The Scheming Fiona

Monica cleared her throat, breaking the heavy silence after Declan’s command. "The main agenda of today's meeting revolves around our upcoming international design competition. First, congratulations to the two shortlisted designers from our department: Paige and Sienna."

Sienna kept her focus on the sketchbook resting on the oval table, but the oppressive weight of an unrelenting gaze bore into her skin. Judging from the angle, the source was undeniable. Declan Hawthorne.

Why did this man have so much free time? Why did he insist on sitting in on a standard departmental briefing just to stare at her? A deep-seated resentment simmered in Sienna's chest. Her mother had suffered a brutal death to save him when he was just a child. His arrogant, majestic presence sitting at the head of the boardroom was a constant, bitter reminder of that irreplaceable loss. She gripped her pen tighter, attempting to block out his existence.

"Sienna, walk us through your concept," Monica called out harshly, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Sienna blinked, her dark thoughts scattering. She looked up at the director, momentarily disoriented by the sudden spotlight. "Pardon? Which specific aspect are you referring to?"

Monica’s face twisted into a scowl. "Sienna, you might be a designer dispatched straight from headquarters, but that does not give you a free pass to act arrogant. You clearly ignored the market analysis I just detailed." Monica’s intent was transparent: humiliate the newcomer and elevate her favored rival, Paige, in front of the entire Lumiere team.

The boardroom plunged into a suffocating silence. Colleagues exchanged mocking glances, waiting for the golden girl from headquarters to crash and burn. Sienna’s cheeks grew warm under the collective scrutiny.

Before Paige could interject with a snide remark, Declan’s low, commanding voice cut through the tension. "Explain the unique selling point of your design."

He directly addressed Sienna, tossing her a lifeline.

Instantly regaining her professional confidence, Sienna sat up straight. When it came to her craft, she bowed to no one. "My piece features an intricate use of platinum. It serves as the optimal base material for complex inlays. I have also integrated rhodium and palladium into the structural framework. These specific metals offer superior gloss, exceptional hardness, and long-term durability. They carry premium connotations. They resist depreciation, refuse to discolor over time, and provide unmatched chemical stability. My design specifically targets elite collectors who view high jewelry as generational assets rather than seasonal accessories."

She finished her pitch with fluid grace. Glancing up, she accidentally caught Declan's deep, dark gaze from across the table. She quickly averted her eyes, focusing back on her notes.

Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes. "So, your big selling point is just that it's expensive." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "My approach is vastly different. I focus on trendy, fast-fashion elements. The market moves at lightning speed nowadays. Clients want current aesthetics. My design incorporates modern pop culture motifs, making it much more suitable for immediate market demands."

Sienna simply smiled, exhibiting unbothered grace. She refused to take the bait. "Every piece holds its own distinct merits. There is room for both philosophies in this competition."

Declan remained silent, leaning back in his leather chair, watching the exchange without offering any further input.

"Alright, we are done here," Monica announced, closing her folder. "Meeting adjourned."

Chairs scraped against the carpet as the designers prepared to leave.

"Sienna, stay behind," Declan ordered. His tone left no room for argument. "The rest of you, out."

Sienna froze, a glass of water halfway to her lips. She nearly choked. She lowered the glass, feeling the instant, venomous glare of Paige boring into the side of her head. The other designers filed out, their eyes wide with envy and whispered accusations. It was obvious what they thought—that she had seduced the billionaire CEO using dirty, underhanded tactics to secure her spot in the company.

Sienna sighed inwardly. Didn't this man realize her precarious position in the office? She was already navigating office sabotage, and detaining her like this only fanned the flames of malicious gossip.

Once the heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving the boardroom empty, Sienna leaned back against her chair. She looked at him with glacial coldness. "What do you want, President Hawthorne?"

Declan narrowed his eyes, his gaze locking onto hers. "Why did you reject the hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar house yesterday?"

"Because I don't want it," Sienna replied flatly. "I already made my stance clear. I will not accept any repayment or charity from the Hawthorne family."

Declan rested his forearms on the table, leaning closer. His imposing presence demanded submission. "You need to think about your son's safety. The property I selected features premium security measures. The community offers direct access to elite kindergartens and unparalleled medical facilities. It is a far superior environment for a child to grow up in."

He dropped his cold, corporate persona, sounding more like a desperate real estate agent pushing a luxury listing.

His words struck a fragile chord. Every mother yearned to provide the ultimate environment for her child. But Sienna fiercely valued her emotional independence over his suffocating wealth.

"I decline," Sienna stated firmly, her voice steady. "I can provide the best for my son myself."

Declan frowned, clearly unused to being denied. "You are being stubborn to a fault."

"And you are missing the point," Sienna shot back. To a ruthless businessman like him, throwing money at a problem was the only solution. He failed to grasp that a child’s most precious requirement wasn't a sprawling mansion or a fleet of luxury cars. It was consistent emotional presence. As long as her son was happy and loved, she didn't care if they lived in a modest apartment.

Declan stared at the stubborn woman, a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. Her repeated rejections defied logic.

Sienna gathered her design sketches and stuffed them into her leather portfolio. She stood up, her posture rigid. "In the future, do not seek me out unless it concerns Lumiere business."

Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and walked out the door.

Later that afternoon, Sienna sat at her cubicle, the steady hum of the design department surrounding her. Her cell phone buzzed on the desk. It was her father.

She picked it up. He wanted to arrange a family dinner for the following day, mentioning he missed her and wanted to see her face. Sienna softened and agreed, feeling a sudden need to reconnect with her roots. Hanging up, she immersed herself back into her sketches, tuning out the lingering whispers of her colleagues.

Meanwhile, inside the opulent, top-floor president's office, Declan sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He frowned deeply. The ruthless woman's fierce independence was a fortress he could not breach. His attempts to shower her with wealth had only pushed her further away.

Seeking an alternative angle to forcefully compensate her, he buzzed his assistant.

Jace stepped into the room. "Yes, President Hawthorne?"

"Dig up every piece of information regarding the father of Sienna's son," Declan ordered. If he couldn't help her directly, he would find another vulnerability to exploit for her benefit.

"Understood." Jace nodded and swiftly exited.

A moment later, Declan's phone rang. The screen displayed Fiona's name.

He picked it up, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. "Hello."

"Declan? Are you busy with work?" Fiona's voice floated through the speaker, coy and laced with artificial sweetness. "I was wondering if we could have dinner tonight."

"Alright. I'll have a restaurant booked," Declan agreed.

"I'll wait for you to pick me up!" she replied eagerly.

"Sure." Declan hung up the phone.

As the screen faded to black, a profound, lingering doubt surfaced from the depths of his mind. He rubbed his temples, staring blankly at the city skyline. Something felt inherently wrong. Fiona's sharp tone, her overt eagerness, her very demeanor—none of it matched the fractured memories of the woman from Room 808.

He closed his eyes. The visceral sensory details from that fateful night rushed back to him. He vividly recalled the sensation of incredibly soft lips yielding beneath his own. He remembered a faint, intoxicating floral fragrance clinging to her skin. He remembered the appealing, heartbreaking cadence of her voice as she cried through her tears.

The woman he just spoke to felt like a jarring contrast.

Yet, five years was a long time. The harshness of reality could alter a person, hardening their edges and erasing their softness. Assuming the passage of time had simply changed her, Declan suppressed his creeping instincts. He remained grimly determined to make up for the irreversible damage he had caused her.

That evening, at an ultra-exclusive fine dining restaurant nestled in the city center, soft jazz played over the hum of hushed conversations. The lighting was dim, casting a warm, golden glow over the crystal glassware.

Fiona sat across from the elegant, regal billionaire. She wore a brand-new Chanel dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her face was painted with premium cosmetics applied by a professional makeup artist, enhancing her average features. Tonight, draped in the Hawthorne wealth, she felt untouchable.

She was the center of envy in the dining room. Women at adjacent tables cast covert, jealous glances at the top-level man sitting with her. Declan exuded a majestic, commanding aura. His tailored suit and striking features made him look like royalty.

Fiona raised her champagne flute. "Cheers, Declan," she said, looking at him with eager, hungry eyes.

Declan clinked his glass against hers. "Cheers."

He treated her with civil, detached politeness. He ordered the finest dishes, pulled out her chair, and ensured her glass was never empty. Yet, Fiona hungered for more. She wanted total domination over his heart. She wanted his body. Most of all, she wanted the legal title of his wife.

Over the past three weeks, she had eagerly tasted the pinnacle of luxury. Designer clothes arrived at her doorstep in pristine garment bags. If she pointed at a limited-edition purse in a magazine, it appeared in her closet the next day in every available color. Diamonds were delivered at her every whim.

She took a sip of the vintage champagne, the bubbles dancing on her tongue. The intoxicating feeling of wealth was like floating in the clouds.

But beneath the veneer of her confident smile, Fiona was terrified.

She studied Declan's stoic face, searching for a hint of genuine affection. She found none. He looked at her not with desire, but with a sense of grim duty. Her heart raced with sudden panic. What if he got bored? What if he realized she wasn't the girl from that night?

She viciously resolved to tighten her grip. She never wanted to fall back to the dirt again as long as she lived. The Caldwells and the Hawthornes were her tickets to a life she had only ever dreamed of. She would play the devoted lover, play whatever role was required to secure her stolen status, and ensure she never lost his attention.