CHAPTER 12:Damage Control

Some things don't go back to normal. Some lines, once crossed, burn behind you like a bridge in flames.

⸻

Sienna didn't sleep.

Not really.

She lay in bed with the lights off, her mind trapped in a loop of moments she couldn't untangle. The kiss. The heat. The sound of her name from Julian's mouth like it was breaking him to say it. Then—

"Go home, Sienna."

Not cold. Not cruel. Just… restrained. Terrified, maybe. As if keeping her in the room would unravel something he wasn't ready to name.

She'd stood in the doorway of his office longer than she should have, waiting for him to call her back.

He hadn't.

Now, at 6:12 a.m., she was dressed, made-up, and staring at herself in the bathroom mirror like she was trying to convince the glass that none of it happened.

"Professional," she whispered to herself. "Calm. Fine."

She was none of those things.

⸻

The office smelled like fresh paper and tension.

She walked in ten minutes early, hoping to beat the gossip, the whispers, the speculative glances. She should've known better.

It wasn't what people said—it was what they didn't.

The receptionist smiled at her too politely. A junior associate barely met her eyes. Someone in accounting paused mid-sip of their overpriced cold brew when she passed.

They knew something. Or they thought they did.

And Julian?

His office door was shut. Blinds drawn.

She stood at her desk, frozen for a beat too long, wondering if this was how it started—the unraveling of everything she'd worked for.

She lowered herself into her chair and opened her laptop with hands that didn't feel like hers.

⸻

By mid-morning, there was still nothing from Julian. Not a message. Not a glance. Not even an impersonal email.

Then came the ping.

From: Nadine Okafor – Legal Affairs

Subject: Brand Review Attendance

Julian requests you attend the 2 PM Brand Review meeting in his place. Please prepare key talking points. He will not be present.

No greeting. No signature. No personal note.

Sienna stared at the screen.

He couldn't even tell her himself.

So that's how we're doing this, she thought. Erase and pretend.

Her jaw locked. She tapped out a clipped response and hit send, the keys louder than they needed to be.

⸻

At exactly 1:11 p.m., another ping.

Her heart fluttered. She reached for the mouse, hoping—stupidly—it was him.

It wasn't.

Subject: Workplace Conduct Policy Reminder

Dear Team,

As part of our quarterly policy refresh, please take a moment to review the company's expectations regarding professionalism in the workplace. This includes relationships between employees and supervisors, and how these dynamics may impact performance, perception, and culture.

Should you have questions, contact HR.

The email was company-wide.

But the timing?

It punched her straight in the gut.

Either someone had seen them.

Or Julian had reported it.

Either way, the message was clear: You crossed a line. You were seen.

And if HR was even thinking about investigating, her entire career could become collateral damage in Julian's battle to maintain control.

⸻

At 3:32 p.m., she caught a glimpse of him.

Julian was in the conference room, tie loose, sleeves rolled, pacing as he spoke into his phone. His expression was taut—like the air itself was too tight around him.

He paused at the window wall.

Looked out.

Their eyes met.

And for a split second, Sienna forgot how to breathe.

There was something raw in his expression. Guilt? Want? Conflict?

She waited.

Willed him to move. Say something. Acknowledge her.

But instead, he turned his back.

She watched him walk away like nothing had ever touched him.

Like she hadn't.

⸻

The rest of the day passed in slow motion.

She printed agendas. Took notes. Laughed at a joke she didn't hear.

Julian never came out of his office.

Not once.

By 7:03 p.m., the floor was nearly empty.

Sienna shut her laptop, slowly. Methodically. As if delaying the inevitable would help.

She stood, staring at his door—still closed, still silent—and realized something that cracked her in two:

She had kissed him like it meant something.

He had kissed her like it broke him.

But neither of them had the courage to face what came next.

⸻

Her phone rang just as she stepped outside into the cool evening air.

Ella.

She silenced it.

Not because she didn't want to talk.

But because if she said it out loud—I kissed him, Ella. And now he's pretending I don't exist—then it would be real.

And she wasn't ready for that kind of real.

Not yet.

⸻

That night, Sienna sat on her bed, still in her work clothes, with a half-eaten sandwich and a million regrets.

She stared at her ceiling like it held answers.

But there were none.

Just that kiss. That damn kiss. That wrecking-ball kiss.

And the way he whispered her name like it tasted like surrender.

She closed her eyes.

Let the silence crawl over her.

And wondered what was worse:

That he'd kissed her and regretted it…

…or that she hadn't regretted it at all.