Chapter 1

...SIENNA...

Weddings were supposed to end in happily ever afters.

Mine began with a shattered champagne glass and a billionaire glaring at me like I’d personally declared war.

“Careful!”

One of the servers rushed past me carrying a silver tray stacked with empty crystal flutes, nearly clipping my shoulder in the process. I stepped back instinctively, my heel catching against the edge of the marble flooring.

And straight into a solid wall of muscle.

Champagne sloshed out of my glass.

Cold liquid splashed across the front of an expensive black suit.

Silence descended around us.

Oh God.

For one horrifying second, I considered pretending it hadn’t happened. Maybe if I walked away fast enough, the universe would take pity on me and erase the last ten seconds from existence.

Then I looked up.

Bad idea.

The man towering over me was devastating in the kind of way that made people nervous. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Broad shoulders hidden beneath a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. But it was his eyes that froze me in place.

Cold gray.

Emotionless.

Dangerous.

Drops of champagne slid slowly down the front of his jacket, but he didn’t even glance at the stain. His gaze remained fixed on me with terrifying intensity, like he was trying to decide whether I was worth the inconvenience of acknowledging.

Definitely not a pity-from-the-universe situation.

“I am so sorry,” I said quickly, recovering from my momentary shock. “Someone pushed into me and—”

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

His voice was deep. Calm. Controlled.

Which somehow made it worse.

Excuse me?

I blinked once, too stunned by the audacity to respond immediately. Around us, the wedding reception continued in soft golden light and distant music, but I could practically feel the tension gathering in the air.

This man had the emotional warmth of a tax audit.

I straightened my shoulders. “I apologized.”

“And yet my suit remains ruined.”

Arrogant asshole.

Usually, I was excellent at handling difficult clients. Years in the luxury event industry had taught me patience, diplomacy, and the art of smiling through absolute chaos.

But I’d been awake since five in the morning dealing with flower delivery disasters, an intoxicated bridesmaid, and a photographer who nearly lost half the wedding footage.

I no longer had the emotional capacity for billionaire attitude problems.

“It’s champagne,” I said flatly. “Not acid.”

One dark eyebrow lifted slightly.

The movement was small, almost unnoticeable, but something about it felt dangerous.

Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“There you are.”

Josh Chen appeared beside us looking far too amused for my liking. His loosened bow tie and smug expression suggested married life was already inflating his ego.

“Sienna,” he said, grinning. “Please tell me you’re not assaulting my guests.”

“He started it,” I muttered.

The stranger’s gaze flicked toward Josh. “Interesting choice of event planner.”

Josh snorted.

Oh, absolutely not.

I crossed my arms. “Interesting choice of personality.”

A dangerous silence followed.

The man stared at me.

I stared back.

Somewhere behind us, glasses clinked and soft laughter echoed through the ballroom, but the atmosphere between us had shifted into something sharp and unsettling.

Like the moment before lightning struck.

Josh looked between us with growing interest, which meant he was seconds away from becoming unbearably annoying.

“Sienna,” he said carefully, “meet Nikolai Arden.”

My stomach dropped.

Of course.

Of course the universe would choose tonight to publicly humiliate me in front of one of the most feared CEOs in New York.

Nikolai Arden.

CEO of Arden Groups.

Alex Volkov’s infamous corporate rival.

A man so ruthless entire companies collapsed after crossing him.

Wonderful.

“I see recognition finally kicked in,” Nikolai said coolly.

God, I already hated him.

Unfortunately, hatred didn’t stop me from noticing things.

Like the expensive watch resting against his wrist. Or the quiet power in the way he carried himself. Or the fact that every person walking past us seemed instinctively careful not to get too close.

Men like Nikolai Arden didn’t enter rooms.

They owned them.

And somehow, despite the cold indifference carved into his expression, I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that his attention was entirely fixed on me.

Like he was memorizing me.

“You’re staring,” I said before I could stop myself.

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Then—

“Dangerous habit, Piccola.”

The unfamiliar word rolled smoothly off his tongue, low and deliberate.

Heat rushed unexpectedly to my face.

I had no idea what it meant.

But the way he said it felt far too intimate for a man I’d known all of three minutes.

And judging by the slight shift in his expression, Nikolai Arden knew exactly what kind of effect he’d had.

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