Wicked Vows: The CEO'S Secret Heir

POV: Siena Blake

I didn’t remember walking down the hallway again.

My mind had gone completely blank, emptied by pain so deep it didn’t allow thought anymore—just movement. Mechanical. Soulless. My heels struck the marble floors with sharp clicks that echoed like gunshots in my skull, but I didn’t feel them. The sound existed in another world, distant and disconnected, like I was watching someone else move through the grand, cold corridor. My limbs were heavy, my skin numb, and yet every nerve in my body was lit with raw, open agony. It felt like my soul had been ripped from me and my body was just dragging itself along, out of habit, out of necessity, because collapsing wasn’t an option—not yet.

I reached the lobby, spine straight, chin lifted, walking like a woman who still had something to lose, though inside I was nothing but a collapsing cathedral of grief and rage. My face wore a mask of calm, but behind it, I was crumbling. Shattered. Splintering.

Inside, I was a ruined symphony—one that once played beautifully, proudly—but now only echoed broken notes of shame, betrayal, and humiliation.

And the words kept circling my mind like vultures circling a corpse.

“You think I already bought you.”

“If you’re going to sell your body next time—at least make it worth more than your pride.”

The memory of his voice was like acid in my veins, eating away at what little was left of my dignity. Each cruel syllable played again and again in my mind, louder with every pass, until I could barely hear the sound of my own heartbeat over it.

He had looked at me like I was beneath him. Spat those words like truth. Called me a whore without a blink, without hesitation, like he truly believed I had no value beyond what I could offer between my legs. He reduced me to nothing more than a transaction, a product, a bargaining chip in the game of power and control. My father’s life—his freedom—had been twisted into leverage to crush me.

And I had let it happen.

God, I had stood there, desperate and cornered and shaking. I had cried. I had pleaded. I had lost everything, including myself. That’s what desperation does. It strips you bare, claws at your pride until you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. And by the end of it, I didn’t.

I stepped out of the hotel into the blinding afternoon sun, and it was almost cruel in its brightness. The sky above was clear, almost unnaturally so—an expanse of blue so calm and perfect it made my chest ache. The sun pressed down on me with a suffocating heat, but it wasn’t the temperature that made me burn.

It was the shame.

The raw, skin-deep humiliation that clung to me like sweat. It soaked into the fabric of my clothes, seeped into my bones, and left me feeling exposed under the unforgiving daylight. The dress I wore felt like a costume now—cheap armor for a war I’d already lost.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to claw at my skin, at the guilt, the shame, the helplessness, until nothing remained. I wanted to tear the memory of Lucian Voss’s voice out of my mind and set fire to the moment I fell apart in front of him.

But I didn’t scream.

I didn’t cry.

Instead, my phone began buzzing.

Once. Then again. Then again.

Four times in a row.

Kendra.

Her name flashing on the screen made something snap inside me.

My jaw locked as I pulled the phone from my purse, my fingers tight around it like it might shatter in my hand. I didn’t want to read her messages. But I did. One by one.

Kendra:

“Siena, please. We need to talk.”

“I just found out how serious it is — about your dad. I’m so sorry.”

“Where are you? Please, meet me. Just talk to me.”

“I didn’t know things would go this far. I swear.”

That last line.

It froze me.

She didn’t know things would go this far?

So she had known something.

The image of her in that black bodycon dress flashed behind my eyes—her hair perfectly curled, her lips painted red, laughing with Zane in the hotel elevator like they had just won the lottery. The girl who had walked into that hotel beside my fiancé was not the one sending teary-eyed apologies now.

The girl at the hotel was smug.

Triumphant.

Merciless.

And suddenly, her crocodile tears through text meant nothing.

I didn’t reply right away. Instead, I stood on the sidewalk outside the hotel, breathing in slow, even drags of air as I imagined all the different ways I could ruin her. I pictured the look on her face when she realized I knew. When I repeated her words back to her. When I looked her in the eye and made her taste the betrayal she’d fed me.

But not yet.

If I wanted answers—if I wanted to end this—I needed to be smart.

So I pulled the mask back on. I steadied my shaking hands. I wiped the rage from my eyes.

And I typed.

Me:

“Where?”

Her response was instant, like a spider eager to pull her prey back into the web.

Kendra:

“Our favorite café. Monroe’s. Half an hour?”

I stared at the message for a long time, fingers cold around the phone.

Our café.

The place where we celebrated promotions, shared secrets over dessert, toasted to love and future dreams with overpriced champagne. The place where she had helped me choose wedding flowers. Where she had cried laughing as we taste-tested cakes and mocked bridal magazines. The place where I had once felt safest with her.

And all along, she’d been sharpening the blade behind my back.

Fine.

I’d meet her at Monroe’s.

But this time, I wouldn’t come with tears in my eyes or hope in my heart.

This time, I’d come armed with silence.

The kind of silence that cut deeper than any scream ever could.

When I walked into the café, the scent of cinnamon and espresso wrapped around me, warm and familiar. The dusty teal walls, the golden menus, the potted succulents on each table—it was all exactly the same.

But I wasn’t.

And then I saw her.

Kendra Monroe.

Sitting at our usual corner table like she owned the world, latte in hand, eyes scanning the entrance. She was dressed carefully, her hair in a high ponytail, pearl earrings glinting like innocence personified. She looked calm. Concerned. Controlled.

A perfect performance.

She stood up the moment she saw me, plastering on a relieved smile. “Siena! Oh my God—thank God you came.”

I didn’t return the smile. I didn’t rush into her arms like I might have two days ago.

I just walked over and pulled out the chair across from her, sitting without a word.

She hesitated, just for a second, before sitting down too. The look in her eyes flickered—surprise? Discomfort? I wasn’t sure. But it was gone in an instant.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” she said quickly, leaning forward, eyes wide with false concern. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the news about your dad. Fraud? Embezzlement? It’s insane. Are you okay?”

I stared at her, every instinct screaming at me not to fall for it. But I forced a nod, letting my voice soften. “It’s been… a rough day.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand like she hadn’t already stabbed me in the back. Her touch was warm. Comforting. Sickening.

“I should’ve gone to you sooner,” she said softly.

No.

She didn’t know what I knew.

I let my shoulders sag and lowered my eyes. “I just feel like I’m drowning. Zane won’t talk to me. He ended everything. He said… he said there’s a video of me… with someone. I don’t remember anything. I woke up in a stranger’s bed, Kendra. I don’t know how I got there.”

She gasped. Right on cue. “Oh no… Siena…”

Her voice trembled, just enough to sound real.

She deserved an award.

“I don’t even know who he was,” I whispered. “Zane said he has footage. He’s threatening to release it. He wants the ring back… and money for the wedding.”

Kendra bit her lip, eyes wide. “That’s… that’s awful. I’m so sorry. But maybe… maybe you can still fix it. You could talk to him. Apologize. Try to explain. He might still love you.”

There it was.

The suggestion.

The push.

I blinked at her slowly. “You think so?”

She nodded eagerly, her voice brightening. “Yes. If you show him how sorry you are… maybe he’ll forgive you.”

I smiled faintly.

“Okay.”

She lit up like she’d just won. “I’ll text him. Tell him to meet us. Just… be calm, okay? Don’t make things worse.”

Ten minutes later, Zane Callahan walked in.

And my heart—stupid, traitorous heart still clenched at the sight of him.

He wore a perfect suit, every detail polished, every line sharp. His expression was unreadable, his eyes empty. And he looked at me like I disgusted him.

“Siena,” he said flatly.

I stood slowly, letting my body curl inward, my voice small. “Zane… please. I didn’t mean for any of this. I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

He didn’t answer.

“I was drunk,” I whispered. “I would never cheat on you—not on purpose. Please, don’t let this ruin us.”

Beside him, Kendra crossed her arms, watching.

He smirked. “What do you want, Siena? For me to take you back?”

“I want to fix this,” I said, my voice cracking. “I miss you.”

He stepped closer, voice colder than ice. “You slept with a stranger and disgraced yourself. You humiliated me. And now you want sympathy?”

I bowed my head.

“I’ll do anything,” I whispered.

He looked at Kendra. She smiled faintly.

Then he turned back to me. “Beg.”

I stared at him.

“You heard me. Beg. Say you’re a whore who didn’t mean to be.”

And so I did.

I sank to my knees.

Whispered my shame.

Let them see me crumble.

But behind my eyes, a fire burned.

Because I had been to the hotel.

I had heard everything.

And they had no idea—

That their victim was done being weak.

Now?

Now I would become their worst nightmare.