Chapter 86 Fractures
The apartment was quiet after the storm.
Sienna sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the phone in her hand. The message was still there, glowing faintly on the screen like something alive:
Come before midnight. Or you’ll lose what’s left of the truth.
She’d read it a dozen times already. Every word dug deeper, pulling her between dread and curiosity, between sense and the ache that whispered she couldn’t ignore it.
Then, she read the second text. Who is this? And how did they know she was in Monaco? Is someone tracking her?
Outside the window, Monaco shimmered with lights scattered across the dark sea. It was beautiful, untouchable. The kind of city that made pain feel smaller, even when it wasn’t.
The sound of footsteps drew her back to the room. Luca appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair a little disheveled. He studied her in silence for a moment the way her shoulders curved inward, how she hadn’t moved since the last time he’d checked on her.
“You’ve been staring at that phone for ten minutes,” he said gently.
Sienna forced a small smile. “I didn’t realize.”
He crossed the room and sat beside her, close but not too close. “How are you holding up?”
She hesitated. The truth hovered on her tongue that she was terrified, confused, and drowning in thoughts she couldn’t untangle. But the words refused to leave her mouth.
“I’m fine,” she said instead. Her voice sounded calm, practiced.
Luca frowned. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just tired.” She pressed the phone screen down onto the couch, forcing herself not to glance at it again. “It’s been a long few days.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Is it about the text?”
Her pulse spiked. “What?”
“That message you got earlier,” he said carefully. “You looked shaken.”
Sienna’s throat went dry, but she managed a soft laugh. “Oh, that. It’s nothing. Just a class reunion invitation, some old friends trying to pull me back into nostalgia.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Completely,” she lied again, eyes steady but her hands betraying her, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. “Honestly, Luca, I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep.”
He exhaled slowly, still studying her face, maybe searching for the truth she wasn’t ready to give. Then he nodded. “Alright. You can take the guest room. It’s just down the hall.”
She stood, grateful for the excuse to escape his gaze. “Thank you for everything.”
He smiled faintly. “Get some rest, Sienna. You’re safe here.”
Safe? The word felt fragile. Like something that could break if she breathed too hard.
The guest room was simple and warm with soft light, crisp sheets, and the faint hum of the city below. Sienna sat on the bed, staring at her reflection in the window glass. She didn’t recognize the woman looking back. The sharpness in her eyes. The exhaustion in her shoulders.
She reached for her phone again. The message still glowed, waiting. She typed out a reply. Who are you? And then deleted it before pressing send. She wasn’t ready.
A gentle knock startled her. The door opened slightly, and one of the maids entered, balancing a tray of food containing soup, bread, and a small pot of tea.
“Mr. Varon asked me to bring this to you,” the maid said with a polite smile. “He said you haven’t eaten.”
Sienna blinked. “That’s kind of him.”
“Would you like anything else?”
“No, thank you.” She managed a smile. “Goodnight.”
The maid nodded and left quietly, the door clicking shut behind her.
Sienna stared at the food but didn’t touch it. Her appetite had left with her peace.
After a long while, she pushed the tray aside, turned off the light, and lay down.
But sleep wouldn’t come. The city hummed softly beyond the glass, and her mind kept circling the message like a storm returning to its own eye.
She turned to the wall and whispered, “What if this is how it ends?”
Sienna lay awake in the dark, her eyes open, tracing the faint light from the street through the curtains. She hadn’t moved in an hour.
The clock on the nightstand ticked toward midnight. Her phone rested by her pillow, silent now but she couldn’t stop glancing at it, waiting for it to light up again. Waiting for an answer, for a reason, for courage.
She sat up slowly, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her hands trembled as she reached for the phone one more time.
No new messages.
For a moment, she almost wished there were.
Her chest ached. The walls felt smaller. The air was still. She swung her legs over the bed and pressed her palms to her knees, whispering into the dark, “What am I doing?”
A knock at the door startled her. Luca’s voice, low and calm: “Are you awake?”
She took a breath before answering. “Yes.”
The door opened slightly. His silhouette appeared in the dim light. “I was just checking. I didn’t hear you move.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded slowly. “You’ve had too much on your mind.”
Sienna managed a small smile. “That’s one way to put it.”
He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then gave a faint nod. “Try to rest. Tomorrow will be better.”
When the door closed again, Sienna stared at it for a long time. Her heart thudded painfully torn between fear and resolve.
Maybe Luca was right. Maybe she should rest. But the voice inside her, the one that still remembered Clara’s note, her father’s silence, the unanswered questions whispered otherwise.
She turned her phone face down, lay back, and closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come.
Only thoughts.
Meanwhile, at Dante's villa, the villa was bathed in quiet shadow. Dante sat alone in his study, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand. The moonlight slipped through the tall windows, painting silver patterns across the marble floor. He looked down at his hands, the same hands that had once held Sienna’s face so gently, now clenched around a drink like it might steady the tremor inside him.
He’d told himself he was done with the feeling. That shutting her out was necessary and it was better this way.
But when she’d stood in that doorway earlier, her voice steady, her eyes wounded but proud, something inside him had almost cracked open again.
Almost.
He lifted the glass, swallowed the whiskey in one burning sip, and let the ache fill him.
From behind him, soft footsteps echoed. Isabelle entered without knocking, wearing a silk robe the color of cream. Her perfume drifted in before her expensive and heavy.
“Still awake?” she asked, feigning surprise.
He didn’t answer.
She crossed the room, her heels silent on the rug. “You’ve been brooding since she left.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “Drop it, Isabelle.”
“I’m just saying,” she murmured, perching on the arm of his chair. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way she keeps appearing. Like she can’t stand being forgotten.”
He looked up sharply. “She didn’t come here for attention.”
“Oh, I know.” Isabelle smiled sweetly. “She came to play the victim. It’s what she’s always done.”
He turned away, staring into the fireplace even though it wasn’t lit. “You don’t know her.”
“I know her better than you think.” Isabelle’s tone sharpened. “And I know what she did.”
Dante’s voice dropped low. “Enough.”
But Isabelle wasn’t finished. She stood, moving closer, her tone soft and poisonous. “You think she loves you, but she doesn’t. She destroyed you, Dante. She used you for your name, your story, your pity.”
He said nothing. Silence was safer.
Isabelle stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Why else would she keep those files? Why else would your private reports end up in the press?”
He flinched, just barely but Isabelle saw it. She always saw it.
“I’ve seen the pictures,” she whispered. “Her with your case notes. She sneaked into restricted records at the hospital. Do you know what that means?”
He tried to shut her voice out, but the images came unbidden, Sienna at her desk, the quiet focus in her eyes. The thought that those eyes might have been hiding lies stung sharper than anything else.
Isabelle knelt beside him, her tone soft now. “You don’t have to hate her. Just see her for what she really is.”
He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. But inside, something fragile folded in on itself.
She rose gracefully, brushed her hand across his shoulder. “You’re better off without her.”
As she walked away, Dante finally exhaled. The glass trembled in his hand.
He wanted to throw it to shatter something, anything. But he didn’t. He only stared out the window, jaw clenched, heart heavy.
Sienna’s voice still echoed in his head: “You’ll regret not believing me.”
Maybe he already did.
Later, Isabelle returned to the bedroom, her expression composed. She reached for her phone, scrolling through a series of messages she’d sent earlier that day.
One reply sat unread from a number she didn’t recognize. But the message made her lips curve into a quiet, satisfied smile.
“We know her location.”
She locked the screen and set the phone down beside the bed.
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of engines from the racetrack near the edge of the city. A faint, familiar hum that always seemed to call to Dante whenever his mind was too loud.
He’d told her once that racing made him feel alive. Now, it sounded like the only thing that could silence him.
And somewhere across Monaco, Dante stood by his window, holding his car keys, staring out toward the racetrack lights burning faintly in the distance, the sound of engines calling him home.
Dante’s fingers tightened around his car keys. He whispered to himself, almost a vow. “If I can’t outrun the past, I’ll face it on the track again.”