Chapter 49
Sienna's POV
Tell him.
The thought came unbidden, desperate, clawing its way up my throat. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to explain that I didn't leave because I stopped loving him, that I left because I loved him too much to let his family destroy his future.
But I couldn't.
Because if I told him, he'd go to war with his father. He'd throw away everything he'd built. And I couldn't be the obstacle in his path.
Again.
"It doesn't matter," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "It was six years ago. We've both moved on."
"Have we?" Hayes's voice was sharp now, cutting through the air like a blade. "Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like either of us has moved on."
I flinched.
He saw it, and something in his expression softened, just a fraction. "Sienna." He said my name like a plea. "Just tell me. Whatever it was, whatever happened—I need to know. I need to understand why you—"
"You can't." The words burst out of me before I could stop them. "You can't know, Hayes. You—" I stopped, pressing my lips together hard, trying to force the words back down.
But it was too late. The damage was done.
Hayes went very still. "Why not?"
I shook my head, unable to speak.
"Sienna." His voice was quiet now, dangerously quiet. "Why can't I know?"
I closed my eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyelids. "Because if you knew," I whispered, "you'd destroy everything. And I can't let that happen."
"Everything?" He repeated the word slowly, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time. "Does this have to do with my family?"
My breath caught in my throat.
Hayes watched my face, reading every micro-expression.
He stood abruptly, pacing to the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stared out at the city skyline for a long moment, his shoulders tense, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough.
"I'm going to find out."
"Hayes, please—" I didn't know what I was pleading for. Pleading for him not to go. Pleading for him not to dig. Pleading for him not to make my six years of sacrifice meaningless.
But he was already turning toward the door.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone.
---
Hayes's POV
I made it three steps down the hallway before I had to stop and lean against the wall, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes.
Fuck.
I dropped my hands, staring at the blank hospital wall in front of me, trying to make sense of it.
She wasn't protecting herself. She was protecting me.
From what?
I thought back to six years ago. To the day she'd ended things, the words she'd said—cold, cutting, designed to make me hate her. "I was just playing around." "I never loved you."
At the time, I'd believed her. I'd been so hurt, so angry, that I hadn't stopped to question it. I'd just taken her at her word and walked away.
But now, looking back with six years of distance, none of it made sense.
Because people who were "just playing around" didn't cry for you. Didn't remember every detail about your injuries, your habits, your body. Didn't look at you like their world was ending every time you got too close.
And they sure as hell didn't work themselves into the ground to avoid asking you for help.
I pushed off the wall, taking a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Logic told me that whatever it was, it was serious enough that she'd rather endure six years of misunderstanding than speak up.
And there was only one force capable of that.
The Sterling family.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Rex's number. He answered on the second ring.
"Yeah, boss?"
"I need you to pull something for me," I said, my voice tight. "Family legal files. Anything involving Sienna Thorne. Cross-reference with dates around six years ago."
There was a pause. "You sure about this?"
"Just do it."
"Copy that. I'll have something in two hours."
I hung up and shoved my phone back in my pocket, staring down the empty hallway.
But file retrieval took time, and I needed answers now.
I turned toward the elevator, my mind already made up.
---
The traffic on the highway blurred into streaks of light before my eyes. I pressed the accelerator to the floor, the engine letting out a low roar.
An hour's drive. From downtown to Platinum Cliffs, cutting through the city's starkest class divide.
The scenery outside the window gradually changed. Dense apartment buildings and commercial districts slowly gave way to sparse woods, the roads becoming wider, the streetlights brighter. When I drove past the stone marker engraved with "Platinum Cliffs," the world around me seemed to switch to another channel.
Even the air here was cleaner. The streets were lined with meticulously manicured lawns and towering palm trees, each mansion hidden behind high walls and iron gates, like fortresses on high alert. Security cameras blinked red at street corners, and private security company vehicles patrolled periodically.
This is where I grew up.
I turned into the familiar private driveway, and the black wrought-iron gates opened automatically after recognizing my license plate. At the end of the driveway, Sterling Manor revealed itself in the afternoon light.
It was a typical neoclassical structure, white facade with towering Corinthian columns, broad steps leading to massive double doors. The building's left and right wings extended symmetrically, the second-floor balcony adorned with delicate wrought-iron railings. The entire mansion radiated a cold perfection, like a showroom photo from an architecture magazine rather than a lived-in home.
I parked the car by the fountain in the circular driveway and killed the engine.
In the center of the fountain stood a marble statue—the image of some Sterling family ancestor, gaze stern and imposing. Water gushed from the statue's base, glinting harsh white in the sunlight.
I stared at that statue, suddenly remembering when I was ten years old, asking my father why it was there.
"To remind us who we are," he'd said. "To remind us of the responsibility we bear."
I hadn't understood then.
Now I did.
This statue, this mansion, this entire goddamn neighborhood—all existed to remind us that we weren't like ordinary people. We were superior. More important. More powerful.
And those who didn't belong here should be kept out.
I pushed open the car door and walked heavily up the steps.
The heavy oak door opened before me, and Alfred the butler stood in the entrance hall, his expression as restrained and proper as always. But when he saw clearly that it was me, his gray eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Mr. Sterling." His voice carried surprise, but quickly recovered its professional calm. "We didn't receive notice that you were coming—"
"Where's my father?" I cut him off directly, my tone colder than intended.
Alfred's expression hesitated for a moment. "The master had a meeting downtown today with business partners, discussing the harbor project." He paused. "However, according to his schedule, he should be back by noon. Would you like to wait for him here?"
I clenched my jaw and nodded.
"Please follow me." Alfred turned to lead the way through the entrance hall.
Alfred led me to my father's study. "You may wait here. I'll have the kitchen prepare some refreshments."
"No need." I walked into the room. "I won't be staying long."
Alfred bowed slightly and retreated, closing the door.
My phone vibrated in my pocket—a message from Rex: All files and related information have been sent to your private email.
I opened my email and clicked on the attachment.
Files loaded one by one.