Sienna stared at her phone for a long time.
The message still sat there on the screen, like it was waiting to be read again.
> "You're doing better than I expected. But don't forget why you started."
No name. No number. Just shadows behind words.
She read it three more times, hoping the sender would somehow reveal themselves between the lines.
But nothing changed.
"Who are you?" she whispered to the silent room.
She considered calling Alexander. But what would she even say? Hey, I got a creepy text. Might be nothing. Might be everything.
Instead, she saved the number. Just in case. Then deleted the message from her inbox, like that could erase the unease curling in her stomach.
---
The next morning, Sienna didn't wake up to the sound of birds or the gentle ring of an alarm.
She woke up to Alexander standing at the foot of her bed, arms folded, holding her tablet.
"You told someone," he said flatly.
Still groggy, she sat up. "Told someone what?"
He turned the tablet around.
A blog post. A gossip site. One of those low-budget ones that lived for scandal.
The headline:
"Mrs. Knight's Mysterious Disappearance from Charity Night: Trouble in Billionaire Paradise?"
Sienna blinked. "I didn't tell anyone anything."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "Then how did they know you left early? No one but us and the staff knew."
"Maybe someone leaked it."
"Exactly. And you've got more enemies than I do right now."
Sienna got out of bed, pulling her robe tighter. "I don't have enemies, Alexander. I have people who don't know me but hate the idea of me."
He didn't respond right away. His expression softened just slightly.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just—this kind of exposure isn't something we can afford. Not right now."
She looked up at him. "Then maybe you should've married someone who was already trained for this."
"I didn't marry you for training."
She paused. "Then why did you?"
He didn't answer. And maybe that was the answer.
---
Sienna spent the rest of the morning in her small study.
It was the only room in the penthouse that felt remotely like her own—soft colors, no screens, a stack of her old books by the window.
She tried to read.
She tried to write.
But her mind kept drifting back to the message.
Who sent it?
What did they mean by "don't forget why you started"?
Because the truth was—she had forgotten.
In the whirlwind of headlines, camera flashes, curated dinners, and cold silences, she had lost track of what brought her here in the first place.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the sender's point.
She picked up her phone and stared at the saved number. It still had no name. Just a blank contact with a time-stamped text.
She almost dialed it.
But then it rang.
And for a second, she forgot how to breathe.
It was the same number.
The unknown contact.
She answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
Silence.
She waited. "Who is this?"
Still silence. Then—
"I told you this world would eat you up, Sienna."
The voice was male. Calm. Low.
Familiar.
But she couldn't place it.
"Who are you?" she asked, now more firmly.
"Just a reminder," the man said. "That even a contract has its price."
Then the line went dead.
---
Alexander walked in thirty seconds later.
"Everything okay?"
She lowered the phone slowly. "Yeah. Fine."
He studied her. "You don't look fine."
She hesitated.
Part of her wanted to tell him everything—the message, the voice, the tension in her gut that hadn't eased since last night.
But another part of her didn't trust him with it.
Not yet.
"Just tired," she said instead. "Didn't sleep well."
He nodded, but he didn't believe her. She could tell.
"You should rest more," he said. "There's a board dinner tonight. You'll need the energy."
"Board dinner?"
He sighed like he didn't want to explain. "The investors want to meet you. Get to know the woman behind the headlines."
"Great," she muttered. "Another evening of small talk and forced laughter."
He looked at her for a long second. "You're better at this than you think."
"You don't know me."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I know how you handle pressure. And you haven't cracked yet."
---
The dinner was held at a private hall inside one of the Knight-owned hotels.
High ceilings. Polished marble. Waiters dressed like diplomats.
Sienna walked in beside Alexander, her expression calm, her stride steady, but her mind still chewing on the voice from earlier.
There were about twenty people at the long table. Most older. Most men.
They stood as Alexander introduced her, shaking her hand like she was part of some ceremony.
She played the role well. Smiled where needed. Laughed softly. Answered questions like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror.
And through it all, Alexander stood beside her like a statue.
Unshakeable. Watchful.
After dinner, she slipped away to the balcony for air.
She wasn't alone.
A man in his early thirties leaned against the rail, a drink in hand.
He turned when she approached. "Mrs. Knight," he said, a slight smile on his face. "Or can I call you Sienna?"
She raised a brow. "Depends. Who are you?"
"Cameron Hale," he replied. "Venture partner. I invest in Alexander's newer projects."
She nodded once. "Cameron."
"You looked uncomfortable in there," he said. "Not a fan of suits and cigars?"
"Not a fan of masks."
He chuckled. "Fair enough. Most people at that table wear them like armor."
She tilted her head. "What about you?"
"I don't wear masks," he said. "I just stay quiet long enough to hear the ones others are hiding behind."
She gave a tight smile. "And what have you heard about me?"
He sipped his drink. "That you're more than what the headlines say. That you weren't Alexander's first choice, but you might be his best one."
That caught her off guard.
Before she could ask more, he straightened. "Careful, though. This world doesn't like women who think."
She met his eyes. "Good. I don't like people who expect me not to."
He smiled again, then walked past her, disappearing into the glowing interior.
And just like that, she was alone again.
Except now she had a new name.
Cameron Hale.
And another thread to pull.
---
That night, after the dinner, she lay in bed wide awake.
Alexander was in the guest room—he often claimed he worked better with space.
Sienna stared at the ceiling, her thoughts circling the voice from the call and the words it left behind.
> "Even a contract has its price."
She remembered the day she signed it—the clean lines, the sharp pens, the way Alexander didn't even look at her when he slid the papers over.
It was supposed to be simple.
Temporary.
A bridge from her past to her future.
But now... the bridge felt like a trap.
She turned and reached for her journal—an old one, barely touched since the marriage began.
She flipped to a clean page and wrote one sentence.
"I need to remember why I started."
And then she added another:
"Because someone out there hasn't forgotten."