Sienna POV:
I stared at the red-haired woman. The words she just spoke hung in the sterile air, heavy and sharp. I didn't know her, but the raw devastation in her voice felt genuine.
I frowned, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ribs. "Explain. Tell me exactly what you mean."
The woman—Julia, I assumed, though I didn't know how I knew that—pulled a plastic visitor's chair to the side of the bed. She sat down heavily, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her leather sleeve. She glanced nervously at the door, ensuring the bodyguard outside wasn't looking in. She carried the cautious, paranoid energy of someone who lived her entire life under surveillance.
She took a deep, shaky breath. "The man outside. His name is Dante. He is your fiancé."
I let out a short, cold laugh. "My fiancé? My taste in men couldn't possibly be that bad."
Julia shook her head, a bitter, sad smile touching her lips. "For the last seven years, you practically gave up your entire soul for him."
A sudden wave of physical nausea hit my stomach. The idea of being subservient to the violent thug outside made my skin crawl. I pushed my palms against the mattress, trying to force myself into a sitting position.
"Hey, don't move," Julia panicked, jumping up to support my back. She carefully arranged the pillows behind me, avoiding my wrapped ribs.
I settled back, breathing heavily. I looked down at my hands resting on my lap. These hands felt like they should be holding a drafting pencil or a paintbrush.
Instead, I noticed the skin. The backs of my hands and my knuckles were covered in faint, pale scars. Tiny burn marks. Small, faded slices from kitchen knives. They were the hands of someone who spent hours standing over a hot stove, or burning herself on an iron to make sure a custom suit was perfectly pressed.
I rubbed my thumb over a burn scar on my left wrist. "What exactly have I been doing for the last seven years?"
Julia bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "You walked away from a master's degree in architecture at Cornell. You dropped everything just to be the perfect hostess for the Moretti family."
I sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. I looked at the scars again. "I was an absolute idiot."
Julia reached out and gently grabbed my hand. Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "Sienna, listen to me. The night of the car crash."
My eyes narrowed. "What about it? Give me the details."
"An oncoming truck lost control and swerved into your lane," Julia said, her voice shaking with residual terror. "In that split second, Dante unbuckled his seatbelt."
My chest tightened slightly. My logical brain assumed he unbuckled to shield me. To protect his supposed fiancée.
Julia shattered that logic in a second. "He threw himself into the backseat. To cover Valeria."
I froze. "Who the hell is Valeria?"
Disgust flashed in Julia's red-rimmed eyes. "The widow of one of his men who died in combat. Dante feels responsible for her."
I stared at the white blanket covering my legs. The sheer absurdity of the situation washed over me. My fiancé, in the exact moment of a life-or-death impact, chose to protect another woman.
"The car rolled," Julia continued, her tears falling onto my hospital gown. "It caught fire. Dante kicked the door open. He carried Valeria out of the wreckage."
I closed my eyes. A sudden, violent flash of orange fire burned behind my eyelids. The suffocating, toxic smell of burning rubber and melting plastic filled my nose. I heard the crunch of metal.
My eyes snapped open. I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
"If a passing truck driver hadn't smashed your window with a fire extinguisher and dragged you out, you would have burned alive in that passenger seat," Julia cried.
I lifted my scarred hand and pressed it flat against my chest. I waited for the heartbreak. I waited for the crushing devastation of a woman who had just realized her lover left her to die.
There was no heartbreak. There was only a cold, calculating anger.
I lifted my chin. My vision was crystal clear. The fog of the amnesia didn't matter anymore. I knew exactly what kind of situation I was in.
I looked over at the small bedside table. A smartphone sat next to a plastic water cup. The screen was severely cracked, resembling a spiderweb, but the casing was intact.
I pointed at it. "Give me the phone."
Julia hesitated, looking from the phone to my face. "Sienna, you don't need to—"
"Bring it to me," I commanded. My voice was low, but it held no room for argument.
Julia swallowed hard and handed the device over.
I took the heavy phone in my hand. I stared at the shattered black screen, seeing the pale, bruised reflection of my own face in the glass. I pressed the power button on the side.
"Let me see exactly how stupid I was."
