After Exposing My Identity, My Ruthless Husband Begged for Love

The morning air at NYU was crisp, but the atmosphere near the Business School was electric.

Black SUVs lined the curb like a funeral procession for the poor. Julian Vanderbilt was on campus. He was cutting a ribbon for a new wing he'd funded, standing on the steps in a suit that cost more than the tuition of everyone watching.

Sienna kept her head down. She wore a faded grey hoodie, hugging her textbooks to her chest. She needed to get to her work-study shift at the cafeteria.

"Oops."

A foot shot out.

Sienna saw it coming. Her body reacted before her brain could authorize it-a subtle shift of weight, a micro-step to the left. Penny, the girl who had tried to trip her, found only air. The momentum carried Penny forward, and she stumbled, her latte splashing onto her own designer boots.

"You bitch!" Penny shrieked. She spun around, face red. "You tripped me!"

Heads turned. The crowd, bored with the speeches, zeroed in on the drama.

"I didn't touch you," Sienna said. Her voice was calm, bored even.

"You stole my wallet too, didn't you?" Penny yelled, playing to the audience. "That's how you pay for your books, right? You charity case."

"Check your bag, Penny," Sienna said, stepping around her.

Penny grabbed Sienna's shoulder, spinning her around. She raised her hand, palm open, aiming for a slap.

Sienna calculated the trajectory. She could break Penny's wrist. It would take less than a pound of pressure.

But she didn't have to.

A hand, large and tanned, intercepted Penny's wrist in mid-air.

The silence that fell over the courtyard was absolute.

Julian Vanderbilt stood there. Up close, he was terrifying. He wasn't looking at Penny. He was looking at Sienna.

He dropped Penny's hand like it was contaminated waste. "Leave," he said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

Penny scrambled back, terrified, disappearing into the crowd.

Julian turned his full attention to Sienna. He scanned her face-the oversized glasses, the messy bun, the loose clothes. She looked nothing like the woman in his bed. And yet.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Sienna said. She didn't swoon. She didn't thank him. She took a half-step back. "Thank you, Mr. Vanderbilt."

She tried to walk past him.

As she moved, the wind shifted. A faint scent drifted from her hair. Balsam fir. Rain. Cold air.

It hit Julian like a physical blow.

He spun around. "Wait."

Sienna froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her hands remained steady at her sides.

"What is your name?" he asked. He stepped closer. Too close. He was invading her personal space, hunting for something he couldn't name.

"Sienna," she said. "Sir."

"Sienna," he tested the word. It felt familiar. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so. I'm just a student."

She looked down, breaking eye contact. It was the submissive gesture he expected from a scholarship kid. It bored him. The woman from the hotel wouldn't have looked down. She would have looked him in the eye while she robbed him.

"Sir, the board meeting," Maverick whispered, appearing at his elbow.

Julian hesitated. He took one last deep breath, trying to catch that scent again, but the wind had changed. Now it just smelled of exhaust and cheap coffee.

"Go," he said to her.

Sienna nodded and walked away. She didn't run. She walked with a steady, rhythmic pace.

She turned the corner into the library and ducked into the restroom. She locked the stall door and leaned her forehead against the cool metal. She exhaled, a long, shaky breath.

She pulled a small vial of perfume from her pocket-vanilla and heavy floral-and sprayed it liberally over herself, masking the natural scent of the fir soap she used.

He was too sharp. She had to be careful.