CHADLABS Scholarly Hub
Sienna’s rage simmered like acid under porcelain skin. She didn’t scream. She didn’t throw things. She didn’t need to. Her fury was the kind that sharpened with stillness, with calculation.
That dance. That woman.
She had watched it unfold in real time—Marcus’s hand on Eleanor’s bare back, their bodies swaying in rhythm, his eyes fixed on her like the rest of the room didn’t exist. He hadn’t looked at Sienna like that in years—if ever.
And then he’d walked away. Not to Sienna. Not even a glance.
She had been erased.
Back in her penthouse, the sequins on her gown caught the low evening light, but all she saw in the mirror was her own humiliation staring back. It was intolerable. Unforgivable. And laughable, really. Eleanor Quinn had no pedigree. No legacy. No claim. Just a sharp jaw, a few dresses that looked deceptively expensive, and apparently… a very good fuck.
Sienna poured a drink, untouched ice clinking as she picked up her phone.
She didn’t rage into the call. She smiled.
“I have a job for you,” she said.
Within hours, the machinery of betrayal was turning—polished, invisible, and surgical. A fake email chain, beautifully forged, expertly threaded through with just enough real data to be believable. Eleanor Quinn, Assistant to the CEO, was now in bed—figuratively—with OmniCorp’s most cutthroat executive. The dates lined up with merger milestones. The language was subtle. Suggestive. Deadly.
Sienna reviewed it with clinical satisfaction. It was perfect. No screaming scandal. Just… enough to plant a question Marcus couldn’t ignore.
She drafted the message with a steady hand:
Marcus,
I came across something troubling that you may want to look into.
It involves Eleanor Quinn and some… questionable activity.
My loyalty is, as always, with you and your family.
She hit send. No name. No signature. Just the worm at the center of the apple.
Sienna sat back, legs crossed, swirling her untouched drink. This wasn’t petty. This was justice. Eleanor needed to be reminded of her place—or removed from it entirely.
She would break them apart from the inside out.
Because Marcus might lust after the help…
But he belonged to her world.
Marcus
He hadn’t been able to sleep since the gala.
Not really.
His mind kept dragging him back to the dance floor. To her.
To Eleanor.
He should have kept his distance. But the second his hand found the small of her back, it was over. Her skin burned through silk. Her breath hitched when he leaned in. Her scent—that same fucking scent from the terrace five years ago—filled his lungs like smoke.
He looked down now, alone in his penthouse, the city spread beneath him like a kingdom he no longer cared about.
His cock was still hard.
Still aching from the memory of her pressed to him, her thighs brushing his, her nipples hard beneath that dress she had no right wearing. And fuck—how she’d looked up at him like she wanted to be ruined. Right there. In front of everyone.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his slacks unzipped, his hand wrapped around himself.
It wasn’t enough.
He closed his eyes, mind replaying her moan in the elevator, the way her hips lifted to meet his in Chicago. The heat of her mouth, her fingernails dragging across his back. She had trembled for him. Melted for him. And yet, somehow, still held something back.
What are you hiding, Eleanor?
He stroked harder, jaw clenched, imagining her voice against his skin.
The way she had looked at him… she hadn’t looked away once.
Not even when Sienna stood watching.
He should’ve cared. Should’ve remembered every pair of eyes on them.
But all he saw was her.
And the sick truth was, if he hadn’t pulled away—
He would’ve fucked her against the ballroom wall.
And let the whole damn room watch.
“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes screwed shut, as the heat rolled through him in waves, shattering every last restraint he had.
And still—it wasn’t enough.
Because no orgasm could quiet what was burning through his chest.
He wasn’t just addicted to her body. He was becoming obsessed with her presence.
She was a problem. And yet, she was his.
He didn’t know when it had shifted—when the lines had blurred—but they were gone now. All of them.
And that terrified him.
Worse… it thrilled him.
He stood, tugged his shirt closed, heart still racing.
Tomorrow, he’d see her again.
Tomorrow, he’d pretend it hadn’t happened.
But he knew.
Something was unraveling.
And Eleanor Quinn was right at the center of it.
