The buzz of news coverage had already spread like wildfire by morning.
Siena's face was everywhere—on television, in digital articles, trending hashtags. But despite the whirlwind of speculation and corporate panic, her apartment felt unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
She stood in the kitchen, a half-empty mug of coffee in her hand. The bitterness clung to her tongue, but she didn't mind. It was the only thing keeping her from drifting back into the haze of the night before.
She'd told the truth. She'd stood in front of the world and stripped away every shred of pretense. But it hadn't given her the peace she expected. If anything, it left her exposed—raw, like a wound waiting to scab.
Carla entered from the guest room with her phone pressed to her ear and her laptop already open. "Okay, got it. Tell legal to hold off on any counter-statements until I review the investor response. Thanks." She ended the call and dropped onto a stool.
"You sure you're ready for this storm?" Carla asked, giving her a knowing glance.
"No," Siena answered honestly. "But I wasn't ready for any of it. I'm still here."
Carla leaned forward. "Then that's enough. For now."
A soft knock echoed from the front door.
Siena didn't even have to ask. She knew it was him.
Carla gave her a small look. "I'll be in the other room."
Siena walked slowly to the door, her fingers pausing on the knob for a moment before turning it.
Alexander stood there in jeans and a plain black jacket, holding a paper bag and two cups of coffee. His eyes met hers without the need for pretense.
"I brought real breakfast," he said.
"I thought you liked protein bars."
"I do," he said with a small smile. "But I thought you deserved better."
She stepped aside, letting him in.
The smell of warm croissants filled the air as he set the bag down. "You slept at all?"
"A little."
"And how are you feeling?"
She paused. "Like I jumped out of a plane and remembered mid-air that I hate heights."
Alexander nodded. "Sounds about right."
They sat at the kitchen counter, unwrapping their breakfast in silence. It was strange—comfortably strange—how normal this felt after the chaos of the last few days.
Siena broke the silence. "They'll be after us now, won't they?"
"Some of them already are," Alexander replied. "But some are supporting us. The people who always felt something was off with Withers. The employees were afraid to speak up. A few even emailed me this morning. They thanked us."
Her eyes met his. "That surprises me."
"It surprised me too."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded document. "I found something else."
She took it slowly, unfolding it. It was a personal email, printed and dated years ago. From Withers. Addressed to her father.
She read aloud, voice shaking slightly. "'She doesn't need to know until it's finalized. The illusion of choice is more powerful than actual autonomy.'"
Her chest tightened.
"They never intended to give me control," she whispered. "It was always about appearances."
Alexander nodded. "And you've already shattered that illusion."
Siena folded the paper carefully, setting it aside.
"I don't know what comes next," she said quietly.
"You don't have to," he said. "But you're not doing this alone anymore. Not if you don't want to."
There was a long pause.
"I'm scared, Alexander," she said. "Not just of them… but of what I feel for you. It's too fast. Too messy. And I don't want to confuse being seen for being loved."
His gaze didn't waver. "You're not a project to me, Siena. You're not someone I'm trying to fix or win over. I just want to be someone who stays when it's hard."
Her breath caught, but she didn't let the emotion win. Not yet.
"Then stay," she said, softer this time. "But don't expect me to hand over everything just because you said the right thing. I need time. To rebuild."
"I'm not asking for everything," he replied. "Just a chance to be something real."
And then, silence again. But this time it felt full—of possibility.
---
Later that afternoon, the board of Hartline called an emergency meeting. Siena entered the conference room alone. Carla joined through video. Alexander stayed behind—this was her battle to fight.
The room was tense. Familiar faces looked less friendly now, more calculating.
One of the older board members leaned forward. "Miss Hart, you made quite the statement yesterday. Care to explain the goal?"
She didn't flinch. "Transparency."
"Or was it revenge?"
She raised a brow. "Are those mutually exclusive now?"
Another board member spoke. "Your father built this company—"
"And nearly buried it under secrets," she interrupted. "This is my company now. Whether or not you like that fact doesn't change its legality."
Murmurs broke out.
"You want to remove me?" Siena asked. "Go ahead. But I promise you, the moment you do, I'll walk out and take every whistleblower, every media connection, and every shred of documentation I have with me. And I'll make sure this board is remembered not for its legacy, but for its cowardice."
Silence.
She stood. "Or—we can move forward. Together. We can clean the house. Rebuild what my father allowed to rot. Choose."
No one moved.
Until one hand slowly raised.
Then another.
And another.
The majority vote stayed in her favor.
Siena left the room with a strange mix of triumph and sorrow swelling in her chest. She hadn't won—she'd simply survived another round.
---
That evening, Siena sat on her balcony wrapped in a sweater, her legs curled beneath her. The sun was just dipping beneath the skyline, casting gold and pink streaks across the buildings.
Alexander joined her with a blanket and two mugs of tea.
"You didn't have to come," she said.
"I know."
"But you did anyway."
He nodded. "You didn't ask me to stay, Siena. You let me."
She looked at him, finally letting herself smile, even if just a little.
"For now," she said.
He smiled back. "For now is enough."
They sat in silence as the city hummed around them—two people with wounds not yet healed, but finally able to breathe.