Chapter 49 The spy in the house
After Sienna left, the house was too quiet.
That kind of quiet that comes after a storm when nothing feels clean, only heavy.
Dante hadn’t slept. His head throbbed, his chest burned, and the weight of his own words pressed like a stone inside him.
He’d said things that couldn’t be unsaid. Things he’d sworn he’d never say to anyone he loved.
Now, every hallway echoed with her silence.
He wanted to find Sienna. To listen to her.To explain. To apologize. To trust her for once. But every time he thought of her face, the shock, the hurt and shame clawed up his throat.
He’d accused her. He’d destroyed her.
And for what?
A headline. A rumor, for something he didn't catch her doing red-handed.
He rubbed a hand over his face and pushed himself out of the chair. He started toward the kitchen when voices drifted from down the hall.
He slowed down.
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” a woman’s voice whispered, trembling.
Dante frowned. He knew that voice. Ana, the quiet maid Isabelle had recommended weeks ago.
He moved closer, staying in the shadow of the hallway.
“I just sent it to her team, like she asked,” Ana continued. “It was just supposed to be for her, not the press. I swear, I didn’t know they’d sell it!”
Dante’s pulse stilled. His breath caught in his throat.
The other staff member, Marco, one of the cleaners hissed, “You told Isabelle everything? Are you insane?”
“She said it was just for proof,” Ana whispered, tears thick in her voice. “Proof that Sienna was getting too close. Isabelle said she’d protect me. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone”
Dante stepped out of the shadows. “Say that again.”
Both of them froze.
Ana turned, eyes wide, face pale. “Sir…Mr. Varon…I…”
“Say it.” His voice was low, calm, but every syllable trembled with fury. “You recorded my conversation. You sent it to Isabelle.”
She dropped to her knees. “I didn’t mean for it to go public! I swear, I didn’t! Isabelle’s assistant told me to record anything strange. She said it was to keep you safe.”
Dante’s laugh was short and sharp. “Safe? You thought humiliating my family was keeping me safe?”
Ana flinched. “She said Miss Sienna was manipulating you. That she’d use your story against you.”
Dante’s stomach twisted. The world tilted, and every memory of Sienna’s pleading face slammed back into him. Her shaking voice “You think I’d ever do that to you?”
Her eyes were wide, filled with hurt, and desperate.
He swallowed hard. “Where’s your phone.”
Ana hesitated. He shouted, “Now!”
She fumbled it out, hands shaking. He snatched it from her and opened her messages. There they were text threads with a contact labeled ‘I.L.’
He scrolled. His chest tightened with every line.
“Did he tell her about Luca yet?” Isabelle asked
“Yes. She was comforting him. I recorded some parts.”
“Good girl. Send it over.”
Ana started crying. “She said it wasn’t her! She said her team lost control of it! I don’t know how.”
“How did you get our conversations recorded? He asked, his eyes blazing with anger.
“I… I…. followed you and Miss Hale, when you left the villa in the midst of the chaos outside."She paused, staring at her companion. “I told Miss Isabelle about the safehouse and she came over to open the door for me. I left the moment I recorded everything.” She knelt down. “I didn't know she was going to use it against you. Please, I'm sorry.”
Dante’s jaw locked. “Get out.”
She looked up at him, horrified. “Please, sir.”
“I said get out!” His voice thundered through the hall.
The other staff flinched.
Dante didn’t care.
“Every one of you who worked under Isabelle’s direction, you’re fired,” he said coldly. “Leave, now.”
Chairs scraped. The door opened. Within minutes, the villa came alive with panic, whispers, hurried footsteps, and excuses.
He watched them scramble to pack their things, Ana sobbing quietly near the stairs.
Part of him wanted to scream. Another part just wanted silence again, anything to drown out the shame eating him alive.
By the time the last car left the villa gate, the house was dead quiet again.But not peaceful.
The guilt was worse than any noise. That night, the villa felt like a tomb.
Dante stood in his study, the lights dim, the sea outside black and endless.
The glass reflected him, the man he’d become. Angry, distrustful and alone.
He stared at his own face, seeing his father in it, the same sharpness, the same cold eyes.
He whispered to the reflection, “I became everything I swore I’d never be.”
His hand trembled as he gripped the edge of the desk.
Silence had a sound. Dante never noticed it before.
It was the faint hum of the refrigerator at midnight, the echo of his cane against marble floors, the way his breath bounced back at him in empty rooms. Every corner of the villa whispered her name.
Sienna.
He’d thought throwing himself into work would fix the hollow ache in his chest. He woke early, pushed through therapy, forced his legs to move even when they shook. He told himself he’d keep going and that progress would make the pain worth it.
But the truth was crueler. Every step without her felt meaningless.
She would have clapped when he walked across the gym floor unaided, her voice blurred into background noise. He didn’t want applause. He wanted her voice.
The quiet “you’re doing great” that used to steady him when his strength failed.
Now, even the air in the room felt different.
He told himself he didn’t miss her. He lied every day.
At night, he stayed in his study with a glass of untouched whiskey. The same video of Isabelle’s interview played on repeat on his laptop her voice dripping with practiced sorrow.
“I still love him,” Isabelle said to the reporter, eyes glistening. “But sometimes, love means letting someone destroy themselves.”
She smiled faintly. “Especially when they choose the wrong person to save them.”
The audience clapped softly.
Dante slammed the laptop shut.
He couldn’t stand it, the pity, the lies, the way she twisted the truth until it fit her image of being the victim. She always knew how to make herself shine even in her cruelty.
His chest burned as he remembered her whisper at the villa gate, the night she left after everything fell apart.
“You’ll come crawling back, Dante. You always do.”
He wanted to hate her. He did. But hatred didn’t fill the emptiness she’d left behind. Sienna had taken that space, and now it just hurt to breathe.
A few days later, he found the old blanket, the one she’d used at the safehouse by the sea. It had fallen behind a cabinet during packing.
When he lifted it, the faint scent of her perfume, soft and floral, hit him like a memory.
He sat down hard on the couch, blanket pressed to his face.
Her voice filled his head, uninvited but welcome. Her laughter when he’d stumbled the first time he tried walking without help. Her soft hums while she writes her notes after each session. Her hand steady, and gentle while guiding his arm when pain twisted his body.
He’d told her she was the only person who made him feel human again.
And then he’d torn that person apart with the words. “I regret ever loving you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. His throat burned. For the first time since the accident, he cried without holding back.