The Billionaire‘s Convenient Wife

Chapter 4

Sienna's pov

I arrived at Victor's penthouse carrying a single suitcase. That was all the Montgomery family had allowed me to leave with.

For twenty-seven years, I had lived surrounded by unimaginable luxury, backed by an endless family empire.

Now, every physical item I owned in the world fit inside a single piece of black rolling luggage.

The sharp irony almost made me laugh aloud as the private elevator doors slid open into the residence.

Victor’s penthouse was magnificent—a cavernous expanse of floor-to-ceiling glass, dark steel, and cold marble overlooking the glowing city skyline. It was intimidating, flawless, and painfully impersonal.

The real shock, however, was the child standing in the middle of the grand living room.

Aria hid behind Victor’s tailored coat the moment I stepped out of the elevator.

She was small, with bright, hyper-vigilant eyes that tracked my every movement with deep suspicion. She refused to speak when Victor softly introduced us, clinging to his sleeve like a lifeline.

I recognized that silent, watchful look instantly. Aria was not just shy; she had been deeply hurt before. She knew what it meant to have her world upended.

Rather than forcing myself into her space or offering empty, patronizing smiles, I stepped back and gave her room. "Hello, Aria," I said quietly, keeping my distance.

She did not answer. Instead, her tiny hand reached up and clutched the silver pendant resting against her collarbone—the exact sapphire crest from the photograph.

"That is a very old necklace," I said softly, meeting her eyes. "May I ask where you got it?"

Aria pressed her lips together and pressed her face against Victor's side, refusing to utter a single word.

Later that night, after a maid showed me to my quarters, I discovered Victor had arranged for my room to be directly beside his, connected by an interior door.

I immediately knocked on his study door and marched inside. "What is this arrangement, Victor?" I asked, pointing back toward the connecting door. "We had an agreement."

Victor looked up from his tablet, completely unbothered. "We are legally engaged as of three hours ago, Sienna. In two weeks, we will be married. The media and our families will be watching every move we make."

"This arrangement stays strictly business," I insisted, my voice tight. "No lines crossed."

"Agreed," Victor said smoothly. He surrendered the point far too easily, but his dark eyes lingered on my face just long enough to make my pulse jump in my chest. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow evening is an important night."

The following morning, a formal gold-embossed invitation arrived at the penthouse.

It was the invitation to the official Kensington-Montgomery engagement party, Lydia and Ethan’s celebration. Richard and Vivian had rushed the announcement to control the press cycle.

I stared at the heavy paper, a bitter smile touching my lips. They expected me to hide in a dark corner of the city, ruined and broke.

Instead, I got dressed.

I chose a form-fitting emerald dress with a sharp, low-backed cut, styled my hair up, and walked out of the penthouse arm in arm with Victor Kensington. I was not attending as the discarded Montgomery daughter. I was attending as the future wife of the most powerful man in the room.

When the double doors of the grand ballroom opened and Victor walked me inside, the low hum of high-society chatter ceased entirely. Hundreds of eyes snapped toward us.

Lydia stood near the champagne tower, wearing my engagement ring on her finger. Beside her, Ethan looked utterly stunned, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of me standing next to his uncle. Vivian’s face flushed a deep, violent red, while Richard’s expression instantly turned cold with suppressed fear.

Lydia recovered first, stepping forward with a sweet, condescending smile. "Sienna... I am surprised to see you here. I suppose Victor was kind enough to pity you after everything that happened."

"Victor didn't marry me out of pity, Lydia," I said clearly, my voice carrying over the silent crowd. "He married me because I am valuable. Which is something you will never understand."

Before Lydia could respond, Victor stepped closer, wrapping a strong, protective arm firmly around my waist.

"Sienna is modest," Victor announced to the room, his deep voice effortlessly commanding the space. "Following our wedding next week, my wife will be taking a controlling seat on the board of my primary investment firm, oversight included for all cross-family mergers."

The room erupted into gasps and furious whispers. Richard took a step back, his face turning pale. He realized in an instant that I was no longer a helpless victim he could strip of funds, I now held the backing of the entire Kensington fortune.

Later in the evening, while Victor was pulled into a conversation with several senators, Ethan cornered me near the outdoor terrace.

"Sienna, please," Ethan whispered, his hands trembling as he reached for my arm. I stepped back before he could touch me. "This is insane! You can't marry my uncle. The affair... it was a mistake! Lydia manipulated me. I still love you, Sienna. Please come home."

I looked at Ethan's pleading eyes and felt a sudden, profound emptiness. For years, I had bent myself backward to be his ideal partner. Now, looking at him, I felt absolutely nothing. I realized I had confused years of endurance and sacrifice for real love.

"You didn't lose me when I saw you with Lydia," I said softly, my voice devoid of any anger. "You lost me every time I chose you over myself."

I turned on my heel and walked back into the warmth of the ballroom, leaving him standing alone in the dark.

But as I walked away, I caught sight of Victor across the room. He was watching Ethan, his dark eyes locked onto my ex-fiancé with a look that was promise of total destruction.

By midnight, we returned to the penthouse. Exhausted, I kicked off my heels and stepped into my bedroom.

A plain white, sealed envelope sat directly in the middle of my bed.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked over, tore the seal open, and pulled out the contents.

It was a faded photograph from twenty years ago. My father stood on a dock, smiling, with his arm slung around a young Victor Kensington.

I turned the photograph over. Written across the back in my father’s precise, dark ink were six words that made the blood freeze in my veins:

‘Trust Victor. But never trust his father.’