Sienna's POV

Tears streamed down Maia’s face, drawing murmurs from the crowd around us.

“Sienna, you’re in the wrong here! You knew he was taken, so you can’t blame her for wrecking your house!” someone said.

I turned to Lance, a cold smirk tugging at my lips. “Quite the little power play you two cooked up. So, are you paying for the damages, or is she? You’re aware of how much that porcelain set costs, right?”

Lance’s face twisted with visible pain as he stared at the shattered remains of the priceless vase.

But Maia, still crying, turned her fury on him. “You knew she was trying to seduce you! Why did you still go up there to see her alone?”

Lance immediately ran to her, wrapping her in his arms. “Maia, listen. She said if I talked to her one last time and made things clear, she’d leave me alone for good. You saw me reject her—I’ve made it obvious there’s nothing between us. If I wanted her, don’t you think we’d have been together by now? Please, stop crying.”

Maia blinked up at him, her tears subsiding as she swallowed his lies like gospel.

Meanwhile, I stood there, stunned, watching their performance. Unable to help myself, I started clapping slowly, the sound cutting through their theatrics.

Part of me wanted to tell her the truth—reveal what kind of person Lance really was. But before I could, her eyes landed on the faint lipstick stain on Lance’s collar.

Her demeanor shifted again in an instant. Like a lioness provoked, she grabbed the bat again and continued smashing anything in her path.

The things she was destroying were treasures left to me by my parents, so I couldn’t let her keep going.

“Maia, stop this right now!” I shouted. Then I turned to Lance, my voice sharp. “You! Get your lunatic fiancée and get the hell out of my house!”

With my sudden panic, Maia figured out my weak spot, and her swings grew wilder. I tried to grab the bat from her hands, but she turned and swung it at me instead.

I barely dodged the blow and nearly fell. Yet, she lunged forward with so much force that she stumbled and knocked me to the ground. My back hit the floor, and shards of broken porcelain dug into my skin. Pain quickly shot through me and tears welled in my eyes.

Despite that, Lance didn’t even glance my way. Instead, he scooped Maia into his arms, inspecting her for injuries.

“Maia, are you okay? Does it hurt?” he asked frantically.

She only had a small cut on her arm from the broken glass, yet, Lance, looking like a man possessed, picked her up and rushed her out the door, heading straight for the hospital.

And just like that, I was left lying among the wreckage.

After someone helped me to the hospital and I’d gotten my wounds treated, a string of unfamiliar text messages popped up on my phone.

[Sienna, consider this a warning. Stay away from Lance if you know what’s good for you. Don’t make me ruin your reputation in this city. By the way, all those handmade gifts you gave Lance? They’re dog toys now—literally. My dog plays with them. I only kept them because I felt bad for you. Otherwise, they’d be in the trash.]

The messages stung like a slap to the face.

No wonder Lance always dodged my questions about where my gifts went, claiming he had “stored them carefully.” Turns out they were in his fiancée’s dog’s mouth.

My heart sank as the realization hit me: In his eyes, my feelings were worth nothing.

Fine. If that’s how they wanted to play it, I wouldn’t hold back.

Without hesitation, I dialed the number of Lance’s uncle. “Sir, your nephew and his fiancée trashed my house and injured me. I'm now in the hospital. How are you going to settle this?”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

The thought of Howard Sharp’s icy face made me nervous, but he was the head of the Madron family. Ever since his grandfather adopted him and handed over the reins of the family business, his word had been law. Even Lance, the biological grandson, had to toe the line.

And as an employee of Apex Solutions Group, I had every right—both professionally and personally—to bring this to his attention.

“I’ll take care of it,” came his curt reply.

As such, the call ended abruptly, leaving me staring at my phone.

After a while, I figured Howard wasn’t planning to follow up. Frustrated, I lay on the hospital bed, cursing out every branch of Lance’s family tree in my head. Of course, I didn’t spare Howard from my rant either.

Sienna's POV

But as I thought about Howard's concern, my mind wandered to less innocent ideas.

"If that Skinflint dares to treat me like that jerk Lance, I swear I’ll marry him just to ruin his family for as long as I live!”

“Done ranting?”

The familiar voice made me freeze on the spot.

“S-sir? Why are you here in person?”

Ignoring the pain in my back, I scrambled to sit up, my guilt making it impossible to meet his eyes. Surely, he didn’t know I was calling him Skinflint, right?

Howard saw me wince and stepped closer to help.

“Didn’t you call me to handle the situation?”

Gripping his hand, I instantly broke into a cold sweat.

I was nervous, but I tried to play it cool. “Lance and his fiancée trashed my house—”

But before I could repeat my words, he cut me off. “I heard it. I’ll take care of it. Focus on recovering first.”

Over the next few days, to my utter disbelief, Howard took it upon himself to look after me at the hospital.

“Sir, really, compensation is enough. You don’t need to go this far,” I mumbled as he was slicing fruit for me.

He paused, the knife hovering mid-air. “You’re sure about that?”

His gaze carried a strange intensity, making me hesitate. Before I could respond, he finished cutting the fruit and—horror of horrors—reached for my personal laundry to wash it.

Panicking, I shot out of bed. “I’ll do it myself!”

I moved so quickly that I stumbled straight into his arms. Luckily, he caught me, careful to avoid the bandages on my back.

“Take care of yourself,” he said gently, holding me in place.

I felt trapped, my words tumbling out in frustration. “Look, I shouldn’t have called you names, but what Lance did isn’t something a few days of care can make up for.”

There was no denying it: even rich people could be stingy.

This cold, ruthless businessman—known for his cutthroat deals—was now trying to save money by doing my laundry? I half-expected that if I let him, he’d fire me and blacklist me from the industry as payback for my “care.”

Thankfully, I decided to set the record straight. Surely, now that everything was out in the open, Howard wouldn’t go back on his word, right?

While I was stewing in my thoughts, a male nurse came in to change the bandages on my back.

But Howard grabbed the tray and dismissed the nurse.

“Lie down. Take it off,” he said flatly.

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

Every word made sense individually, but together? Not so much.

“What the hell, Skinflint? What are you trying to pull?”

Oops. My inner thoughts slipped out.

His face turned red—actually red—all the way to his ears. It was the first time I’d seen him look flustered.

“I’ll find a female nurse,” he muttered before practically bolting to the nurses’ station.

Sure enough, he brought back a female nurse to handle it, but for the next few days, he continued to look after me with meticulous care.

On the day I was discharged, he insisted on driving me home. As I mentally prepared how to ask for proper compensation, the car stopped in front of an unfamiliar villa.

“Boss, this isn’t my house,” I said, confused.

“I know. Your house is being renovated after the damage,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Renovated? That was news to me.

Before I could protest, he was already unloading my luggage and carrying it inside.

The villa was enormous, yet eerily devoid of servants. After showing me around, Howard headed to the kitchen to cook.

Having missed work for five days, I felt guilty about slacking off. After inhaling the meal he prepared, I forced myself to catch up on a project for my boss.

When I finally handed him the proposal, he frowned deeply as he read through it.

“Are you trying to write a novel?” he asked, his tone exasperated.

I clenched my fists, seething silently.

“Come here. I’m not going to eat you,” he added when he saw me take two cautious steps back.

As I stood frozen, he rubbed his temples with an air of resigned patience.

Sienna's POV

“This isn’t how you write a proposal.”

With Howard’s guidance, I ended up revising the document about ten times before his frown finally softened.

“Go rest for now; we’ll just continue tomorrow.”

He stood up and headed to the bathroom. Suddenly, his phone, lying unlocked on the table, buzzed with a new message.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I peeked at it. Seeing Lance’s name on the screen, I tapped it open after hesitating for a while.

[Lance: Uncle, how’s Sienna? Is she really mad at me? Why hasn’t she tried to contact me these past few days?]

[Howard: Why should she contact you? If you don’t like her, let her go!]

[Lance: Uncle, she’s been clinging to me and refusing to let go. I’m just trying to keep her from causing a scene. Can you help me manage her at my engagement party? As long as Sienna doesn’t disrupt things, I promise to focus on work afterward!]

Lance, a spoiled man, was promising to work hard just so I wouldn’t “cause trouble”?

Scrolling further up, I saw him asking Howard for money to handle the damage his fiancée, Maia, had done to my house. But Howard hadn’t given him a cent. Instead, he had asked for my hospital address.

So, Lance knew I was injured and hospitalized, yet he hadn’t bothered to visit me—not even once.

Driven by a bitter curiosity, I opened Lance’s social media. There, I found out that during my hospital stay, he had been busy with Maia—taking her to amusement parks, riding Ferris wheels, watching sunrises, trying on wedding gowns, and even proposing to her.

But when I checked it in my account, I saw nothing but a blank page. Clearly, he had blocked me.

My heart sank as I quietly blocked Lance in return. I also marked his messages on Howard's phone as unread. Without another word, I headed upstairs to the guest room.

Saying it didn’t hurt would’ve been a lie.

Alone under the covers, tears soaked my pillow as I drifted into a fitful sleep. But even in my dreams, Lance was mocking me, pointing at me and laughing.

“Sienna! You were just a fling. Why would I marry someone like you? A bedmate? An orphan? You think you’re worthy?”

Then the scene shifted with Howard and Maia standing together, then pushed me into an abyss.

I screamed as the dream shattered with the sound of thunder.

“Don’t be scared. I’m here,” a voice soothed.

Clinging desperately to the figure before me, it took a moment for reality to settle in. I had woken from the nightmare, and a thunderstorm was raging outside.

Howard was sitting beside me, his hand gently stroking my back like you’d comfort a frightened child. The clean, woodsy scent of cedar clung to him, fresh and calming, while the warmth of his touch sent my heart racing.

Since my parents passed away, no one had ever held me like this during a thunderstorm.

Even Lance—after five years of a secret relationship—never stayed overnight. He’d always leave after we were done, offering nothing but empty words over the phone: “Sienna, I’ll keep you company… from here.”

But now, at this moment, I found myself selfishly craving Howard’s warmth. His tenderness, so different from the cold, businesslike demeanor he showed others, felt like a fragile treasure.

As my thoughts cleared, I remembered how he had burst into my room at the first clap of thunder.

How did he know I was afraid of storms?

The longer we stayed like this, the more my mind turned to mush. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Howard, would you marry me?”

Unfortunately, a loud crash of thunder drowned my voice, and his response was also muffled due to it, so I couldn’t hear it clearly. But I thought I caught the word “okay.”

When the storm calmed, he finally let go.

Just as I was debating how to ask him to stay longer, he reassured me in a soft voice, “Go to sleep. I’ll stay right here.”

He brought in a blanket and curled up on the small sofa in the corner of the room.

Seeing this six-foot-plus man squeezed into that tiny space, I felt a pang of warmth.

“It’s okay, I can manage on my own—”

But before I could refuse, he cut me off, gently saying, “Goodnight,”

Listening to his even, steady breathing, I fell asleep. For the first time in five years, I felt truly at peace on a stormy night.