Sienna POV

I turned.

The voice belonged to a woman behind the reception desk.

She was maybe in her early thirties, pretty in that quiet, expensive way. Her hair was pulled back into one of those sleek buns that never have flyaways, like gravity itself respected her. A thin gold chain sat at her collarbone, subtle but clearly real. Her blouse was pressed to perfection—white, soft, not the cheap stiff kind. And her perfume… light, clean, citrus with something floral. Controlled. Everything ...