a short time to develop a distaste for Camille. Her sharp, condescending tone toward the staff had immediately soured his opinion.
“Interesting choice, big bro,” Damon comments, leaning back in his chair and swirling the wine in his glass. “Didn’t peg you for someone who enjoys… high-maintenance types.”
Camille bristles, turning her icy gaze to him. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Damon says with a lazy smirk. “Just an observation.”
The grandfather watches the exchange with a passive, almost amused expression. He’s seen enough in his lifetime to know what’s happening here.
Meanwhile, across the table, Lucian and Sienna engage in their own silent battle. Their eyes meet, sharp and unyielding, a war of passive aggression brewing beneath carefully composed facades.
Sienna’s smile is too bright when she turns to Damon, engaging him in another playful exchange, laughing at his jokes, letting her fingers brush his arm lightly.
Lucian watches with a clenched jaw, his hand tightening around his glass.
She’s doing this on purpose.
And worse—it’s working.
Camille, noticing his distraction, places a delicate hand on his arm and leans in closer, performing the role of the affectionate girlfriend with exaggerated ease. She smiles up at him, her fingers tracing small patterns on his sleeve as if to remind everyone—Sienna included—who he belongs to.
Sienna’s stomach twists, but she forces herself to keep smiling, to keep pretending. But eventually, the weight of it all—Camille’s possessive touches, Lucian’s frustrating indifference, the suffocating tension—becomes too much.
She abruptly stands, pushing her chair back with more force than necessary. “Excuse me.”
Without waiting for a response, she walks out of the dining hall, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she disappears down the corridor.
Lucian watches her go, his entire body coiled tight. Then, his phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him from his thoughts.
“I need to take this,” he says, standing as well.
Except he doesn’t take the call. Instead, he follows the same path Sienna took, his steps purposeful.
When he reaches the hallway, he finds her standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, gripping the sink’s edge tightly. Her reflection shows the conflict in her eyes, the unspoken emotions she’s trying to suppress.
“Sienna.”
She startles slightly, whipping around to face him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lucian steps inside, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches her, studies the way her chest rises and falls, the way her fingers clench at her sides.
“You left,” he finally says.
She scoffs. “Yeah, I did. I needed air.”
His jaw tics. “Because of Camille?”
“Because of you, Lucian.” The words spill out before she can stop them. “You sit there, letting her hang all over you like it means something, while you glare at me for daring to enjoy myself for once.”
His lips press into a firm line, but she’s not done.
“I’m done with this—this stupid push and pull,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “You want Camille? Fine. Stick with her. But stop looking at me like that.”
Lucian takes a step forward, closing the space between them. “Like what?”
“Like you want me but won’t let yourself have me.”
His fingers twitch at his sides. He’s too close now, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him, intoxicating, familiar.
“Sienna…”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m serious, Lucian. If you’re going to keep playing these games, I need to know. Right here. Right now.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between them crackles, thick with unspoken words, with years of buried emotions clawing their way to the surface.
And then, in a move neither of them fully registers, he reaches for her, his hand gripping the nape of her neck as his lips crash against hers.
It’s desperate. Furious. A silent war fought in the way he kisses her, in the way she fists his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.
Lucian deepens the kiss, backing her against the counter, his hands roaming, claiming.
Sienna gasps against his mouth, her body arching into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. His grip tightens on her waist, his lips trailing hotly down her jaw, to her neck.
He growls against her skin, his voice rough. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel this too.”
Sienna whimpers, nails digging into his shoulders. “Lucian…”
“This is what you do to me,” he breathes, his fingers trailing down her side, his palm pressing against her hip, pulling her flush against him. “What are you turning me into?”
She shudders when his lips find that sensitive spot on her neck, when his hands slide under the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing along her inner thigh.
Her breath is shaky. “Then why are you fighting it?”
Lucian exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against hers. “Because once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
Sienna meets his gaze, her eyes dark with desire. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
A sharp knock on the door.
Lucian stills, breathing hard, his forehead resting against hers.
“Sienna?”
Damon’s voice.
Reality slams into her like a freight train.
She shoves at Lucian’s chest, her breaths shallow, eyes wide. He steps back, his own expression unreadable, but there’s something dark, something dangerous flickering behind his gaze.
Another knock. “Sienna, you okay?”
She swallows hard, smoothing down her dress, her hands trembling slightly. “Y-yeah! Be out in a sec!”
Lucian watches as she forces herself to regain composure, to pretend like nothing just happened.
But he knows.
They both know.
Nothing will ever be the same after this.
- Writer
