Embarrassed in Front of Him

Blaire lounged against the heated massage bed in the high-end spa club, the scent of lavender filling the dim room. The moment her mother ended the call, Blaire swiped across her screen and dialed Fiona’s number. Over the past two weeks, Fiona had vanished. Her boutique was shuttered, and her social media accounts lay silent. Blaire remained unaware that her supposed best friend was currently living in a sprawling, ultra-luxurious villa provided by none other than Declan Hawthorne.

Miles away, Fiona reclined on a plush velvet sofa, sipping a chilled mimosa while a uniformed servant carefully massaged her calves. The ringing phone interrupted the quiet luxury of her new life. Seeing Blaire’s name flash on the screen, she picked up lazily.

"Hello, Blaire."

"Fiona, what have you been doing recently? Why is your store closed?"

Fiona stiffened, waving the servant away with a quick flick of her wrist. She sat up, clutching her silk robe. "Oh! I... I'm traveling! Is anything the matter?"

"Let me tell you some bad news," Blaire sneered, relishing the upcoming drama. "Sienna has returned to the country."

Her crystal glass slipped. The phone clattered against the marble floor. Sheer terror struck her chest, freezing the blood in her veins. Her breath hitched. She scrambled to pick up the device, her fingers trembling against the smooth screen. She took a sharp breath, forcing her vocal cords to work. "When did she come back? Why did she come back?"

"Why are you so nervous? You're still afraid of her!"

"No," Fiona lied, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "I'm just asking."

"My dad told me," Blaire continued, oblivious to Fiona's rising panic. "I don't know what she's doing right now, but I'm quite sure she's coming back to wage war over the family assets with me. She knows the company is doing well. She might cause you trouble too."

A dark, vicious resolve settled over Fiona. She masked her horror, staring at her reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. Everything she currently enjoyed—the boundless wealth, the elevated status, the designer clothes, and her burning ambition to become Declan's wife—was precariously built on a massive lie. Five years ago, she stole Sienna’s place. She claimed the fateful events of Room 808 as her own, taking advantage of a chaotic night. If Declan ever unraveled the truth, he would strip away this lavish life in a heartbeat. He might even kill her.

"Blaire, I'm afraid she will retaliate against me," Fiona pleaded, manipulating the situation with a fake tremor in her voice. "Can you tell me every move she makes? Report everything you know. I need to be prepared."

"Okay, we will ally against her."

The line went dead. Fiona bit her bottom lip, staring out at the manicured lawns of the villa. She was addicted to this life. She would never allow Sienna to ruin her plans. She needed to make Sienna permanently disappear from this world before anyone could expose her stolen identity.

At five in the afternoon, a gentle breeze swept through the courtyard of the local kindergarten. Sienna stood by the colorful iron gates, an oblivious smile gracing her lips. The sweet, angelic figure of her son, Milo, burst through the double doors, waving a cheerful goodbye to his teacher.

"Mommy!" he cheered, his small feet carrying him quickly across the pavement.

Sienna caught him, hoisting his light frame into her arms. "How was school today?"

"It was great! The teacher likes me very much, and my classmates like me too," the little boy replied, his pure anticipation of the world shining in his bright, innocent eyes.

"How about we have noodles for dinner?"

"Okay!"

They stopped by the neighborhood supermarket, picking up fresh vegetables, thin noodles, and a rich bone broth, before heading back to their cozy apartment. While Sienna chopped scallions in the narrow kitchen, Milo sat on the woven rug in the living area, piecing together a complex Lego tower. The tight space filled with domestic warmth, shielding them from the harsh, complicated realities outside.

"Mommy, did work go well today?" Milo asked, peeking around his colorful plastic bricks with genuine concern.

"Yes, it went well." Sienna curved her lips into a reassuring smile, keeping the struggles of her new job hidden. She never complained about life or work in front of him. His sweet presence cured her exhaustion, making every hardship bearable.

She turned the heat down on the stove and wiped her hands on a towel. "Milo, is it okay if I take you to see your grandfather in two days?"

"Okay! I also really want to see Grandpa," he replied, blinking his eyes with pure anticipation.

Sienna forced a nod, though a complicated knot tightened in her chest. She knew her stepmother, Lydia, and her stepsister, Blaire, would utterly despise his presence. They would look at him with disdain. More than that, she had to devise a foolproof plan to hide the shameful truth of his conception. She could never reveal to her family that Milo was born from her accidental, drugged loss of virginity in the club. The memory of Room 808 remained a dark stain, a traumatic nightmare of tangled sheets and a faceless stranger she wanted to bury forever. Instead, she decided she would lie to her father. She would look Warren straight in the eye and claim she deeply loved the man who fathered her son.

Later that night, the apartment fell quiet. Sienna lay in her narrow bed, pulling the soft covers over Milo’s sleeping form. Pale moonlight drifted through the window, washing over the room as the mother and son fell into a peaceful, deep slumber together.

Early the next morning, the city streets hummed with rush hour traffic. Sienna dropped Milo off at school before catching a cab to the Lumiere headquarters. The brand occupied an eight-story building in the bustling center, surrounded by towering skyscrapers.

She paid the driver and stepped onto the pavement, clutching a paper bag from a nearby bakery. Running late, she walked quickly toward the glass entrance doors, desperately trying to finish her breakfast before stepping into the professional environment.

Approaching the elevator bank, she realized eating inside the design department would look terrible. She needed to swallow her food now. She tilted her head back and stuffed a massive, unmanageable bite of bread into her mouth, her cheeks puffing out.

Just as she began to chew, the metal doors slid open with a soft chime.

Standing inside the sleek, mirrored cabin was the imposing, devastatingly handsome figure of Declan Hawthorne. He wore a tailored dark suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding presence.

Sienna froze, her eyes widening in horror. She tried to swallow the dry bread, her throat working with agonizing difficulty. She forced her legs to move, stepping into the elevator.

"Morning," Declan greeted, his low, magnetic morning salutation vibrating through the confined space.

Sienna tried to force out a polite greeting in return. "Morn—"

She was betrayed by a sudden, incredibly loud hiccup.

The sound echoed off the metal walls. Flushing deep, beet red under the harsh lights of the mirrored elevator, Sienna stared straight ahead. The mirrors surrounded her, offering no escape from her humiliating reflection. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but her body protested. She choked out another inelegant hiccup, mortified.

Declan’s deep gaze shifted. He watched her through the mirror, observing her awkward, red-faced panic. His usually cold, unreadable expression cracked. A rare, genuine smile brewed deep within his dark eyes. He watched her squirm, musing that this stubborn woman was inexplicably interesting.

When the digital display chimed for the sixth floor, the doors parted. Sienna scrambled out of the cabin, escaping the tension. She rushed toward the water dispenser in the hallway, gulping down cold water to cure her hiccups, wishing the carpet would swallow her whole.

By ten-thirty, the atmosphere in the design department turned toxic.

Sienna sat at the oval table inside the main boardroom, her sketchbook resting in front of her. Director Monica Yates sat at the head of the table, sorting through design files. She glanced at the door, her posture rigid with stress.

"Wait for a moment," Monica instructed her team of eight designers. "President Hawthorne will be joining us shortly."

Whispers broke out among the staff. The big boss attending a standard departmental meeting was unheard of. The air grew thick with sudden corporate tension.

Across the table, Paige leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. She maliciously demanded the floor. "Sienna, did you know President Hawthorne beforehand?"

Sienna kept her face neutral. "I didn't."

"Then why did he keep staring at you yesterday?" Paige pressed, pointing out his intense, predatory gaze from the previous afternoon. Her jealous colleagues nodded along, openly interrogating Sienna with sharp, scrutinizing looks.

Sienna gracefully deflected the accusation. She met Paige's hostile stare without flinching. "You should ask the President yourself."

Paige scoffed, ready to argue, but Monica slammed a folder onto the table.

"Enough," Monica snapped, launching into a stern, thinly-veiled warning. She glared at her subordinates, her gaze lingering on Sienna. "Work is work. The company is not a place for you to fall in love, nor is it a place to take the back door. Do not use this workplace to seduce your superiors. Remember that well."

Paige smirked, satisfied with the reprimand. In her mind, Sienna was just another opportunist trying to climb the ladder by flashing a pretty smile at the CEO.

The oppressive tension shattered the moment the boardroom door opened.

Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold. Declan strode in gracefully. His god-like, majestic aura instantly suffocated the room. He wore a custom-fitted suit that highlighted a perfect figure resembling the sun god Apollo. His striking, handsome face and princely temperament captivated every woman present. Even Monica hurriedly ruffled her hair, attempting to exude a mellow, womanly charm despite her strict demeanor.

Declan ignored the staring eyes. He walked past the row of seated designers and took the empty leather chair at the head of the table, displacing the air around him with sheer authority.

He folded his hands over the polished wood. His low, charming voice cut through the heavy silence, coldly commanding the room.

"Let's start."