Sienna's POV

Dinner smelled expensive.

The kind of rich, buttery scent that tried too hard—truffle oil, maybe. Angela’s idea of “family bonding” was a six-course meal catered by some Michelin-wannabe chef, served in a dining room that looked like it had never seen an actual family in it. The table was long, glossy, and cold. Just like her.

I sat stiffly in my chair, trying not to wrinkle the blouse I’d ironed twice. Dad said to look “presentable.” Which was code for: Don’t embarrass me in front of Angela.

Angela sat across from me, swirling wine she didn’t drink and smiling like her Botox was holding her hostage.

“Rhett should be here any minute,” she chirped, glancing at the empty seat beside me. “He had a, ah… school thing.”

Translation: party.

Dad cleared his throat and shifted in his chair like he couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or just bored. “Let’s not wait too long. Sienna has early classes.”

I didn’t correct him. My first class wasn’t until eleven, but I wasn’t going to make it easier for Rhett to slide in late like he always did—with his tattoos and smugness and whatever cologne he used that somehow managed to smell like trouble.

The front door creaked.

Angela’s eyes lit up like Christmas. “Speak of the devil!”

Perfect timing.

Rhett strolled in like he’d been born on a runway. Ripped jeans, a faded Nirvana shirt, his hair an artful mess that looked like he’d either just rolled out of bed or into someone else’s. Probably both. His leather jacket slung lazily over one shoulder, he looked every inch the rebel stepson with a permanent smirk.

“Supper club, huh?” he said, sauntering over and kissing Angela on the cheek. “Smells like you bribed a chef.”

Angela tittered. “Only the best for our family.”

He slid into the seat beside me, his knee immediately bumping mine. He didn’t apologize. He never did.

“You look very… respectable, Ice Queen.” He smirked, eyeing my outfit.

“Unlike you,” I muttered, scooting away.

The first course was some foamy green soup I couldn’t pronounce, and the small talk was even harder to digest. Angela launched into a monologue about Rhett’s academic success—how he’d graduated top of his psych program, how his professors begged him to stay for post-grad.

“He even won that research grant,” she added, sipping her wine like it was validation. “Did I tell you?”

“Yes,” I said flatly.

Dad, ever the competitive parent, straightened his spine like he’d been called to battle. “Sienna just got offered an early placement with a firm downtown. They’re watching her closely. Pre-law standout.”

Angela’s lips curled in polite competition. “Oh, how lovely.”

The tension spread like humidity. Heavy. Suffocating.

Rhett leaned over, nudging my foot under the table. “Daddy’s favorite,” he murmured, voice laced with mischief.

I shot him a glare and whispered back, “Grow up.”

He kicked me—lightly. But deliberately.

I lost it.

“At least I didn’t coast through school on charm and therapy jargon.”

His brows arched. “Ouch.”

“You walk around like your ego does the thinking for you. Congrats on being hot and aimless.”

The table went silent.

Angela blinked. “Sienna—”

“I’m just saying,” I cut in, trying to breathe past my fury. “Some of us don’t get praised for showing up late and sleeping through life.”

Dad’s voice cut sharp. “That’s enough.”

I looked at him. At the man who had dragged me into this hellhole of a house and expected me to smile through it.

“You’re defending him?” I asked, incredulous.

“He’s your stepbrother now. Show some respect.”

My jaw locked. My fingers curled into fists beneath the table. Rhett just leaned back, chewing on his breadstick like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

When I finally looked at him again, he winked.

Winked.

I wanted to throw the soup in his face.

Instead, I stood. “Excuse me.”

I walked out before someone handed me dessert and expected me to eat it like everything was fine.

I made it to the hallway before my breath caught up with me.

The echo of my heels against the marble floor was the only sound. My chest heaved with the kind of rage that doesn't scream—it simmers. I hated that I’d let him get to me again. I hated that my dad had sided with Angela, that I had to sit at that dinner table like I didn’t notice how easily Rhett stole the spotlight just by existing.

And worse?

That wink.

I stood near the staircase, arms crossed, trying to shake it off. Of course he’d show up looking like a Calvin Klein ad with the attitude of someone who thought the world owed him a crown. Of course he’d poke until I snapped—and then act like I was the irrational one.

The soft creak of floorboards behind me pulled me from my spiral.

“You really know how to make an exit.”

I didn’t turn around. “You really know how to ruin a meal.”

Rhett stepped beside me, hands in his pockets, too close as always. “It was boring until you lost it. Honestly, I should thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I snapped, still not looking at him. “Hope the show lived up to your expectations.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “More than you know.”

I turned then, facing him fully. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Push every button like you’re testing me. Like you want me to break.”

His gaze flicked down to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes. “Because it’s fun watching you crack.”

“You’re such an ass.”

He smiled, slow and maddening. “You’ve said worse.”

“You deserve worse.”

We were toe to toe now. The hallway suddenly felt narrower, the air too thick. His scent—cedarwood and something dark—wrapped around me. Familiar. Dangerous.

I tried to step back. He stepped forward.

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” he asked softly, tilting his head. “If I’m such a waste of oxygen?”

“Because people like you always skate by,” I said, my voice sharp. “Charming. Reckless. Selfish. And everyone just lets you. You don’t care who you screw over as long as you get attention.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but his tone stayed infuriatingly calm. “And people like you… need the world to follow rules. Because if it doesn’t, you don’t know where you fit.”

I blinked.

That hit a little too close.

“You think you know me?” I whispered.

He stepped in, closing the last inch between us. “I know you stay up all night reading cases you’ve already memorized. That you pretend confidence like it’s armor. That you walk into every room like you’ve got something to prove, because deep down, you still think you’re not enough.”

His voice was velvet-wrapped poison. Soft. Deadly.

I clenched my teeth. “You’re projecting.”

“And you’re deflecting.”

My breath stuttered.

We were so close. Too close. His hand brushed mine—deliberate, barely there. Electricity danced across my skin like static. My heart thudded in my throat. I hated him. I hated him.

So why couldn’t I move?

“Say it,” he murmured. “You hate me, but you think about me. Admit it.”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because I didn’t trust what would come out.

Rhett stared at me for a beat longer, like he could see every word I was choking on.

Then he smiled.

Not the cocky smirk. Not the mocking grin.

Something quieter.

And somehow worse.

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered, before turning and walking away like he hadn’t just gutted me with five syllables.

I stood there long after he was gone, my heart pounding like it was trying to make up for everything I didn’t say.

Back in my room, I collapsed on the bed fully dressed.

And for the third night in a row, I stared at the ceiling and asked myself a question I couldn’t answer:

Why the hell couldn’t I stop thinking about Rhett Carter?