The penthouse smelled like expensive lies.
Sienna sat on the edge of Alessandro's white leather sofa—the one she'd never been allowed to pick out, in the apartment she'd never been allowed to call home—and watched the city lights blink sixty-seven floors below. Her two suitcases stood by the door like soldiers at attention. Everything she owned that mattered fit into two bags. Three years, and she could walk away with less than she'd arrived with.
Funny how that worked.
Her phone buzzed in her lap. Another text from Jade: "You actually leaving this time or should I put the wine back?"
Fair question. Sienna had threatened to leave before. Twice, actually. Once when Alessandro forgot her birthday because he was in the Hamptons with Vanessa's family. Once when she saw photos of him and his fiancée at some charity gala—the same type of event where they'd met, except this time Sienna wasn't catering, she was just... absent.
Both times, he'd talked her down. Whispered the right words in the dark. Made promises that felt true at 2 AM when his walls came down and he told her things he swore he'd never told anyone else.
Both times, she'd stayed.
But tonight was different. Tonight, she'd heard him on the phone in his study, door cracked open just enough for his voice to carry. She'd been in his kitchen—his kitchen, never theirs—making coffee the way he liked it, two sugars and a splash of cream, when she heard him laugh. Actually laugh.
"June fifteenth, yes," he'd said, voice warm with something that sounded almost like joy. "The Plaza. Vanessa's been planning this for months. You know how she is." A pause. Then: "Of course I'm sure. It's time. We've waited long enough."
Sienna had set down the coffee cup so carefully it didn't make a sound.
She'd walked to the bedroom, pulled her suitcases from the closet he'd given her—one closet in a penthouse with five bedrooms, as if even her clothes needed to know their place—and started packing. She didn't cry. That's what surprised her most. Three years of loving a man who kept her like a secret, and when the end finally came, her eyes stayed dry.
Maybe you could only cry so many times before your body just gave up on the performance.
The elevator dinged in the hallway. Sienna's heart kicked against her ribs like it was trying to escape before the rest of her could. She stood up, smoothed down the simple black dress she'd worn—not one of the designer things he'd bought her, but something she'd purchased herself back when she'd still had her own life. It didn't fit quite right anymore. She'd lost weight this past year, though Alessandro had never noticed.
She heard his key in the lock.
For a second—just one brief, stupid second—she wondered if she should hide the suitcases. Pretend everything was fine. Smile when he walked in and kiss him hello like she always did, like a wife except without any of the actual commitment or respect that came with the title.
The door opened.
Alessandro Castellano walked into his penthouse the way he did everything: like he owned not just the space but the air inside it. Six-foot-two of tailored Italian suit and inherited arrogance, dark hair styled perfectly despite the late hour, those gray eyes that had once made her feel like the only woman in the world now scanning the room with the distracted efficiency of a man with more important things to think about.
He was on his phone. Of course he was.
"—tell Moretti if he wants the property, he'll meet our price. I don't negotiate with—" His eyes landed on the suitcases.
He stopped walking. Stopped talking. Just... stopped.
Sienna watched him process what he was seeing. Watched the exact moment understanding clicked into place behind those sharp eyes. His phone slowly lowered from his ear. She could hear someone's tinny voice still talking on the other end, but Alessandro didn't seem to notice.
"Sienna." Her name came out rough. Careful. Like he was trying to calm a spooked animal. "What's this?"
"What does it look like?" Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. Good. She'd practiced this. Spent the last three hours rehearsing what she'd say, how she'd stand, where she'd look so she wouldn't fall apart.
Don't look at his hands. Those hands knew every inch of her body. Don't look at his mouth. That mouth had promised her things in the dark that daylight always proved were lies.
Look at the suitcases. Look at the door. Look at your future walking away from this place.
"It looks like you're trying to make a point," Alessandro said, and there it was—that edge of condescension that crept into his voice whenever she did something he considered inconvenient. He pocketed his phone, adjusted his cufflinks. "What happened? Did Jade put something in your head again? Because we've talked about—"
"I heard you." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. "On the phone. Confirming your wedding date."
Something flickered across his face. Guilt, maybe. Or just annoyance at being caught. With Alessandro, it was hard to tell the difference.
"You were listening to my private conversation?" He tried for outrage, but it fell flat.
"The door was open. Your voice carries." Sienna crossed her arms, felt the ghost of where he'd held her just last night, and forced herself to continue. "June fifteenth. The Plaza. Vanessa's been planning for months, apparently. Sounds lovely."
Alessandro moved toward her, and she took a step back. The look on his face—she'd never seen it before. Not in three years. It almost looked like panic.
"Sienna, wait. Just—let's talk about this like adults."
"Adults?" The laugh that escaped her throat sounded foreign. Bitter. "Adults don't keep other adults hidden in penthouses for three years while planning weddings to other people. That's not adult behavior, Alessandro. That's called having your cake and eating it too."
"That's not fair." He ran a hand through his perfect hair, mussing it for the first time that evening. "You knew the situation when we started. You knew about Vanessa. We were honest about—"
"You were honest about nothing." Sienna's voice rose despite her intention to stay calm. "You said the engagement was a family obligation. Something you'd handle. You said you needed time. Three years, Alessandro. I gave you three years of time."
She thought about the beginning. God, the beginning had been beautiful.
She'd been working the charity gala, one of dozens of servers in black and white, invisible to everyone who mattered. Except he'd noticed her. Asked her name while she poured champagne. Come back three times to her station even though there were servers everywhere. "I'm not here for the champagne," he'd admitted on the third pass, and the way he'd looked at her had made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she was the kind of woman men like him noticed.
Their first date had been secret—"just until I handle some family things," he'd said. The second date, too. By the third month, the secrecy had become normal. By the sixth, she'd moved into this penthouse, and somehow the "family things" had crystallized into an actual engagement announcement in the Times.
"Just for appearances," he'd promised. "It doesn't mean anything. You're the one I love."
Three years of "just for appearances." Three years of loving a man in private while another woman wore his ring in public.
"You knew what this was," Alessandro said now, voice dropping into that low, intimate register he used when he wanted to persuade her. He took another step closer. "What we have is real, Sienna. What I have with Vanessa is just... it's business. Family obligation. You and I, what we share—that's the real thing."
"If I'm so real, why am I the secret?" The question came out quieter than she intended. Sadder. "If what we have matters, why doesn't anyone know I exist?"
He didn't have an answer. Or maybe he had the same answers he'd always given—about family expectations, business partnerships, complicated situations that required delicate handling. She'd heard them all before. Had believed them, once upon a time, when she'd been young enough and stupid enough to think that love conquered things like pride and public image.
Sienna picked up her purse from the sofa. "I'm done, Alessandro."
"You don't mean that." He moved to block her path to the suitcases. Not touching her, but close enough that she could smell his cologne. The expensive one she'd given him last Christmas, back when she'd still believed she had the right to give him gifts that mattered. "You're upset. I understand. But you're not thinking clearly. Where will you go?"
The question hit her like a slap. Where would she go? Back to her studio apartment in Brooklyn that she'd somehow kept paying rent on all these years, like insurance against exactly this moment? Back to catering gigs and night shifts and an empty bed that was at least honestly empty instead of just feeling that way?
Yes. Exactly that. Because anything was better than this.
"Somewhere that doesn't require me to hide who I am." She reached for the handle of the first suitcase.
Alessandro's hand shot out, gripped her wrist. Not hard—he'd never been rough with her, that wasn't his style—but firm enough to stop her movement. "Sienna, please. Don't do this. We can figure it out. I just need a little more time to—"
"You'll be back."
Sienna froze. "What?"
"You'll be back," he repeated, and there it was—the arrogance that had attracted her in the beginning now repulsing her in the end. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist like he was soothing a child. "You always come back. We'll fight, you'll leave for a few days, and then you'll remember what we have. What I give you. This life." He gestured around the penthouse, at the designer furniture and original artwork and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the city look like it belonged to them.
"This isn't life," Sienna said softly, pulling her wrist free. "This is a cage. A really expensive, really beautiful cage, but still a cage."
She grabbed both suitcases, headed for the door.
"You won't last a week without me." His voice followed her, sharp now, defensive. Scared, maybe, though Alessandro Castellano would never admit to fear. "You think it's easy out there? You think you'll just—what? Go back to serving drinks at parties? You've gotten used to this. To us. You need this as much as I do."
Sienna stopped at the door, hand on the handle. She should just go. Walk out. Let him have the last word because it didn't matter anymore. But something in her—some part that had been silent for three years—needed him to understand.
She turned back.
Alessandro stood in the middle of his pristine living room, suit still perfect, hair slightly messed from running his hands through it, looking at her like she was a problem he couldn't solve. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked genuinely afraid.
Good.
"You're wrong," she said. "I don't need this. I needed you to choose me. There's a difference."
She opened the door.
"Sienna—"
"Goodbye, Alessandro."
She stepped into the hallway, pulling her suitcases behind her, and didn't look back.
The elevator doors closed on his face—still shocked, still certain she'd turn around—and as she descended sixty-seven floors back to ground level, back to real life, back to a version of herself she'd almost forgotten existed, Sienna felt something she hadn't felt in three years.
Free.
Her phone buzzed. Jade: "Wine's open. Door's unlocked. You better actually be on your way this time."
Sienna typed back with shaking hands: "I'm coming home."
And for the first time in three years, she meant it.