Chapter 7:The Bluff and The Bedroom
1702 Words
Sienna
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was the longest thirty seconds of my life. The air was thick with the scent of Julian’s expensive cologne and the lingering tension of his threat in the car.
All is fair in love and war, I reminded myself, clutching my designer clutch like a shield. I had started this fire. Now I just had to make sure I didn't get burned.
The doors hissed open. I marched out first, my emerald train swishing defiantly against the marble. "Well, that was a lovely evening. Goodnight, Julian. I’ll see you at breakfast—if the 'plumbing' allows it."
I made a break for the master suite, but Julian was faster. He didn't grab me; he simply leaned one hand against the doorframe of my bedroom, blocking my path.
"Not so fast, Sterling," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "We have a 'reputation' to maintain, remember? My grandfather is probably already calling the family lawyer to see if the union is official. I’d hate to be a disappointment."
I turned, putting on my best 'bored' expression. "Julian, please. We both know that was just for the crowd. You don't actually want to... consummate... anything with a woman you claim is a headache."
"Oh, you're a massive headache," he agreed, stepping into my personal space. The orange walls of the closet behind me seemed to glow even brighter, reflecting the heat of the moment. "But you’re also the woman who told a room full of billionaires that I’m inadequate. I believe in 'Quality Control.' I can't have rumors like that circulating."
He stepped closer, and I found myself backing up until my heels hit the edge of the plush rug. "You’re bluffing," I whispered. "You’re just trying to scare me because I locked you out of the bathroom."
"Am I?" He reached out, his fingers slowly undoing the top button of his tuxedo vest. "You’re the fashion designer, Sienna. You know all about 'the reveal.' Why don't we see who's actually bluffing?"
My heart was doing a frantic Afrobeats rhythm in my chest. I looked at the bed, then back at his smug, handsome face. I had to think fast. I couldn't back down—Sterlings never back down—but I wasn't ready to surrender the war.
"Fine," I said, my voice suddenly crystal clear. I dropped my clutch on the floor and crossed my arms. "If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it properly. I have a 'Sterling Standard' for these things, Julian. I require a five-step skincare routine, a specific silk thread-count, and absolutely zero construction-cone orange in my peripheral vision."
I pointed toward the closet. "Cover those walls with something neutral, and maybe I’ll consider 'finalizing' the contract. Until then, you can spend your wedding night on that very expensive, very grey sofa in the living room."
Julian paused, his hand on his second button. He looked at the orange walls, then back at me. A slow, genuine laugh broke through his "shark" persona.
"You're using the paint as a defense mechanism?" He shook his head, looking genuinely amused. "You’re incredible. You’d rather sleep in a neon-orange dungeon than admit you’re a little bit attracted to the 'Construction King'."
"I'm attracted to silence and running water," I retorted. "Both of which are currently missing."
"The water is back on, Sienna," he said, his eyes glinting. "I turned the valve back on while you were getting your coat at the Gala. Consider it a wedding gift."
He backed out of the doorway, giving me a mock bow. "Enjoy your shower. But don't get too comfortable. Grandfather is coming for brunch on Sunday to 'check on us.' You better have a better story ready than 'the walls were too bright,' or I might just have to tell him the truth."
"Which is?" I called out as he headed toward the living room.
"Which is that you're obsessed with me," he shouted back. "And you're just mad I’m better at this game than you are!"
I slammed the bedroom door and locked it—twice—just for good measure. I leaned against the wood, my breath finally hitching.
"He is so annoying," I whispered to the empty, orange room. Then, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, and my eyes were bright.
"Maria is going to have a field day with this," I muttered, heading for the now-functioning shower.
Julian
I made it exactly three steps past her bedroom door before I had to lean my forehead against the cool marble of the hallway wall. My hands were shaking.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't even adrenaline. It was the sheer, terrifying realization that I had been less than an inch away from throwing the entire "War" out the window.
I had been about to kiss her. And not some polite, "husbandly" peck for the cameras. I’d been ready to kiss the living daylights out of Sienna Sterling until she forgot her own name, forgot the orange walls, and forgot that we were supposed to be enemies.
“Get it together, Vane,” I hissed to the empty hallway.
I couldn't be the first one to break. In the Sterling-Vane history books, the one who caught feelings first was the one who lost everything. If I kissed her now, while we were still in the middle of this nuclear fallout, I’d be handing her the keys to my kingdom on a silver platter. She’d use it against me for the next fifty years.
I marched into my own master bath, ripped off my tuxedo shirt—the one with the lingering scent of her expensive floral perfume—and turned the shower handle all the way to the right.
The water hit me like a sheet of ice.
I stood there, eyes closed, letting the freezing spray numb the heat still radiating off my skin. But even the cold couldn’t wash away the image of her in that emerald dress, her eyes wide and challenging, her lips parted just enough to drive a man insane.
I could imagine exactly how it would have felt. The friction of her silk gown against my suit, the way her fingers would have tangled in my hair as she tried to pull me closer or push me away—she probably wouldn't even know which one she wanted.
She was a Sterling; she was all sharp edges and high-fashion armor. But for a second back there, the armor had cracked.
"She’s a headache," I muttered, the freezing water slicking my hair back. "A loud, pink, glittery, manipulative headache."
But as I stepped out and grabbed a towel, I caught my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. I looked like a man who was losing a fight he didn't even know he was in.
I’d won the plumbing war. I’d won the closet renovation. But as I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I knew the truth.
Sienna was right about one thing. The war had gone nuclear. And in a nuclear war, nobody actually wins. They just see who can survive the fallout.
Sienna
I stood in the shower until the steam filled the room, my forehead pressed against the cold subway tile. The water was running, but all I could hear was the echo of Julian’s voice in the hallway.
“...You’re just mad I’m better at this game than you are!”
"In your dreams, Vane," I whispered, but my heart wasn't in the insult.
The truth was a heavy, unwanted guest in my head. For years, my feelings for Julian had been a straight line of irritation—a predictable, comfortable hate. But lately, that line had started to curve. It was warping into something hotter, sharper, and much more terrifying.
I looked at my hands. They were still shaking.
I wasn't just mad about the orange walls or the water crisis. I was terrified because, for a split second in that doorway, I hadn't wanted to argue. I had wanted to see if his lips were as cold as his heart.
The truth is trying to catch up to me, I thought, grabbing a towel and stepping out into the glowing orange closet. I better accelerate my speed.
If the truth caught me, I’d be the first to break. And a Sterling never breaks first. Not to a Vane. If I admitted even a fraction of what I was feeling, he would have the ultimate leverage. He would own me.
"No," I told my reflection, my eyes narrowing. "If he wants a war, I’ll give him a scorched-earth campaign."
I liked playing with fire. I always had. And Julian Vane was currently a towering inferno of self-control. I wanted to see how much more it took to make him snap. I wanted to push every single one of his buttons—the professional ones, the petty ones, and especially the ones that kept him "respectable."
He thinks he’s the Construction King? I’m the woman who builds empires out of silk and shadows.
If he wants to play husband, I’ll be the most affectionate, clingy, and devastatingly "perfect" wife Salt City has ever seen. I’ll make him so uncomfortable he won't know whether to kiss me or quit.
I reached for my phone and texted Maria.
Sienna: Find the most 'innocent' cream-colored outfit in the Sterling vault. We’re going to brunch on Sunday. And Maria? Make sure it’s tight. If I’m going to hell, I’m doing it in couture.
I lay down in bed, staring at the orange ceiling. Julian thought he was the one with the keys. He didn't realize that I had already moved the locks.
The war wasn't ending. I was just shifting gears. And I was about to drive us both right off the cliff.
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