Safe Haven

Donovan's POV

The bustling noise of the Hilton Hotel lobby faded into a muted hum the exact second I spotted her. I stood near the polished brass elevators, my heart hammering against my ribs. A sea of evening crowds blurred past me. Business travelers dragged rolling suitcases over the marble floor. Tourists stood in clusters checking maps. None of them mattered. My gaze locked onto a quiet corner near the floor-to-ceiling window.

Sienna sat perched on a massive wingback chair. The heavy velvet fabric seemed to swallow her small frame.

My chest constricted, sending a sharp ache straight to my heart. I remembered my little sister as a fierce, vibrant force of nature. She used to be a nationally ranked junior tennis player. She dominated the courts with a fiery energy that made her coaches beam with pride and her opponents sweat with fear. She had always been so full of life, commanding every room she walked into.

The woman sitting in that chair was a ghost of that athlete.

She looked so fragile and sickly. She stared out the window at nothing in particular. Her skin held a terrible, ashen pallor. She appeared so weak and paper-thin that a strong gust of wind might literally blow her away into nothingness.

I swallowed the heavy lump forming in my throat. I blinked back the sudden burn in my eyes. I could not break down right now. I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide my clenched fists and forced my posture to relax. She needed a pillar to lean on, not another source of panic. I took a slow, measured breath. I walked toward her with deliberate, unhurried steps.

"Sienna."

She turned her head. The moment her tired eyes locked onto mine, her face crumpled in a mix of relief and pure agony.

I closed the distance between us in three long strides. She tried to stand, her thin legs wobbling underneath her. I caught her right as her knees buckled.

She collapsed against my chest. "Don, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her sobs wrecked through her thin frame. Her body shook with uncontrollable tremors against my suit jacket.

I wrapped my arms around her. I pressed one hand gently to the back of her head. I held her tight, using the exact same motion I used when she was a little girl waking up crying from a bad nightmare.

"I've got you, habibti. You're safe now."

Hearing that familiar Arabic term of endearment broke whatever dam she had left. She buried her face deeper into my lapel. Her cries grew louder, echoing in the cavernous lobby.

A few patrons at the nearby bar turned to stare at us. A passing bellhop paused his luggage cart, his eyes wide. I ignored every single one of them. Let them look. Sienna needed this release. She had been holding herself together in total isolation for years. I stood like a stone shield in the middle of the crowded hotel lobby, letting her weep until her chest ran out of air.

Her heavy sobs eventually quieted down to soft, rhythmic hiccups. She leaned back slightly and swiped her trembling hands across her wet cheeks.

I pulled a clean linen handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it into her palm. I guided her toward the elevators with a firm arm wrapped around her narrow shoulders. We rode up to her floor in silence. She leaned her head against my arm, exhausted.

I unlocked the door to her standard hotel room and ushered her inside. The space was clean but painfully ordinary. The basic double bed and generic art on the walls felt wrong for her. I made an immediate mental note to call the front desk and upgrade her to the penthouse luxury suite first thing in the morning.

I guided her to the small seating area and gently pushed her down onto the sofa. "Have you eaten anything today?"

She offered a weak shake of her head.

Frustration flared in my gut. Of course, she had neglected her basic needs. She had spent years trapped in a house that slowly drained the life out of her. I grabbed the room service menu off the desk and picked up the landline. I aggressively ordered two steaks, a club sandwich, three different soups, a massive fruit platter, and a pot of chamomile tea.

"Don, please. That is way too much food. I can't eat all of that."

I slammed the phone down onto the receiver. "You are going to eat. I will personally spoon-feed you if I have to."

She managed a faint, watery smile. "You sound exactly like Mom."

"Good. Someone needs to take care of you."

I pulled up a chair and sat directly across from her. The harsh, unflattering light of the ceiling lamp cast brutal shadows across her face. Up close, her physical deterioration looked a hundred times worse than I initially realized.

Her cheekbones were starkly sunken, protruding sharply against her papery skin. Her once-bright eyes looked dull and hollow, ringed with deep purple exhaustion. The dry patches on her skin bore the undeniable, ravaging marks of a prolonged illness. Even her hands shook slightly as they rested on her lap. The vibrant girl I grew up with had been hollowed out from the inside.

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. "Tell me everything. From the beginning. How did you end up here, Sienna?"

She stared down at her lap. Her fingers twisted the edge of my handkerchief. She started talking in a dull, hollow voice. It sounded like she was reading a tragic script about a stranger rather than recounting her own life.

She told me about the accident that brought them together. She described the early days of her whirlwind romance with Tristan. She spoke about mourning the genuine love she truly thought she had found. She had desperately wanted something real, something that belonged to her instead of another arranged corporate merger.

Then, the hollow tone cracked. Her voice broke into jagged pieces as she mentioned Miriam.

She looked up, her eyes swimming with fresh tears. "His mother made sure I knew my place. Miriam told me I was just a replacement. She said Tristan only married me because I looked like Audrey. She said if I didn't have her face, he never would have looked at me twice."

My jaw tightened. A dark, ugly anger began to pool in my chest.

Sienna dropped her voice to a devastated whisper. "And Leo... my own son told me he hates me."

I stopped breathing.

She buried her face in her hands. "He called me the devil. He looked right at me and said he wished Audrey was his mother."

A white-hot rage ripped through my veins. The sheer cruelty of those words made my blood boil.

I stood up abruptly. I paced across the carpeted floor and stopped in front of the window. I needed to physically move my legs before I put my fist straight through the drywall.

I wanted to drag Tristan Thornton out of his pristine mansion and beat him until he understood what it meant to break my sister. I wanted to stand in front of Miriam and rip apart her pathetic high-society pride. I wanted to shake some sense into a six-year-old boy who did not realize the treasure he was throwing away.

I turned back around to face her. "I am going to make Tristan pay for this. I will destroy him and his entire family."

Sienna shook her head with bone-deep exhaustion. "No, Don."

I frowned, taking a step toward her.

She looked up at me with pleading eyes. "Please. I don't want to waste whatever time I have left on them. I don't want revenge. I don't care about justice or whatever you are planning."

"Sienna, they destroyed you. They deserve to suffer."

She wrapped her arms around her own waist. "I just want to go home to Seattle. I want to see Mom and Dad. I want to sleep in my old bed. I want to spend my last three months with people who actually love me."

The casual, defeated way she said "last three months" hit me like a physical blow. The air rushed out of my lungs. The vice-like grip of panic tightened around my chest.

She had accepted her own mortality. She had packed a suitcase, walked out of her nightmare, and come to me just to say goodbye.

I crossed the room and crouched down in front of her. I grabbed both of her freezing hands and held them in a firm, unyielding grip. I refused to accept this timeline. I refused to let her give up.

"You're not dying. We're going to fight this."