Chapter 32
Sienna's POV
My hand froze on my apartment door handle.
Not your business. Keep walking.
But my body wouldn't obey. My eyes stayed locked on that half-open door, and through the gap, I saw movement.
A woman. Barefoot. Walking across the living room like she owned the place.
She had her back to me—long, pale gold hair falling in loose waves down her back, a willowy frame in casual clothes. She moved with the kind of ease that came from being completely comfortable in a space. She held a coffee mug in one hand, walking from the kitchen toward the couch.
Barefoot.
That detail hit harder than it should have. You didn't walk around barefoot in someone else's apartment unless you belonged there.
I tried to open the door. I really tried.
All I had to do was walk inside.
But as I was about to press down hard on the handle, I heard it again.
Voices. Clearer this time, drifting through the gap in Hayes's door.
The woman's voice, playful and teasing: "You're being impossible, you know that? If you keep ignoring advice, I'm done trying to help."
Then Hayes. A low laugh—short, rough around the edges, but genuine.
I hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time.
My throat tightened.
"Help"—that's what she'd said. Like she had the right. Like she knew him well enough to use that word.
I thought about last night. About the cold, clinical tone I'd used when I'd told him to rest. The way I'd framed it as contract collaboration, nothing more.
And this woman—whoever she was—could make him laugh.
My hand left the handle. I stared down the hallway. At the muted beige walls. At the perfectly neutral lighting.
You gave up that position six years ago. You don't get to be hurt now.
He'd moved on. Of course he had. A man like Hayes wouldn't stay alone forever.
I placed my hand on the handle again and turned it hard.
Then I froze.
Footsteps. Light, unhurried. Then the distinct rattle of a trash bag.
I turned my head. The door opened—not mine, but Hayes's.
The woman stepped out into the hallway, a white trash bag in one hand. She paused when she saw me, her expression shifting from casual to mildly curious.
Up close, she was younger than I'd thought. Early twenties, maybe. Her pale gold hair caught the light, her blue-green eyes—somewhat similar to Hayes's—studying me with a kind of polite interest.
She smiled. Not hostile. Not cold. Just... there.
"You're Hayes's exclusive designer, right?" Her voice was friendly, almost warm. "Sienna?"
I straightened, my spine going rigid. "Collaborator."
I didn't mean for it to come out so sharp, but the word landed harder than I intended. I wasn't his employee. I wasn't his subordinate.
Her smile didn't waver. "Right. Hayes mentioned you."
Mentioned. Like I was a footnote. A passing detail in his current life.
She tilted her head slightly, still holding the trash bag. "He's actually been pretty good today. Took your advice and stayed off the knee."
My jaw tightened. Your advice. Like she'd been there when I'd wrapped his knee last night. Like she had any idea what it had cost me to walk into his apartment and touch him again.
I forced myself to nod. Once. Curt.
She shifted the bag to her other hand, glancing back toward Hayes's door. "I was just about to take this down to the chute. But I have to say—" She looked back at me, her expression softening. "—it's nice to finally meet you."
Before I could respond, a voice cut through the hallway.
"Ava, just leave the trash—I'll take it down later."
Hayes.
He appeared in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. He'd changed into a clean T-shirt and joggers, his left knee wrapped in fresh athletic tape. His hair was damp, like he'd just showered.
His eyes landed on me, and everything stopped.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.
Ava glanced between us, her smile turning faintly knowing.
"I'll just... take this down," she said lightly, slipping past him.
Hayes didn't look at her. He was still staring at me.
I stared back, my pulse too loud in my ears.
The hallway felt impossibly small.
But the gap between us might as well have been a canyon.
I forced my voice to stay level. "The shoes. I'll adjust them according to the plan."
Professional. Detached. Like I hadn't just spent ten minutes dissecting every sound that came from his apartment.
Hayes didn't move. His expression was unreadable.
"Sienna—"
I didn't wait to hear the rest. I turned, pushed open my door, and stepped inside.
The door closed between us with a finality that felt like shutting down something I couldn't name.
---
Hayes's POV
I stood in the hallway long after Sienna's door clicked shut.
Ava came back up from the trash chute, slowing when she saw me still standing there like an idiot.
"You didn't explain," she said.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my damp hair. "She wouldn't have believed me."
Ava crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You sure about that? Or are you just scared she'd think you were making excuses?"
I didn't answer.
Because she was right.
If I'd chased Sienna down the hall and said, That's my sister, it would've sounded exactly like what it was: damage control. A desperate attempt to salvage something that was already broken.
And Sienna would've looked at me with that cold, professional mask she wore so well and said, It doesn't matter. We're not anything anymore.
Ava sighed, pushing off the wall. "Hayes. She doesn't think she has the right to ask. That's different from not caring."
I turned to look at her. "What?"
"She thinks she lost the right to be part of your life six years ago." Ava's voice was quiet but firm. "So even if you told her the truth right now, she'd probably just think, So what? He's allowed to move on. It's none of my business."
The words hit like a fist to the gut.
Because that was exactly what Sienna would think.
She'd spent six years building walls so high I couldn't see over them. She'd forfeited any claim to my life the moment she walked away.
I leaned back against the doorframe, staring at the spot where she'd stood. Where she'd looked at me with that carefully blank expression and said, The shoes. I'll adjust them according to the plan.
Like we were strangers.
Like she hadn't wrapped my knee last night with hands that still remembered every scar, every old injury, every place my body had broken and healed wrong.
Ava stepped closer, her voice softening. "If you still care about her, you have to say it. You two need to talk face-to-face and clear things up, whether it's a misunderstanding or if you really don't love each other anymore."
I closed my eyes, my hand still gripping the doorframe hard enough that my knuckles ached.
"And if she still doesn't believe me?"
Ava's hand landed on my shoulder, a brief squeeze. "Then at least you tried."
She walked back into the apartment, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I stared at Sienna's closed door.
Ava was right.
Sienna wasn't going to ask. She was never going to ask.
She always bore everything alone.
If I didn't fix that—if I let her keep believing it—we were going to keep circling each other like this. Close enough to hurt. Too far apart to heal.