Vows of Vengeance

Chapter 3:The Penthouse War

​Sienna

​The Vane Penthouse was exactly what I expected: cold, glass-walled, and smelling of Julian’s signature "over-confidence" cologne. It was $20 million of "look at me," and I hated every square inch of it.

​"Maria, please tell me the boxes with the Sterling Summer Collection are in the master suite," I said, my voice echoing off the marble floors.

​Maria, who was currently wrestling with a garment bag twice her size, gave me a weary look. "They’re in the hallway, Sienna. Along with the shoe trunks and your skincare fridge. Because somebody decided to fill the walk-in closet with enough navy blue suits to outfit the entire Italian navy."

​I turned my glare toward Julian, who was casually pouring himself a glass of scotch at the bar, his white tuxedo jacket finally discarded.

​"The closet is first-come, first-served, Sterling," Julian said without looking back. "I’ve lived here for three years. You’re the guest. Guests keep their things in boxes."

​"I am the wife," I hissed, marching toward him. "A wife who currently can’t breathe because this dress was designed to be worn for exactly four hours, and we are currently on hour six."

​I felt the familiar, frantic tug of the obsidian silk against my ribs. I reached back, my fingers fumbling with the hidden zipper, but the custom Sterling corset was a masterpiece of engineering—and a nightmare to exit alone.

​"Maria!" I called out, turning my back to my assistant. "The zipper. Get me out of this trap before I have a panic attack."

​Maria dropped the garment bag and hurried over. I felt her nimble fingers working at the small of my back.

​"It’s stuck, isn't it?" Julian’s voice was closer now. I looked over my shoulder to find him leaning against the kitchen island, watching us with an infuriating smirk. "Maybe if you hadn't eaten that entire piece of dark chocolate, it wouldn't be so tight."

​I narrowed my eyes at him. "It’s a Sterling Couture, Vane. It doesn’t 'stretch' for peasants."

​"I’ve got it!" Maria announced. I felt the glorious rush of air as the zipper finally gave way. "I’ll go set up the steam-cleaner in the guest room, Sienna. I think we can fit at least three of your trunks in there if we move Mr. Vane’s rowing machine."

​"Don't touch the rower," Julian warned, but Maria was already gone, disappearing into the hallway with the efficiency of a silent ninja.

​I held the front of my dress up, the bodice now loose, and stared at the man who was officially my roommate for the next 365 days.

​"Rules," Julian said, suddenly pulling a thin tablet from the counter. "Since we’re sharing a zip code now, I’ve drafted a Co-habitation Agreement. Read it. Sign it. Don't break it."

​He slid the tablet across the marble. I picked it up, my eyes widening as I scrolled.

​"Rule 1: No Sterling-branded logos in the common areas?" I read aloud, my voice rising. "Rule 4: The espresso machine is off-limits between 5:00 AM and 7:00 AM? Rule 12: No 'unauthorized' assistants allowed in the kitchen after midnight?"

​I looked up at him, my grip on the tablet tightening. "You’re banning Maria from the kitchen? She makes my detox tea at 1:00 AM!"

​"Then tell her to make it at 11:59," Julian replied, taking a slow sip of his drink. "This is my sanctuary, Sienna. You brought a black dress to my wedding and a funeral vibe to my life. The least you can do is follow the schedule."

​I felt the petty fire rising in my chest. If he wanted a war of rules, I’d give him a bureaucracy he couldn’t survive.

​"Maria!" I shouted toward the hallway.

​"Yes, Sienna?"

​"Find my lawyer. We’re going to need a lot more digital ink. If Mr. Vane wants rules, we’re going to start with a 'Shirtless Tax' for any time he wanders into the living room without a button-down."

​Julian’s smirk didn't fade. In fact, it grew. "Good luck enforcing that, Princess. I own the thermostat. And it’s about to get very, very warm in here.

​Sienna

"Huh"Rules,He Gave ME Rules!.

Okay I will show him what I think of him and his STUPID RULES!he is in for a surprise I smile to myself.

​Julian left for a "strategy meeting" at 9:00 AM, looking smug in a charcoal suit that probably cost as much as a mid-sized sedan. He tapped Rule #1 on the digital tablet as he walked out the door.

​"Remember, Sterling," he smirked. "No logos in the common areas. I want this place to look like a home, not a billboard."

​The second the elevator doors hissed shut, I turned to Maria. She was already standing there with her iPad, her eyes gleaming with the same predatory instinct I felt in my chest.

​"Maria," I said, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face. "Do we still have the industrial fabric printer and the adhesive vinyl from the Pop-Up launch?"

​"In the hallway boxes, Section B," Maria replied instantly. "I also have the neon pink Sterling monogram stickers. The ones that are 'permanent' but technically removable with three hours of scrubbing."

​"Perfect. He wants no Sterling logos? Fine. We won’t give him logos. We’ll give him an installation."

​For the next four hours, the penthouse became a sweatshop of spite. Maria and I worked with the precision of a diamond heist team. If it had a surface, it was about to be 'branded.'

​I didn't just put a logo on a pillow. I used the industrial printer to create a ten-foot-long, neon-bright "S.S." monogrammed runner that I taped—with industrial-grade precision—directly onto his white marble kitchen island.

​Then, we moved to the living room. Every single one of his "minimalist" grey throw pillows was stuffed into a custom-made Sterling hot-pink silk casing. The giant, bold 'S' wasn't just a logo; it was a neon-lit middle finger.

​"The curtains, Sienna?" Maria asked, holding up a roll of Sterling-branded lace.

​"Every single one," I commanded. "And the coasters. And Maria? Wrap his favorite whiskey bottle in the Sterling signature ribbon. The one with the gold glitter that sheds."

​By 5:00 PM, the "sanctuary" Julian loved looked like a Sterling Atelier exploded inside a Barbie Dreamhouse. It was loud. It was bright. It was aggressively Sterling.

​I sat on the sofa—now covered in a monogrammed cashmere throw—and sipped my detox tea. Maria stood behind me, looking like a proud general.

​"He’s going to be furious," Maria noted.

​"No, Maria," I corrected, checking my black-diamond watch. "He’s going to be inspired. He told me he wanted a 'home.' I just gave it some personality."

​The elevator chimed.

​I didn't turn around. I just listened to the sound of Julian’s expensive shoes hitting the floor. Then, I heard the silence. The long, heavy silence of a man realizing his $20 million glass palace had been conquered by pink silk and glittery monograms.

​"Sterling," his voice growled from the entryway. It was low, vibrating with a mix of disbelief and pure, unadulterated rage.

​"Yes, darling?" I called back, my voice dripping with honey. "I hope you don't mind. I found the decor a bit... drab. I thought I’d bring some 'Sterling' quality to the common areas. Just like we discussed."

​I heard him walk into the kitchen. The sound of his hand hitting the neon-pink marble runner made me grin.

​"Rule Number One," he barked, appearing in the living room. He was holding one of the pink pillows like it was a biohazard. "I said NO Sterling logos in the common areas!"

​"And there aren't," I said, finally turning to look at him. I pointed to the giant, bright 'S' on the pillow. "That’s not a logo, Julian. That’s a pattern. It’s art. You can't ban art. It’s in the constitution. Or at least, it’s in our co-habitation agreement under 'Personal Expression'."

​Julian stared at the room, then back at me. He looked like he wanted to scream, but then his eyes narrowed. He dropped the pillow and stepped closer, his shadow falling over me.

​"You think this is funny?" he asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous, husky register.

​"I think it’s 'on-brand'," I countered.

​He leaned down, his face inches from mine, the scent of expensive bourbon and cold rain clinging to him. "Fine. You want to play the 'Installation' game? Hope you like the color orange, Sienna. Because tomorrow, the Vane Construction crew is coming in to 'renovate' your walk-in closet. And I hear safety-cone orange is the new black."

​