POV: Siena Blake

The moment the words “I miss you” left my lips, I wanted to choke on them. They tasted like ash, like decay, like something I should have buried long ago but was now forced to resurrect.

Every syllable scraped against my throat, bitter and vile, but I let them fall anyway. I had to. I needed to.

Because if Zane wanted me to play the part of the shattered, heartbroken woman who was too desperate to move on, the woman still clinging to the ruins of a love that never existed, I would give him that.

I would play the role he expected. I would let him believe I was lost without him. Not only that, but I would become the weak, humiliated version of myself they had worked so hard to create.

After all, was that not who they thought I was now?

A woman with no pride, no self-respect, no power.

A woman drowning in shame.

So I lowered my eyes like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings, forced my shoulders to slump in just the right way, and let a tremble bloom in my voice as I whispered, “I just… I just need a second.” I even let the words crack, just a little. Let them sound raw, like I had been crying for hours and barely holding it together. “I—I’ll be right back.”

Neither of them moved. Neither Zane nor Kendra tried to stop me. But I felt the heat of their eyes burning into my back as I walked away.

Their silence said everything. They did not see me as a threat. They did not even see me as a person. Just a broken thing they had already won against. Something pathetic.

Perfect.

Because what they did not know, what they could never suspect, was that I had left my purse behind on purpose, resting on the chair with the zipper half-open, just enough for my phone to peek out. The camera lens was pointed right at them. Recording.

Every word.

Every smirk.

Every lie.

As soon as I stepped out of their line of sight, I darted into the bathroom, locked the stall door behind me, and sat on the toilet seat. I sat there like a thief in the dark, my heart pounding like thunder, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress to stop myself from shaking.

And then I waited.

The hum of the café buzzed faintly through the door, underscored by the soft clink of cutlery and the hiss of the espresso machine, but above all that, I heard them.

Zane’s voice, calm and arrogant, reached me first.

“You’re such a bastard,” Kendra giggled, her voice light and breathy, like none of this meant anything to her. Like I was a joke they were laughing at behind closed doors.

“Did you see her face when I told her to beg?” Zane’s tone was dripping with triumph, like he was proud of what he had done to me. “She eats humiliation for breakfast now. And she still thinks I would actually take her back.”

“You really had her wrapped around your finger,” Kendra said, her words sweet with venom. “God, she’s such an idiot. I don’t know how she didn’t see it coming.”

“Because she’s always been stupid. Always trying to play perfect, like she’s some kind of saint. I just had to poke the cracks, and she fell apart like wet paper.”

There was a pause.

Then something else.

A wet, slick sound. The low thud of someone shifting in their seat. A breathy laugh.

My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up right there. My fingers curled into fists as I fought the wave of nausea that crashed through me. They were kissing. In public. In the same breath they used to mock me. My ex-fiancé and my so-called best friend.

“Kendra,” Zane muttered, voice lower, huskier, “don’t tempt me. She could walk out any second.”

“So what?” she purred. “Let her see. She deserves it. She’s a joke.”

Every word was a dagger, slicing deeper, dragging up every moment I had ever trusted them, every time I had laughed with Kendra or leaned into Zane’s touch thinking it was love. It was not love. It was power. Manipulation. Control.

My hand tightened around my lap so hard it hurt.

But I stayed quiet.

Because I needed them to keep talking.

“She’s pathetic,” Zane said with a scoff. “Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t completely snapped yet. Maybe we should push her a little more. Just to make sure she stays down for good.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kendra’s voice dropped to a sharp whisper.

“And risk her finding out what really happened that night? You said the DeLuca family handled it.”

“They did,” he answered, confident and cold. “Everything went exactly how it was supposed to. She drank, danced and blacked out. She has no idea who the guy was. We got the footage. That’s all we needed.”

Something in me cracked.

Not loudly. Not all at once.

It was quiet. Private. A small, sharp sound inside my soul.

And then I moved.

I stepped down from the toilet, smoothed my dress with fingers that shook from fury, and unlocked the stall door. My reflection in the bathroom mirror did not look like me anymore. My skin was pale, my eyes dark with betrayal, but my posture was steel. I was done hiding. Done waiting.

I walked back into the café slowly, every step calculated, my face a calm mask while a storm brewed beneath the surface of my skin.

Kendra looked up first. Her laugh still lingered on her lips.

“Siena! Hey, are you—”

“I heard everything.”

My voice was flat. Cold. Lethal.

Zane’s smirk twitched, his smug expression faltering. “What?”

I reached into my purse, pulled out my phone, and with a single flick of my thumb, hit play.

The sound of their voices filled the air. Laughter. Mockery. The kiss. The cruel words.

Nearby customers began to turn. Some looked confused. Others stared.

Kendra leapt to her feet. “Turn that off!”

I did. Not because she told me to, but because I did not need it anymore.

“I don’t want your apologies,” I said quietly, my words sharp as broken glass. “And I don’t want your excuses. You can both rot with your secrets.”

“Siena—”

“You planned this,” I continued, louder now, my voice rising with every breath. “You destroyed my father’s life. You drugged me. You got someone to—” I stopped myself, the rage making it hard to speak. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Kendra’s face went ghost-white.

Zane rolled his eyes like he was bored again. “You’re paranoid,” he said, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “That recording won’t prove anything.”

“I don’t need it to prove anything,” I replied, stepping closer. “I just needed to hear you say it.”

I pulled the ring from my pocket and dropped it onto the table like a piece of trash.

“I’ll return the ring,” I said softly. “When I’m ready. Not before. And until then, don’t contact me. Not by phone, not by email, not even in your goddamn dreams. If you do—”

I leaned forward, my voice a whisper soaked in fury.

“I swear, you’ll both wish I stayed the girl you humiliated.”

And then I turned.

And walked away.

My heart thundered in my chest. My hands were ice. But my head was high.

Only when I reached the street did the mask fall.

...

Later that night, I sat on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by the debris of my past.

Boxes. Photos. Gifts. Useless memories.

I ripped through them one by one, searching, clawing, hoping to find something, anything, that could prove what I already knew deep in my bones.

They had been watching me.

Manipulating me.

Controlling me.

And then, finally, I found it.

The ring.

I held it under the lamp’s harsh glow. Something about it felt heavier than it should. I turned it in my fingers.

And then I saw it.

A faint, almost invisible groove on the inside of the band. My heart skipped.

I grabbed a pair of tweezers and wedged them into the groove.

Click.

The inside of the band popped open like a shell.

And there it was.

A chip. Tiny, embedded. A high-grade surveillance microchip with a wire loop tucked into the metal curve.

They had not just lied to me.

They had monitored me.

I sat there for a long time, staring at it.

Not breathing. Not blinking.

Just… processing.

And then, I moved.

...

Dave Reyes had not changed in five years.

Same worn hoodie clinging to his lanky frame like a second skin, the same dark basement apartment that smelled like cold pizza, stale coffee, and a life lived mostly online. His room buzzed with energy.

Towers of monitors glowed from every corner, tangled cords snaked across the floor like roots to some chaotic digital tree, and stacks of half-tinkered gadgets gave the whole place the feel of a mad scientist’s lair.

He was still the same Dave I remembered from college. Quiet, wickedly smart, and the kind of guy who could break into a government server just to see if he could.

Back then, we were both offering the same majors until I left to follow a more "professional" route. He stayed behind, building a quiet empire of digital secrets beneath the surface of the world.

Now, I was back in his world. And I hated the reason why.

“You’re still a mess, Reyes,” I muttered as I stepped into the glowing cocoon of his workspace.

He turned at the sound of my voice, blinking at first, then grinning. “Blake?”

I gave a nod. “It’s been a while.”

“No shit,” he said, standing to hug me. His embrace was loose and brief, awkward in that way that said he had not hugged anyone in years. “You’re still taller than I remember.”

“You’re still a smartass.”

“And you’re still in trouble, huh?”

I gave a bitter smile. “You could say that.”

His gaze shifted to the object in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

I placed the ring on his desk gently, like it might explode. “Found it in my engagement ring.”

He let out a low whistle and sat again, fingers already moving with excitement. “You were always too smart to get caught up in something like this.”

“I wasn’t smart enough to avoid Zane,” I muttered.

He popped the casing off the ring and leaned in, eyes narrowing. “This is military-grade tech. Modified. You don’t get this stuff off eBay. Whoever planted this wasn’t just eavesdropping, Siena. They were tracking you.”

My stomach flipped. “Tracking?”

He nodded, brushing his fingers over the chip. “Yeah. This thing pings location data through nearby signals, phones, towers, anything it can attach to. If you wore this every day…”

“They knew everywhere I went.”

“And everything you said,” he added grimly. “Give me a few days. I might be able to crack the encryption and trace who received the data.”

I hesitated. “How much would that cost?”

Dave winced, then shrugged. “Tracing encrypted surveillance isn’t cheap. Especially if the signal was bounced or masked. Ten grand, minimum.”

Ten thousand.

It might as well have been a hundred thousand.

“I have… maybe two hundred dollars.”

Dave looked at me, something soft flickering in his eyes. “Look, I’ll keep the ring. No charge for the initial analysis. But if you want the source?”

“I’ll find the money,” I said, my voice flat with resolve. “Somehow.”

The next morning, my mother called me into her room.

Her voice was tight, anxious, but she tried to stay strong for my sake. That was how she had always been, grace under fire. When I told her what I had found in the ring, her breath caught. But it was not the tech that shocked her most, it was the depth of the betrayal.

“They’ve been watching you,” she whispered. “All this time…”

“I should have known,” I said, closing my eyes against the sting behind them.

A pause.

Then her voice steadied. “There’s someone you should talk to. An attorney. Henry Lowell. He used to be a friend of your father’s, years ago. He’s selective now, and expensive, but he’s always stood by the truth. Even when it nearly ruined him.”

“The same Lowell who went against the DeLuca family?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “He didn’t win. But he exposed a lot more than anyone thought possible. If anyone could help us now, it’s him.”

I wrote down the name.

I held onto it like a lifeline.

That night, curled up on my tiny couch with a cup of instant noodles and a single flickering lamp, I stared at the blank screen of my laptop.

Henry Lowell.

The name stared back at me like a challenge.

Everything in me said not to hope.

He was powerful. Connected. Expensive.

But my father had once believed in him.

And right now, he was all I had left.

So I started typing.

Subject: Innocent Man Behind Bars

Dear Mr. Lowell,

You don’t know me. But my name is Siena Blake. My father is Charles Blake, and he’s been accused of crimes he didn’t commit, fraud, bribery, embezzlement. I believe powerful people set him up to fall. I believe they wanted him silenced.

He’s not perfect, but he’s not a criminal.

I have no money. No connections. Just the truth.

I know you’ve fought the DeLuca family before. You know what they’re capable of. I’m not asking for a miracle, I’m asking for a chance. A conversation. Anything.

Please consider this.

Sincerely,

Siena Blake

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I hit send.

And sat there in the dark, the blue light of the screen casting shadows across my face.

No father. No friends. No future.

But at least, I had the truth.

And sometimes, when the world has taken everything else, that is the only weapon left.

I couldn’t help but be thankful that, at this moment, I owned my weapon.

Now, the only question was…

How was I going to use it?