Sienna Monroe sat stretching her fingers around the stem of a nearly full wine glass, each breath a measured attempt to steady the tremor in her chest. Across the small, dimly lit private dining room, Alexander Cole leaned forward in his chair, watching her with those sharp, appraising eyes. His presence felt almost magnetic, pulling her confidence into a vortex of uncertainty.
She had spent the entire afternoon replaying every strategy she'd ever learned—business school, mentorship sessions, late‐night debates with Lila. But now, none of that mattered. There were no spreadsheets here, no media cameras to shield her. It was just her, the future CEO of Cole Industries, and his power swirling around them like the autumn chill gathering outside.
Finally, Alexander broke the silence. Not unkindly, but in that calm, low‐volume way that suggested he didn't need to raise his voice to command a room."Miss Monroe," he said, pausing to swirl the red wine in his glass, "I must confess: I'd wondered if you'd show up tonight."
Sienna lifted her chin, even though her throat felt as tight as a vice. She took a slow sip of wine, letting it warm her from the inside. She chose her words as carefully as she had curated her wardrobe for this evening—a burgundy wrap dress that hugged her curves just so, neither too stiff nor too casual."I wouldn't miss it," she replied. It was the truth. Even if her pulse was pounding a protest, she found herself leaning in. If she slipped up, she needed to slip up on her own terms.
Alexander's gaze flicked to Grayson, who occupied the seat to Sienna's right. Grayson had insisted on sitting there, almost protectively, but Alexander had waved him off as soon as he'd seen Sienna enter—an unspoken challenge, as though to say, This is her moment.He turned back to Sienna and smiled—thin, just on the edge of polite, yet something in the crease at the corner of his mouth hinted at deeper amusement. "Straight to business, then. Your mother says you have strong convictions about preserving Delacroix's heritage, but I wonder: do you ever wonder what you're really giving up?"
Sienna swallowed. Her thoughts flickered to the sapphire pendant resting against her collarbone—the last gift her great‐grandmother had ever given her. The memory felt both distant and vivid: a dusty old workshop, sunlight slanting through stained glass, her grandmother's frail hand guiding hers around a sketch.She kept her voice steady. "I'm not giving up anything I value. Heritage is about more than history—it's about a promise to the future. If we let tradition become stagnant, we betray every woman who came before me."
For a heartbeat, Alexander's ivory eyebrows rose. "A bold statement." He turned his glass in slow circles. "Yet here's my concern: you're stepping into a merger where the stakes are measured in billions. You'll soon learn that promises are worth little if they don't generate profit."He raised his hand, as if dismissing the entire concept of heritage. "Tell me, Miss Monroe, how do you plan to keep consumers interested in handcrafted sapphires when a glittering social media campaign can sell the idea of 'luxury' far more effectively?"
Sienna let her eyes travel around the table before answering, buying herself time to gather her resolve. Even Grayson's fingers tightened around his napkin. She took a deep breath."Story," she said, voice soft but unwavering. "It's not just a hashtag or a clever reel. It's the people who hold these gems, the families who pass them down, the artisans whose hands breathe life into every cut. People don't just buy jewelry; they buy memories."She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a confidential plan. "And when they see our story—real stories about a woman who refused to let her great grandmother's legacy fade, about the same hands that once sketched designs by lamplight—well, they won't just buy a sapphire. They'll believe in what it represents."
Alexander chuckled—a deep, resonant sound that came from somewhere far back, like a hollow cave. "Believe in it, or buy enough of it until they have no choice?" He raised an eyebrow. "How many units do you plan to sell at a premium when everyone can slap a filter on a lab‐created stone?"
Sienna resisted the urge to glance at Grayson. She had to face this alone. "We'll start with the collectors—people who understand that some things gain value over time, not lose it. Then we'll expand carefully. A well‐placed pop‐up at Highland Park Village, a VIP event in L.A., and—" She paused, letting the rhythm settle."—an authentic digital campaign that showcases the workshop, the families, and the women who wear them. We'll be selective. We'll be bold. But we won't be disposable."
Silence. Alexander studied her, swirling his wine again. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his eyes. Finally, he leaned back and set his glass down. "You have spirit," he said. "And I daresay more backbone than most heirs in your position." He exhaled as though releasing some kind of verdict. "Your problem, Miss Monroe, is that I have spine, too. And I know how quickly public opinion can shift."
Sienna's pulse stuttered. Alexander was coming in with a barb—and she felt it lodge just behind her ribcage. She let her smile soften, but the fire in her eyes remained. "Then I suppose our question is simple: Are you willing to let my spine matter?"
He raised a brow, considering her. "If I thought your convictions would turn Delacroix into a niche relic, I would have walked away. But you've done well this week—boardroom, press, public image. You may be small in size, but your presence is large."He offered a slight nod. "I'll be watching. Because if you can maintain this…momentum, perhaps we can both profit."
The waiter arrived with dessert—blood orange panna cotta drizzled with rosemary syrup. Its vibrant hue looked almost defiant on the table. Neither of them touched it.Sienna kept her fork poised just above the plate.Alexander stirred his wine in a final swirl, then stood. "For now, that's all I need. You're more than just a figurehead, Miss Monroe. But prove me wrong, and you'll find I'm never far away."He turned and left, the silent click of his shoes echoing down the corridor.
Sienna exhaled long and slow, the tension melting away like a breath after holding water under the surface. She reached for Grayson's hand—he was already on his feet. His expression was a mix of pride and concern.
She pushed herself up, smoothing her dress. "Well?" she whispered.
Grayson gave her a quick, witty grin, leaning in as they retrieved their coats. "You danced with a lion tonight—and didn't lose a single whisker."
Sienna let out a shaky laugh. "I needed a cat nap after that."
He offered his arm, which she took, leaning into him for a heartbeat before they stepped into the hallway. As they emerged into the crisp night air, Sienna felt the weight of Alexander's gaze slip away from her. Her lungs expanded, the Chicago wind tasting like freedom.
Down the building stairs, they walked in near‐silence, each processing the tightrope they'd walked. The city's lights flickered along Rush Street. Cafés and bars hummed with life, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded.
Grayson finally spoke, voice low, almost gentle. "You know he meant what he said."
Sienna gripped his arm, anchoring herself. Each syllable that followed was quiet, but carried a world of meaning."If he really believed I'd just vanish, he wouldn't have bothered at all," she replied. "He kept his eye on me because he sees a challenge."She squared her shoulders, glancing up at the moonlit sky. "Good. Because I'd rather be challenged than forgotten."
Grayson gave a short, proud laugh. "That's the Sienna I know."
They paused beneath a streetlamp, Sienna's hair catching the glow. For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, letting the city's distant rush fill their ears.
Then Grayson offered his hand. "Truce—until the next round?"
Sienna placed her fingers in his. "Truce."
They struck out into the night, leaving the elegant trap of that dinner behind them. Somewhere the river kept flowing, and so would they—one step at a time, forging a path of their own.