1 I met Adrian Beaumont when I was thirteen. I confessed my love to him when I was twenty-one. But he only sighed, his hands firm yet gentle as he pushed me away. “Sienna, I’m eight years older than you,” he had whispered. “I can’t do that to you.” But later, through the heavy oak of a bedroom door, I heard him. I heard him pressed against my stepsister, their breaths tangled, the sound of a desperate, trembling kiss. Skylar’s voice was thick with a sweet, shy triumph. “What kind of ‘big brother’ kisses his sister like that on her eighteenth birthday?” It wasn’t that I was too young. It wasn’t that the eight-year gap was a bridge he couldn’t cross. It was simply that he didn’t love me. And when there is no love, there is only an excuse. The first time I saw Adrian, I was barely a teenager. My mother had passed away when I was five, leaving my father to raise me alone. Or so I thought. By the time I was thirteen, the narrative changed. A woman named Evelyn Reed entered the picture, bringing along her daughter, Skylar. Our house in the suburbs was small, and suddenly, there were too many people. “Sienna, you’re a big girl now. You need to help out the family,” Evelyn said, smiling as she straightened my collar. Her tone was honey-thick, but her eyes were cold. Behind her stood my father. He looked apologetic, yet utterly powerless, clutching my suitcase—a small, battered thing that held the entirety of my first thirteen years. The Beaumonts were a family of old money and immense prestige. Two decades prior, my father had pulled the only son of the Beaumont estate, Adrian, from a wreckage after a horrific car accident. For that, the Beaumonts gave him a blank check of a promise: ask for anything, anytime. Twenty years later, my father cashed it in. His request? For the Beaumonts to take me in, to raise me in the city, and to put me through the best schools. The Beaumonts spent millions on charities every year; what was one more girl? They were “gracious” enough to agree. They even sent a black Town Car to pick me up. As I left, my father shoved two hundred dollars into my hand, glancing nervously toward the house. “Don’t let Evelyn see this,” he sniffed, his nose turning a bright, pathetic red. “Take care of yourself, Sienna.” But Dad, why can’t you take care of me? I wanted to scream. Mom left plenty of money for me. Why are you throwing me away? I didn’t say a word. I took my suitcase and got into the car. As we pulled away, I watched them in the rearview mirror. They were laughing. Evelyn had her arm linked through my father’s, and my father was holding Skylar’s hand. A perfect, happy family of three. I had been the surplus. The early days at the Beaumont estate were suffocating. I was a ghost in a museum of modern art and velvet. The senior Beaumonts lived abroad most of the year, leaving me alone in the massive house with the staff. I moved through my days in silence—school, homework, dinner—trying to be as invisible as the air. Then, I found him: a scruffy, golden-furred stray puppy near the school gates. He was a mutt, but he had a peculiar, adorable tuft of white fur right on top of his head, like a poorly dyed mohawk. I didn’t dare bring him back to the estate, so I used my allowance to board him at a local vet clinic. Every day after school, I’d spend thirty minutes with him. He was my only friend, my only family. “Hey, little guy,” I whispered one afternoon, stroking his ears as he whimpered into my palm. “I’m going to call you Sunny. Because you have to be happy every single day, okay?” I squeezed my eyes shut. “You have to be happier than me.” “Ugh, what a tragic name for a tragic-looking dog.” A mocking voice cut through the air. I looked up to see Roman Knight, the boy from the neighboring estate. He was a year older than me and had made it his personal mission to make my life miserable since the day I arrived. I ignored him, handed Sunny back to the vet tech, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Hey, Mouse! I’m talking to you!” Roman blocked my path, his chest puffed out with adolescent arrogance. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him to go to hell. But I was a guest in this neighborhood—a charity case. If I caused trouble, it would get back to the Beaumonts, and then to my father. So, I kept my head down and tried to push past him. “So rude,” he sneered, grabbing the strap of my backpack. I stumbled, the momentum throwing me off balance. I closed my eyes, bracing for the hard sting of the pavement, but instead, I hit something warm and solid. A pair of steady hands caught my shoulders. “Roman, is this how we treat guests?” A voice, smooth as aged bourbon and twice as intoxicating, vibrated above me. I looked up. It was Adrian. That was the first time I truly saw him, and the first time he saved me. 2 I learned later that Adrian had been away on business for months. At twenty-one, he was already the “Golden Boy” of the corporate world, managing his family’s private equity firm with a ruthlessness that belied his gentle smile. When he returned and found out his parents had essentially “adopted” a teenager and left her to rot in a silent mansion, he was furious. He had driven over immediately to check on me, arriving just in time to see Roman’s bullying. “Next time that happens,” Adrian said as he drove me back to the estate, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, “don’t hesitate. Hit back.” I opened my mouth to explain why I couldn’t, but the words died in my throat. I just looked down at my lap. Suddenly, I felt a warmth on my head. Adrian was ruffling my hair, his touch light and comforting. “Don’t be afraid, Sienna,” he said softly. “Whatever happens, I’m behind you. I’ve got your back.” Those words hit me like a physical force. They lodged themselves deep in my chest, right next to my heart. I looked up and saw him smiling—not the polite, cold smile he gave the press, but something genuine. Something that made me feel safe for the first time since my mother died. “Okay,” I whispered. From that day on, Adrian became my guardian in every sense of the word. He showed up for my parent-teacher conferences. He hired tutors when I struggled with Calculus. He took me shopping for winter coats and made sure the house was stocked with the things I liked. When I got my first period and was too terrified to tell the housekeeper, it was Adrian who walked into my room with a box of supplies and a heating pad, his face slightly flushed but his voice steady as he explained what to do. He was there for every milestone. He was the sun my world orbited around. So, falling in love with him wasn’t a choice; it was an inevitability. The summer after my junior year of college, I turned twenty-one. The party was held at the estate, a lavish affair Adrian had spent weeks planning. The night was humid and sweet, the moon a perfect ivory sliver reflecting in the turquoise water of the pool. Confetti and discarded champagne flutes littered the deck after the guests had drifted away. I was buzzing with a mix of adrenaline and expensive gin. I looked at Adrian, who was leaning against the pool railing, looking effortlessly handsome in a loosened silk tie. “Adrian,” I whispered, stepping into his space. He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I reached up, my heart hammering against my ribs, and kissed his cheek. He stiffened, his eyes flying open in shock. “Adrian… I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.” My confession was clumsy, a mess of girlish hope and terrifying vulnerability. But Adrian didn’t pull me closer. He reached up and slowly, firmly, unhooked my hands from his neck. “Sienna,” he sighed, and the sound felt like a death knell. “I’m eight years older than you. You’re just starting your life. I can’t do that to you. I shouldn’t.” My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. I tried to swallow the sob rising in my throat, tried to keep some shred of dignity, but the tears came anyway. “Do you… do you even like me? At all?” Adrian turned his face away, unable to meet my gaze. His voice was strained, hollow. “Sienna, I’ve always seen you as family. As a sister. I care about you, but not like that.” The message was loud and clear. The next morning, I packed my bags and moved into a cramped dorm on campus. “I’m grateful for everything the Beaumonts have done for me,” I told him, standing by the front door with my suitcase. I didn’t look at his face. “When I graduate, I’ll find a way to pay it back.” I walked out without waiting for a reply. I cried the entire way to campus. But as I was hauling my boxes into my room, my phone rang. It was Adrian. His voice was broken. He was crying. “Sienna, I’m sorry. Please… don’t leave me. I love you too. I’m a coward, but I love you. Let’s try. Let’s just try.” In that moment, the sun broke through the clouds of my miserable little world. I thought I had won. 3 Our relationship was a secret. He was the heir to the Beaumont empire, still under his father’s thumb, and I was just the girl they’d taken in out of pity. A public scandal would have been disastrous for the firm’s upcoming merger. But I didn’t care. Being with him, even in the shadows, was enough. I stayed late at his penthouse while he worked, brought him soup when he was stressed, and loved him in the quiet spaces between his board meetings. We never talked about marriage or the future. I told myself we were just waiting—waiting for him to take full control, waiting for the right moment to tell the world. I didn’t expect the first person to find out would be Skylar. I hadn’t seen my father in nine years. When I walked into the Beaumont living room during a weekend visit, I barely recognized the man on the sofa. His hair was gray, his face lined with the stress of a life spent treading water. “Dad?” He stood up, his eyes welling with tears. “Sienna. Look at you. You’re a beautiful woman.” Then, he pulled a girl forward. She was tall, radiant, and possessed the kind of effortless beauty that only comes from being deeply loved. “This is your sister, Skylar,” he said, beaming. “She’s going to be living here for a while. You’ll look after her, won’t you?” “Hi, Sienna,” Skylar said, her smile bright and perfectly friendly. I stood there, paralyzed. My father, who hadn’t called me in years, was suddenly here to drop off his other daughter? “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice cold. My father rubbed his neck. “Well, Skylar’s a senior now. The schools back home… they aren’t like the ones here in the city. We wanted her to have the best shot at a top-tier college. Since you’ve been here so long, we thought… well, we asked the Beaumonts if she could stay for her final year.” I looked at him, feeling a familiar, icy numbness. “And the Beaumonts just said yes?” Skylar was the one who answered. “Adrian said yes. He was so sweet about it. He said the house was too big for just two people anyway.” My father patted her shoulder. “Everyone loves Skylar. She’s special.” And so, Skylar moved in. She took a room on the first floor, while Adrian and I were on the second. She was a whirlwind of energy—studying late, asking for help with her essays, always hovering around Adrian. I was busy with my final year of Veterinary Medicine, spending most of my time at the university clinic. When I finally came home for winter break, the atmosphere had shifted. The air in the house felt different—charged with something I didn’t want to name. 4 “If you don’t understand this theorem by now, Skylar, I’m worried about your SAT scores,” Adrian said, though his voice was thick with amusement. He was leaning over Skylar’s shoulder in the study, looking at her workbook. “Not everyone is a Stanford boy-wonder, Adrian,” Skylar teased, her voice dropping into a playful, melodic lilt. “You’re just too smart for us mere mortals.” Adrian laughed—a real, belly-deep laugh I hadn’t heard in weeks. He reached out and playfully nudged her shoulder. They were sitting so close their shadows merged into one on the mahogany desk. I knocked on the open door. “The fruit plate is on the table, Maria,” Skylar said without turning around, assuming I was the housekeeper. “It’s me,” I said. Adrian stiffened. It took him a full two seconds to turn around and face me. “Sienna. You’re back from the dorms.” Skylar turned, her smile as dazzling as ever. “Sienna! Long time no see.” I looked at Adrian. His expression was a mess of guilt and something else—irritation? “I texted you that I was coming home today,” I said. “You didn’t reply.” He checked his phone, looking chagrined. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy week at the firm. I must have missed it.” “Don’t be mad at him, Sienna,” Skylar chirped. “He’s just getting old. His memory is the first thing to go.” “I’m twenty-eight, Skylar. I’m hardly geriatric,” Adrian countered, and they both fell into a fit of giggles. “Whatever you say, Grandpa. Tell her about the time you went to my school and the principal thought you were my dad!” Adrian swatted at her head, and she ducked, laughing. He had gone to her school. He had been a presence in her life while I was tucked away in a lab. The insecurity I had been suppressing roared to life. I wanted to scream that he was mine. I wanted to mark my territory. Later that night, I begged him to go public. “Adrian, please. I don’t want to hide anymore. Let’s just tell people.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Sienna, not now. Give me a few more years to solidify my position at the firm. Then, no one can tell us what to do.” “Is anyone actually telling us what to do now?” I asked. The staff knew. His parents probably suspected. But he just shook his head. “You’re being sensitive. Skylar is just a guest. She’s like a sister to me.” Just like I was, I thought. The words tasted like ash.
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