Updated Oct 1, 2025 • ~13 min read
Sienna woke to sunlight streaming through her windows and the disorienting realization that she was in her own bed, fully clothed, with no memory of getting there.
The last thing she remembered was Damon’s shoulder, his heartbeat, the feeling of safety she had no right to feel.
Her phone showed 7:14 AM and three messages.
Damon: You fell asleep. I put you to bed. Don’t freak out—I stayed on the couch to make sure you were okay.
Damon: Leaving now. There’s breakfast in your fridge. Eat it.
Damon: And before you spiral—I didn’t undress you. Just took off your shoes. I’m not a complete animal.
She sat up too quickly, head spinning, and caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Still in yesterday’s dress, makeup smudged, hair a disaster. But someone—Damon—had pulled a blanket over her, set a glass of water on her nightstand, plugged in her phone to charge.
He’d taken care of her.
The realization made her chest tight.
She stumbled to the kitchen and found exactly what he’d promised: a carefully packed breakfast—Greek yogurt with granola, fresh fruit, orange juice, and another note in his sharp handwriting.
You need to eat breakfast. Doctor’s orders. Also mine. —D
She should be angry. Should be furious that he’d stayed without permission, invaded her space, crossed every boundary she’d tried to establish.
Instead, she ate the breakfast and tried not to think about how Lucas had never once noticed what she liked for breakfast in two months of dating.
Her phone rang. Lucas.
Guilt slammed into her so hard she almost didn’t answer.
“Hey,” she managed.
“Good morning, beautiful. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m up. Getting ready for work.”
“I was thinking—how about dinner tonight? My place. I’ll actually cook this time, no distractions, no work emergencies.” He sounded hopeful, eager. “I want to make up for being so absent.”
She thought about Damon on her couch, watching over her while she slept. Thought about waking up cared for by the wrong brother.
“Dinner sounds perfect,” she said, and hated how easily the lies came now.
Work was a special kind of torture.
Sienna couldn’t focus on emails, couldn’t concentrate in meetings. Her mind kept drifting back—not just to last night, but to that night. The one that had started this entire catastrophic chain of events.
She remembered the way Damon had looked at her across the gala ballroom. The electric charge when they’d danced. The moment she’d decided to stop fighting and just surrender to the inevitable.
“Tell me to leave and I will. Tell me you don’t feel this and I’ll call you a car.”
She’d kissed him instead. Had chosen recklessness over safety, passion over logic.
And now she was paying the price.
“Earth to Sienna.” Bianca waved a hand in front of her face. “You’ve been staring at that same email for ten minutes. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
“You’re always tired lately.” Bianca lowered her voice. “Are you okay? Physically, I mean. Is the pregnancy—”
“The pregnancy is fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” But her voice cracked on the last word.
Bianca closed the office door. “Talk to me.”
And suddenly, Sienna was talking—about Lucas’s distance, about Damon’s constant presence, about falling asleep on his shoulder and waking up in her own bed with breakfast waiting.
“He stayed,” she finished. “On my couch. Made sure I was okay. And this morning, Lucas called like nothing’s wrong, like he hasn’t been treating me like an afterthought for weeks, and I just—”
“You’re falling for Damon.”
“No.” The denial was automatic. “I can’t fall for Damon. He’s arrogant and impossible and—”
“And he sees you. Really sees you.” Bianca’s expression was sympathetic. “Sienna, I love you, but you need to hear this: you can’t keep doing this. You can’t marry Lucas while having feelings for his brother. That’s not fair to anyone—not Lucas, not Damon, not you, and definitely not that baby.”
“I don’t have feelings for Damon. It’s just—” She gestured helplessly. “It’s biology. Pregnancy hormones making me confused.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Bianca squeezed her shoulder. “But eventually, you’re going to have to choose. And the longer you wait, the more people get hurt.”
After Bianca left, Sienna tried to work. Tried to focus on contracts and proposals and anything that wasn’t the mess of her personal life.
But her mind kept drifting back.
She remembered Damon in his penthouse, the way he’d touched her like she was something precious and breakable and his. The way he’d said her name—not Laurent, not his rival’s name—just Sienna, soft and reverent.
She remembered waking up in his sheets, panic setting in, the desperate need to escape before reality caught up.
She’d been running ever since.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number—except she knew exactly who it was.
Stop thinking so loud. I can feel you spiraling from across town.
Despite everything, she smiled. That’s not how telepathy works.
Isn’t it? Because I know you’re sitting in your office, probably not eating lunch, definitely overthinking.
I’m working.
Liar. You’re remembering.
Her breath caught. Stop.
Why? Because it’s easier to pretend it never happened? That we never happened?
There is no ‘we.’
There’s a baby. That makes us a ‘we’ whether you like it or not.
She stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. A dozen responses fought for dominance—anger, denial, the truth she couldn’t quite voice.
Finally: I can’t do this right now.
Then when? When you’re married to my brother? When you’ve lied for so long you believe it yourself?
Goodbye, Damon.
She silenced her phone and shoved it in her desk drawer.
But the damage was done. The memories wouldn’t stop coming.
That night, she went to Lucas’s apartment determined to make this work. To remember why she’d said yes to his proposal, why she’d chosen safety over chaos.
He greeted her with flowers and a kiss, and his apartment smelled like something burning.
“I may have overestimated my cooking skills,” he admitted sheepishly, leading her to a kitchen filled with smoke. “But I ordered backup from that Italian place you like. It’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Yes, I did.” He pulled her close, rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve been a terrible fiancé lately. Too focused on work, not focused enough on you. That changes now.”
“Lucas—”
“Let me finish.” He took her hands. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve missed calls, canceled plans. But Sienna, you’re the most important thing in my life. And I need you to know that.”
The words should have felt like a balm. Should have soothed the doubts that had been growing like weeds.
Instead, they felt like pressure.
“I know,” she managed.
They ate dinner on his couch—takeout Italian because his cooking attempt had been unsalvageable—and Lucas talked about wedding plans, about the house his mother wanted to buy them, about their future like it was certain and bright.
“I was thinking,” he said, “maybe we should move the wedding up even more. Next month, maybe. Just immediate family, nothing elaborate.”
Next month. She’d be almost five months pregnant.
“Why the rush?”
“No rush. I just—” He set down his wine glass. “I want you to be my wife, Sienna. I don’t want to wait.”
There was something in his voice. Something she couldn’t quite identify.
“Is everything okay?” she asked carefully.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’ve just been acting different lately. Distant, then suddenly rushing the wedding. It feels like—” She trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“Like what?”
Like you know something’s wrong but you’re too scared to ask.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
But Lucas was studying her now, really looking at her for the first time in weeks. His gaze traveled over her face, down to where her hand rested on her stomach—a protective gesture she’d developed without realizing.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You’ve been tired a lot lately. Maybe you should see a doctor.”
Her heart hammered. “I’m fine. Just work stress.”
“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? If you needed something?”
This was it. The opening she needed to come clean, to tell him the truth before this went any further.
“Lucas, I—”
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and something flickered in his expression. “I should take this. Work thing. Give me five minutes?”
He disappeared into his bedroom, and Sienna sat on the couch, surrounded by the remnants of their dinner, and felt the walls closing in.
Through the door, she could hear Lucas’s voice—tense, urgent, discussing some crisis she didn’t understand.
Work. It was always work lately.
She stood, started clearing dishes, and that’s when she saw it.
Lucas’s laptop, open on the counter. The screen had gone to sleep, but when she moved past it, it lit up.
She shouldn’t look. It was a violation of privacy, a line she had no right to cross.
But something made her pause. Made her look at the screen.
Email, open to his inbox.
And there, three messages down, a subject line that made her blood run cold:
RE: Sienna Laurent Background Check
Her hands shook as she clicked it.
The email was from a private investigator. Detailed report attached. Summary at the top: Subject’s recent activities include frequent contact with Damon Cross. Timeline of relationship with client begins approximately one week after confirmed contact between subject and D. Cross. Recommend further investigation into nature of prior relationship.
The room tilted.
Lucas had hired an investigator. Was having her followed. Knew about her contact with Damon.
How much did he know?
“Sienna?”
She spun around. Lucas stood in the doorway, phone in hand, face carefully blank.
“I should go,” she said. “You’re clearly busy, and I’m tired—”
“You saw the email.”
Not a question. A statement.
“Lucas—”
“It’s not what you think.” He moved closer, and there was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. Something almost like desperation. “I wasn’t spying on you. I was trying to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why my brother won’t leave you alone. Why every time I turn around, Damon’s there—watching you, texting you, showing up places you are.” His voice rose. “Why you flinch every time I mention him. Why you look guilty every time I kiss you.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Please, Sienna. Whatever’s going on, whatever history you have with Damon—just tell me the truth. Let me help you.”
She could do it. Could tell him everything right now—the gala, the pregnancy, the impossible situation they were all trapped in.
But looking at Lucas’s face, seeing the hope and fear warring there, she couldn’t destroy him.
Not yet.
Not like this.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she heard herself say. “Damon and I were rivals. We still are. He doesn’t like that I’m with you, so he’s being difficult. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Lucas searched her face for a long moment. Then, slowly, he released her shoulders and stepped back.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. I believe you.”
But they both knew it was a lie.
She left shortly after, claiming a headache that was only half-fabricated. Lucas walked her to her car, kissed her forehead, and watched her drive away.
In her rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the parking lot, phone to his ear.
Probably calling the investigator back. Probably demanding more answers.
She made it two blocks before she had to pull over, hands shaking too badly to drive safely.
Her phone buzzed. Damon.
Where are you?
Leaving Lucas’s.
Are you okay?
No. She wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.
He knows. Not everything, but he suspects. He hired an investigator.
There was a long pause. Then: Where are you? I’m coming to get you.
I’m fine.
You’re not fine. You’re probably having a panic attack in your car. Send me your location.
Damon—
Now, Sienna.
She sent her location because fighting required energy she didn’t have.
Fifteen minutes later, his car pulled up behind hers. He was in her passenger seat before she could protest, taking one look at her tear-stained face and pulling her into his arms.
“I’ve ruined everything,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“No. We’ll figure this out.”
“How? Lucas knows something’s wrong. The investigator is going to keep digging. Eventually, he’ll find out about that night, about the baby—”
“Then we tell him first.” Damon pulled back, cupped her face in his hands. “We control the narrative instead of letting him find out from some private detective.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one lying to him.”
“Neither are you anymore. The lie’s already falling apart, Sienna. At this point, you’re just choosing how it ends.”
“I don’t want to hurt him.”
“I know. But you can’t protect him from this. He’s going to get hurt either way.”
She knew he was right. Had known for weeks that this was unsustainable.
But knowing and accepting were different things.
“I need time,” she said. “Just a little more time to figure out how to tell him.”
“You don’t have time. That baby’s going to be obvious soon, and when Lucas does the math—”
“I know!” Her voice cracked. “I know, okay? I know I’m running out of time. I know I’ve made everything worse by lying. I know I should have told the truth from the beginning.” She was crying now, full-on sobbing. “But I didn’t, and now I don’t know how to fix it.”
Damon pulled her back into his arms, let her cry against his chest until she had nothing left.
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured into her hair. “Together. I promise.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe there was a version of this that didn’t end in complete devastation.
But that night, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, all she could think about was Lucas’s face when he’d asked her to tell him the truth.
And how she’d lied.
Again.
She woke whispering the wrong twin’s name, and knew—with terrible, absolute certainty—that she was in love with Damon Cross.
The realization didn’t make anything easier.
It just made everything worse.
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