Chapter 67 The man at the mic
When she finally stood up to leave, her chest felt hollow.
The air in the study was thick and heavy with words unsaid and fears not yet mentioned.
She took a slow breath. “Goodnight, Dante.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the papers before him, as though the answers to everything were hidden there.
Sienna lingered for a moment longer, then turned toward the door.
Her footsteps were soft, almost soundless. But just as she reached for the handle she heard him speak.
At first, she thought he was talking to her.
Then she realized he was whispering to himself.
“If Luca was there.” his voice was low, almost trembling, “then who pushed me off the track?”
Sienna froze.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. The words echoed through the room like a crack splitting stone.
She turned slowly but Dante wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the floor, lost in thought, completely unaware she’d heard.
Her breath caught, fear crawling up her spine.
Something in his tone, that soft disbelief, that chill of realization told her what he’d remembered tonight wasn’t just memory. It was a link to uncovering what happened the night of the accident.
It was a truth waiting to destroy them both.
Sienna stepped back from the doorway, heart pounding. Her fingers trembled against the wall. Who pushed him off the track?
The question wouldn’t stop echoing.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the Monte Carlo Conference Hall. Flashing cameras waited like lightning in disguise, their lenses turning toward the black car the second it appeared.
Sienna’s heart beat hard against her ribs. From the passenger seat, she could see the line of reporters pressed against the barrier, microphones already raised.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly, her fingers twisting in her lap.
Dante looked at her. His jaw was calm, steady, but his eyes were somewhere else sharp, resolved. “I’ll do it,” he said. “If I keep hiding, they’ll keep twisting everything.”
Sienna sighed, watching the reflection of the crowd in the car window. “They’ll still twist it. That’s what they do.”
He smiled faintly, reaching for her hand. “Then let’s give them something real to talk about.”
Inside, the chaos was worse. The hall buzzed with murmurs, bright lights, and the faint hum of camera shutters.
A man in a black suit, one of the event organizers stepped forward with a polite but firm smile. “Mr. Varon, welcome. You’re right on time.”
Dante nodded once. “This is Sienna,” he said, motioning toward her.
The man’s smile tightened slightly. “Ah, yes. Unfortunately, the guest list is already set. Only family, sponsors, and the press are permitted inside.”
Sienna froze. “Oh,” she said quickly. “That’s fine. I’ll just..”
“No,” Dante interrupted, voice low but hard. “She comes with me.”
“Sir,” the man began carefully, “we have seating arrangements.”
“Then change them.”
The air around them went still.
Sienna tugged at his sleeve, whispering, “It’s okay, Dante. I’ll wait here.”
But he didn’t look at her. He stared straight at the man. “If she doesn’t go in, I don’t speak.”
A murmur rippled through the staff nearby. Someone whispered something into an earpiece. The man’s polite smile returned, thinner now.
“Very well,” he said finally. “She can come in.”
Dante gave a single nod and turned to Sienna. “See? It's simple.”
Her heart was racing, part pride, part fear. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “I told you before, Sienna. You’re my peace. And I don’t walk into storms without it.”
The hall was brighter than she’d imagined with all the marble floors and sharp lights. Rows of cameras faced a raised stage where Dante’s name shimmered across a massive screen: DANTE VARON IS BACK ON HIS FEET.
As they entered, the crowd stirred. Photographers leaned forward. Reporters angled their cameras. Sienna felt their eyes sweep over her. Some were out of curiosity, others were judgmental while others gave her a cold stare.
She tried to steady her breathing, her fingers still wrapped around Dante’s. His touch grounded her, firm and sure.
He guided her to a chair beside the stage. “Stay close,” he murmured. “If it gets loud, just focus on my voice.”
She nodded. “Always.”
He stepped up onto the platform, leaning lightly on his cane, and took his place behind the microphone.
The flash of cameras erupted again, a storm of white light. But Dante didn’t flinch.
“Good afternoon,” he began. His voice was even, confident. “It’s been a long road, but I’m standing here because of the people who refused to let me fall.”
Applause broke out across the room. Sienna felt her chest swell with pride.
Reporters began firing questions one after another about his recovery, his plans, and the accident. He answered calmly, his words measured and clear.
Then one voice cut through the noise.
“Mr. Varon, people have noticed someone new in your life. Do you care to tell us who she is?”
The room hushed.
Dante’s eyes found Sienna immediately. Her breath caught.
He smiled faintly, not forced, but real. “Her name is Sienna.”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the audience.
He continued, voice steady and warm. “She’s my therapist, yes. But more than that, she’s the person who helped me stand again not just on my legs, but in my life.”
Sienna’s throat tightened. Every word felt like sunlight, too bright to hold.
Another reporter shouted, “So are you two together?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
A gasp swept through the crowd. Cameras clicked like firecrackers.
“She’s not just someone I care about,” he went on. “She’s my peace. When the world turned its back, she didn’t. When I couldn’t walk, she believed I could. When I forgot who I was, she reminded me.”
His gaze stayed locked on her, the rest of the room fading away.
Sienna felt tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them back. She’d never seen him like this, unguarded, vulnerable, and proud all at once.
A few reporters exchanged looks, typing fast.
Another voice rose from the middle row. “And what about Isabelle? The public thought.”
Dante’s tone sharpened. “Isabelle is part of my past. I wish her well, but she has no claim on my present.”
The crowd buzzed louder. Some cameras zoomed in on Sienna’s face. She looked down, her fingers curling around her knees.
He added, softer now, “I’m not here to fix my image. I’m here to speak the truth. And the truth is, I love Sienna.”
The room froze.
Even the reporters seemed unsure what to do next.
For a moment, everything was still. Just his words hanging in the air, honest and irreversible.
Sienna’s heart felt like it might burst.
Dante took a slow breath and smiled faintly. “Now, if we’re done digging for headlines, I’d like to talk about the rehabilitation center I plan to build, one that’ll help others like me find their way back.”
The crowd shifted, snapping back into motion. Questions flew again, but safer ones this time. Dante handled them all with ease, his charm returning, his voice calm and composed.
But Sienna could still feel the echo of what he’d said pulsing in her chest. That he loved her. He just professed his love publicly.
Those three words are simple but heavy.
When the conference ended, Dante stepped down from the stage and walked straight to her.
Her hands were trembling slightly. “You didn’t have to say that.”
He tilted his head. “Why not?”
“Because now they’ll twist it again,” she said softly. “They’ll call it wrong.”
He smiled, that small, quiet one that always softened her defenses. “Let them. I’ve lived too long worrying about everyone else’s truth. It’s time I said mine.”
Sienna couldn’t answer. Her voice caught in her throat.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly. “I think so.”
He took her hand again, the simple gesture grounding them both. “Then come on. Let’s get out of here.”
They moved through the corridor toward the exit, flashes still popping in the distance. But for once, Sienna didn’t care who saw.
She was walking beside him, not behind, not hidden. Just beside.
Outside, the sun hit hard. It was bright, warm, almost too much. The crowd still lingered beyond the barrier, shouting his name, calling questions.
Dante paused beside the car, turning to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She gave a small, honest smile. “I’m proud of you.”
He looked surprised for a moment. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing her forehead. “Thank you, that's all I intend to do from today.”
“What?”
“Make you proud, my peace.”
She felt the warmth of his breath, the weight of his words.
For a moment, everything felt right.
Suddenly, a camera clicked.
Sienna’s smile faltered. Dante straightened, his hand still on her shoulder.
The sound came again, but it was closer this time.
Then, they saw cameras flashing and heard voices shouting.
But this wasn’t the press from before these flashes were sharper and deliberate. Like someone more important had arrived
A woman’s voice called from the crowd, honey-sweet and venomous. “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” she said.
Dante’s head turned. Sienna froze