The Meridian Gallery opening was exactly the kind of pretentious art event Alessandro normally avoided.
Champagne that cost more per glass than most people's weekly groceries. Abstract paintings that looked like someone had sneezed paint onto canvas and called it vision. People in black clothing using words like "transcendent" and "liminal" to describe what was essentially expensive wallpaper.
But according to the guest list his assistant had acquired—legally, mostly—Sienna would be here. Sterling & Cross was sponsoring the event, and as their rising star strategist, she'd be in attendance.
He'd told himself he just wanted to see her. Make sure she was okay. That's what he'd been telling himself for three days while he planned this "accidental" meeting.
He was a liar, and he knew it.
Alessandro adjusted his cufflinks, accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and scanned the gallery. Modern space, all white walls and track lighting. Probably a hundred people spread across two floors, clustering around paintings they'd pretend to understand.
And then he saw her.
For a second, he forgot how to breathe.
Sienna stood near a massive canvas of red and black slashes, talking to a woman in a silver dress. But it wasn't the painting that stopped Alessandro's heart—it was her.
She'd cut her hair. That was the first thing he noticed. Gone was the long, dark hair he'd loved running his fingers through, replaced by a sharp bob that ended just below her jaw. It made her look older. Sophisticated. Like she'd shed some previous version of herself and emerged as someone new.
She wore red. A dress that hugged her body—had she lost weight? No, she'd just... changed. Carried herself differently. She stood taller, shoulders back, chin up. The Sienna he'd known had always made herself smaller in public spaces, like she was trying not to take up too much room.
This Sienna took up exactly as much room as she wanted.
She laughed at something her companion said, and the sound carried across the gallery. Real laughter. Not the polite, careful laugh she'd used around his friends and family when she'd been his secret. This was uninhibited, genuine, free.
She looked happy.
The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. In three years together, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her look this happy.
"Alessandro Castellano. Didn't expect to see you here."
He turned to find James Whitmore—Vanessa's father—smiling at him with all the warmth of a tax audit. Perfect. His father-in-law, here to witness whatever disaster was about to unfold.
"James. I have an interest in contemporary art." The lie came easily. He'd been lying a lot lately.
"Since when?" James sipped his champagne, eyes sharp behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I've known you for five years, and I've never heard you mention art once. Unless you count architectural renderings."
"People develop new interests."
"Or old obsessions." James's gaze drifted across the room, landed on Sienna, drifted back. "That's Sienna Morales, isn't it? The strategist everyone's talking about. Brilliant woman. Sterling & Cross is lucky to have her."
Alessandro's jaw tightened. "You know her?"
"Met her at a fundraiser last month. Vanessa and I were discussing our foundation's rebrand, and someone recommended we talk to her. Sharp as a tack, that one. And nothing like the nervous girl you used to keep in your penthouse."
So James had known. Of course he'd known. Everyone in their circles had probably known about Sienna. They'd just been too polite—or too strategic—to mention it.
"That was a long time ago," Alessandro said.
"Six months." James smiled. "Hardly ancient history. Does Vanessa know you're here?"
"I'm allowed to attend art galleries without my wife's permission."
"Of course you are. Just like you were allowed to keep a mistress for three years without her permission." James finished his champagne, set the empty glass on a passing tray. "Word of advice, son? Let the past stay in the past. You made your choice. Live with it."
He walked away, leaving Alessandro standing alone with his champagne and his poor life decisions.
Across the room, Sienna had moved to a different painting. She was alone now, studying a canvas of swirling blues and greens. This was his chance. He could walk over, say hello, keep it casual. Just two people who used to know each other, running into each other at a public event.
His feet carried him forward before his brain could talk him out of it.
"Sienna."
She turned, and for just a second—less than a heartbeat—something flickered across her face. Surprise. Maybe pain. Then it was gone, replaced by polite neutrality.
"Alessandro." His name in her mouth sounded foreign. Formal. Like she was greeting a distant acquaintance instead of a man who'd known every inch of her body, every secret she'd ever whispered in the dark. "What a surprise."
"I didn't know you'd be here." Another lie. He was collecting them tonight.
"Sterling & Cross is sponsoring. I'm here representing the firm." She gestured to her glass of champagne, to the gallery around them. "Supporting the arts and all that."
"You look..." He searched for the right word. Beautiful. Different. Like someone I don't recognize. "Good. You look really good."
"Thank you." She sipped her champagne, and he noticed she wasn't wearing any jewelry. No necklace, no bracelet, nothing he'd given her. She'd stripped away every trace of him. "How's married life?"
The question was polite. Conversational. It felt like a knife.
"It's fine."
"Good. That's good." She looked back at the painting like it was more interesting than this conversation. Like he was just another stranger making small talk.
"Sienna, I—" He stepped closer, lowered his voice. "I got your text. The one thanking me for the congratulations. It felt like a goodbye."
"Because it was." She met his eyes finally, and hers were calm. Clear. No tears, no anger, just... nothing. "You're married, Alessandro. I'm moving forward with my life. There's nothing else to say."
"There's a lot to say. I never stopped—"
"Please don't." Her voice stayed level, but something sharp entered it. "Don't tell me you never stopped thinking about me or missing me or whatever you're about to say. You made your choice. I made mine. Let's just leave it at that."
"What if I made the wrong choice?"
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Then that's something you need to discuss with your wife. Not with me. I'm not your therapist, Alessandro. I'm not your escape route. I'm not your anything anymore."
Before he could respond, a hand appeared at the small of her back. Possessive. Familiar.
Alessandro looked up and found himself face-to-face with Dante Moretti.
Up close, Moretti was younger than Alessandro had expected. Mid-thirties, maybe. He wore his success casually—expensive but understated suit, no tie, top button undone. The kind of studied casualness that probably took a team of stylists to achieve. He was smiling, but his eyes were calculating as they landed on Alessandro.
"Sorry I'm late," Dante said, though he was clearly talking to Sienna. His hand stayed on her back. "Traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything important?"
"Nothing important," Sienna said, and Alessandro felt the words like a slap. "Just admiring the art."
"And who's this?" Dante extended his free hand toward Alessandro. His smile was friendly, but there was something underneath it. Recognition. Challenge. "I'm Dante Moretti."
"I know who you are." Alessandro didn't take the offered hand.
"Alessandro." Sienna's voice carried a warning. "Don't be rude."
He forced himself to shake Moretti's hand. The grip was firm. Competitive. This wasn't just a handshake—it was a pissing contest, and they both knew it.
"Alessandro Castellano," Dante said, like he was tasting the name. "Castellano Properties. We've been competing for the same development sites for years. Though I have to say, you've been unusually quiet lately. Married life keeping you busy?"
"Something like that."
"Congratulations, by the way. I saw the wedding announcement in the Times." Dante's hand was still on Sienna's back, thumb moving in small circles that Alessandro wanted to break. "Vanessa Whitmore, right? Beautiful ceremony. Very... traditional."
The emphasis on that last word wasn't subtle.
"Thank you." Alessandro's jaw hurt from clenching. "And what brings you here tonight?"
"Sienna invited me." Dante smiled down at her, genuine warmth in his expression. "We've been working together on the Brooklyn project. She's brilliant—but I'm sure you know that already."
The way he said it—like he knew. Like Sienna had told him everything.
Alessandro looked at her, searching for confirmation. But Sienna's face remained carefully neutral, giving nothing away.
"The Brooklyn development," Alessandro said slowly. "The sustainable urban renewal project. I've been reading about it. Impressive community support."
"We have Sienna to thank for that," Dante said. "Her strategic vision completely transformed how the community perceives the project. She's got a gift for understanding what people need to hear."
"She does." Alessandro's eyes stayed locked on Sienna. "She's always been very good at reading people."
Sienna's grip tightened on her champagne glass. "I should probably circulate. Network. That's why I'm here."
"Of course." Dante's hand dropped from her back. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes?"
"Sure."
She started to turn away.
"It was good seeing you," Alessandro said, hating how desperate the words sounded.
Sienna paused, looked back over her shoulder. "Was it?"
Then she walked away, weaving through the crowd, her red dress disappearing among the black-clad gallery patrons.
Alessandro and Dante stood in awkward silence, two men who'd just fought over a woman without saying a word about it.
"So," Dante said finally. "You and Sienna. How do you know each other?"
"We're acquainted."
"Acquainted." Dante's smile sharpened. "That's an interesting word choice. She was pretty upset when I found her at a company party six months ago. Looked like someone had broken her heart. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Alessandro's hands clenched into fists. "I don't think that's any of your business."
"You're right. It's not." Dante took a sip of his champagne, utterly relaxed. "But she is. My business, I mean. We're together now. Have been for a few weeks. So I just want to make sure we're clear—whatever history you two have, it's history. She's moved on."
"Has she told you that?"
"She doesn't have to. I can see it." Dante's expression softened slightly. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, and honestly, I don't care. All I know is she's happy now. Happier than she's been in years, according to her friend Jade. And I plan to keep her that way."
"How noble of you."
"Not noble. Selfish." Dante grinned. "She makes me better. Smarter. My company's thriving because of her insights. My life's better because she's in it. Why would I let some ghost from her past ruin that?"
Before Alessandro could respond, Sienna reappeared with another woman—the one in the silver dress from earlier.
"Dante, this is Miranda, my boss at Sterling & Cross. Miranda, this is Dante Moretti. And this is..." She paused, seemed to struggle with how to introduce him. "Alessandro Castellano. An... old acquaintance."
Old acquaintance. Three years together, reduced to two words.
"Lovely to meet you both," Miranda said, already pulling Dante away. "Mr. Moretti, I've been wanting to discuss expanding our partnership. Do you have a moment?"
"Of course." Dante let himself be led away, but not before squeezing Sienna's hand. "I'll find you later?"
"Yeah. Later."
And then it was just Alessandro and Sienna again, standing in a gallery full of people, completely alone.
"You're dating him," Alessandro said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Does it matter?"
"To me it does."
Sienna sighed, set down her champagne glass on a nearby pedestal. "A few weeks. It's new. And before you ask—yes, I like him. Yes, he makes me happy. Yes, it's real."
"It's been six months."
"And you've been married for four of them." Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare judge me for moving on when you literally married someone else."
"Vanessa and I—it's not the same thing."
"You're right. It's worse. At least Dante and I actually like each other."
The words landed like punches. Alessandro felt something crack in his chest—the last bit of hope he'd been carrying that maybe, somehow, they could find their way back to each other.
"Sienna—"
"Stop." She held up a hand. "Just... stop. I don't want to do this. Not here. Not anywhere. We're done, Alessandro. We were done the moment you chose Vanessa over me. I've accepted that. You need to accept it too."
"What if I can't?"
"Then that's your problem. Not mine." She picked up her champagne again, drained it in one long swallow. "I have to go. Miranda's expecting me to actually network tonight, not stand here rehashing ancient history with my ex."
"Is that what I am? Your ex?"
"You were never really my anything official enough to be an ex. So let's just say you're someone I used to know." She started to walk away, then paused. Turned back. "Oh, and Alessandro? For what it's worth—I forgive you. For all of it. I forgive you for keeping me hidden, for choosing your family's expectations over me, for making me believe I wasn't worth choosing in the first place. I forgive you. But that doesn't mean I want you back in my life."
She walked away before he could respond.
Alessandro stood frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd. Watching Dante materialize at her side a minute later, wrapping an arm around her waist, making her smile in a way that used to be reserved for Alessandro alone.
His phone buzzed. Vanessa.
"Where are you? You said you'd be home for dinner."
He'd forgotten. Again.
Alessandro looked around the gallery—at the expensive art, the expensive people, the expensive waste of an evening. Across the room, Sienna was laughing at something Dante said, her whole body angled toward him like he was the sun and she was a plant desperate for light.
He pulled out his phone, typed a response to Vanessa:
"On my way."
Another lie.
He stayed at the gallery for another hour, nursing his champagne, watching Sienna from across the room. Watching her be happy without him. Watching Dante Moretti's hands on her body—respectful but possessive, public but careful.
Watching everything he'd lost take physical form in front of him.
When Sienna and Dante finally left together, his hand on her lower back guiding her toward the exit, Alessandro followed. Not too close. Just close enough to see.
Outside, Dante hailed a cab. Opened the door for her. Slid in beside her. The cab pulled away, and through the back window, Alessandro saw them—Dante saying something that made Sienna laugh, Sienna leaning into him, both of them looking like the kind of couple Alessandro and Sienna had never been allowed to be.
Happy. Public. Real.
His phone buzzed again. Vanessa, calling this time.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled up Richard's number. His lawyer. The one he'd hired to dig into Dante Moretti's business.
"Richard. I need you to accelerate your timeline. I want everything on Moretti by Monday. Everything. Financial records, business deals, personal relationships. Every vulnerability, every weakness, every skeleton in his closet. I want to know how to destroy him."
"Alessandro, are you sure that's—"
"Monday. Not a request."
He hung up, stared at the gallery entrance where Sienna had just walked out of his life for the second time.
James Whitmore's words echoed in his head: Let the past stay in the past. You made your choice. Live with it.
But Alessandro had never been good at living with his choices.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.
If Sienna thought she could move on with Dante Moretti—if she thought she could be happy with his rival, rubbing her new relationship in his face—she had another thing coming.
He'd lost her once through his own cowardice.
He wasn't going to lose her again.
Even if it meant burning down everything—his marriage, Moretti's business, the careful life he'd built—to get her back.
Especially if it meant that.