The Business Party and Betrayal

Five years later.

|| Sienna Vance's POV ||

A dry cough rattled in my father's chest before his voice rose across the study. "Sienna, I need you there tonight. No excuses." Since crossing into his late sixties, his health had been slipping fast. Lately, he spent days at a time resting in bed, leaving his assistant to run the daily operations.

Letting out a heavy breath, I straightened my posture and weighed his demand. He wanted me to represent him at a high-profile corporate gala tonight—a room packed wall-to-wall with fake people. And yes, fake was the only word for them, because that crowd would sell their souls for a five-second publicity stunt. I despised the corporate world, the very empire he hoped I would inherit one day. Yet, looking at the deep lines etched into his tired, pleading face, I couldn't bring myself to turn him down again.

"Fine, just for tonight..." I muttered under my breath, spinning on my heel and heading up the stairs with a fashion magazine rolled in my hand. He was eager to show me off because my recent campaign ads had dominated the headlines, drawing praise from all over the industry.

After a brutal four-year hiatus, I had finally returned to the runway and the cameras. Having family money definitely made the transition smoother. During my time away, my wealthy father had quietly arranged everything overseas, ensuring I could bring my precious son into the world in complete safety. To this day, the child remained our fiercest, most closely guarded secret.

Putting the past behind me hadn't been easy, but I had learned my lesson the hard way. After being completely shattered, I had pieced myself back together and relaunched my career a year ago. Even if I hadn't reached my former peak yet, simply moving forward was enough to keep me satisfied. Reaching the upper landing, I exhaled slowly, silently hoping tonight's event would pass without a hitch.

__________

"That dress is a knockout on you, sweetheart!" Mr. Morrison remarked, his gaze dragging shamelessly down my frame. It took everything in me not to visibly recoil as his eyes stripped me bare.

"Thank you," I replied with a tight, practiced smile, swirling the champagne flute in my hand.

God, this gala was tedious. The guests around me chatted like programmed robots, trapped in endless loops of stiff corporate pleasantries. My father's assistant, Bernardo, had mentioned that every major player in the state had turned out for the evening, meaning I was supposed to be networking. Still, I had to admit the host had spared no expense. The plush crimson carpeting beneath my heels was unmistakably imported from Iran, matching the heavy drapes, while the vintage wines and champagne had been flown in from abroad. Even the waitstaff spoke impeccable English to cater to the elite crowd.

Nothing screamed old money quite like this.

That was undoubtedly why my father had insisted I dress the part. The sea-blue backless gown hugged my curves so tightly it left me feeling rigid with every step. My makeup artist, Mila, had done her usual flawless job making sure my face was camera-ready, while I had handled my hair myself, simply running a comb and flat iron through the lengths until it fell straight.

"Have you been introduced to the new investor yet?" Mr. Morrison asked between sips of his drink, his lecherous stare never leaving my skin.

God, how badly I wanted to claw those filthy eyes right out of his head.

I gave a slight shake of my head, recalling my father's recent chatter about a mysterious new figure buying into the state. According to him, the man had an untouchable background and an Italian last name. Landing a conversation with someone like that would be a massive coup for my father's company, though I would rather choke than let Mr. Morrison be the one to introduce us.

Putting on a slick, playboy grin, Mr. Morrison puffed out his chest. "I actually rubbed shoulders with him at an exclusive gathering recently. Stick with me, and I'll take you over. Not just anyone gets an audience with the man, especially given that lethal temper of his."

I wasn't naive enough to miss what he was really after. Past fifty, the man was still a shameless creep trying to bait me into a corner. Before I could come up with a polite brush-off, a syrupy voice cut through the chatter nearby.

"Darling!"

His wife clicked toward us in sky-high stilettos. The moment she reached his side, they pressed their lips together in a brief, showy kiss. I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes; it was another textbook display of the phony corporate theater I hated so much. Casting a brief, measuring look my way, Mrs. Morrison hooked her arm through her husband's and steered him into the crowd. Honestly, I thanked the heavens for her timing. Letting out a breath of pure relief, I turned and slipped toward the outer corridor in search of some breathable air.

____________

"So, you finally decided to join the corporate world!" The familiar voice yanked my attention down from the night sky visible through the tall windows. Jolting slightly, I spun around to find Preston Prescott standing there in a tailored charcoal suit.

Preston.

Once upon a time, just hearing that name was enough to light up my entire face, and being near him used to turn me into putty. I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, wholly unprepared for the sudden wave of emotion hitting my chest. Four long years had passed since our last conversation—or rather, our last screaming match.

Swallowing hard, I dragged in a slow breath to steady my erratic pulse. Keeping a poker face in front of the man you once loved was easier said than done. Time had changed him; the boyish charm I remembered was gone, replaced by the sharp, grounded presence of a man who had recently stepped into his family's enterprise. I must have been out of my mind to assume I wouldn't run into him at an event like this.

His gaze roamed cautiously over my face before he spoke in a quiet, measured tone. "How have things been with you?"

Healing faster than before, thanks to being away from you.

The bitter retort sat right on the tip of my tongue, but I forced it back down, reminding myself to keep my dignity intact. Letting out a slow breath, I aimed for a breezy shrug. "Can't complain. How about you?"

He parted his lips to answer, only for a sugary, high-pitched voice to slice right between us.

"Babe!"

Sharp heels clattered rapidly against the marble tiles as Victoria Miller made her grand entrance right on cue.

My teeth ground together at the sight of her beaming face. The girl who used to be my closest confidante—and was now my fiercest rival in the modeling world—leaned up to plant a lingering kiss on her fiancé's cheek. Flashing her an awkward smile, Preston immediately shut his mouth, cutting off whatever he had been about to tell me. Victoria shot me a triumphant, venomous look as she leaned in to murmur something in his ear, prompting him to retreat back toward the main ballroom.

Unbelievable. Was that little show supposed to make me green with envy?

Victoria and I had started out in the modeling industry side by side. When the scandal blew up my life four years ago and forced me out of the spotlight, she had used the vacuum to skyrocket to the top, becoming the state's most sought-after face. To this day, I couldn't prove who had slipped something into my drink at that fateful after-party, though every instinct I had pointed straight at her—especially since I had caught her in bed with Preston that very same night. The fragments of that evening were still burned into my head. Both of us had been tipsy when Victoria took charge of booking separate hotel rooms for us to crash in. Somehow, in a disoriented haze, I had stumbled through the wrong door and spent the entire night getting fucked by a complete stranger. The next morning, I had chalked the whole disaster up to booze, right until a specialist overseas ran my labs and found traces of a heavy sedative in my bloodstream alongside a positive pregnancy test. By then, the tabloids were already circling, though my father's crisis team managed to scrub the story from the press before it broke wide open. Still, no amount of money could erase the reality that I was carrying an unknown man's baby.

How could someone I treated like family stab me in the back so viciously?

Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, Victoria sauntered right up to me, pure malice blazing in her eyes as she sneered, "Trying to sink your claws back into my fiancé, Sienna?"

A dry laugh escaped me as I swept a bored gaze over her features. "Hate to break it to you, Miss Miller, but digging through second-hand garbage isn't really my style."

Her expression turned to stone, an ugly snort flaring her nostrils. Stepping right into my personal space, she curved her lips into a nasty smile. "Stings a little that he picked me over you, doesn't it?"

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to fire back, but she beat me to the punch, her grin turning downright cruel. "Then again, what man in his right mind would stick around for a cheap slut who let three guys run a train on her in one night?"

My hands curled into tight fists against my skirt as she threw the vile rumor in my face, before spinning around and strutting off with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Hot tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Years had gone by, yet the wound still bled whenever someone pressed on it. No matter how fiercely I held onto my own hazy memories—knowing for a fact there had only been one man's silhouette in that dark room—the truth didn't matter to people who preferred a dirtier story.

Still, a sickening doubt crept in: what if there really had been three of them?

Just entertaining the thought made my stomach churn violently. God, how could I have been blind enough to trust Victoria with my life, treating her like my own flesh and blood?

Before I could spiral any deeper into the dark memories, the host's booming voice echoed through the sound system from the main stage.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Put your hands together for our state's newest major investor, DANTE DI MARCO!"