Chapter 4 Sienna had infected my thoughts like a goddamn virus. Every meeting. Every spreadsheet. Every finely tuned, billion-dollar decision I'd made since stepping off that plane in Italy and hopping on the next flight back to Atlanta had carried the scent of her or the image of that fucking yellow sundress in the back of my mind. Her laugh, sharp and unfiltered. Her mouth, and the way she'd kissed me like she was starving after the first time, when she'd relaxed into it. Her legs, bare and tangled around my waist, her foot digging into my ass to pull me flush against her in a conjoined suite tens of thousands of feet above sea level. I couldn't shake her. Wasn't sure if I even wanted to. I told myself it was about the mystery and the fact that she'd had the guts to walk away without a goodbye or trying to get my number. Women didn't do that, not with me - they lingered, they schemed, they left lingerie in my luggage and excuses to "accidentally" meet again. But Sienna had ghosted me like she'd trained for it. I sat behind the polished black walnut desk in my office at StrathOne Air headquarters, one hand clenched around a glass of whiskey I wasn't drinking. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Atlanta skyline, gold, and pink and orange bleeding through the glass as the sun was setting, but most of the employees had already left for the day. I'd barely heard a word of my briefings on the Southeast Asia rollout earlier. I just kept seeing her. The way she'd looked at me before the partition had gone up, that little smirk when she said something she knew would land well, the sliver of heat behind her eyes. She wasn't supposed to linger in my head. But the best ones usually did - though, strangely, not for this long. So, of course, I broke a rule. Just a small one. A line easily erased, justified if I tried hard enough. I gave myself a bullshit excuse as I opened the manifest for Flight 417, ATL to NAP, knowing damn well what I was doing and not caring. I skimmed until I found first-class. My name stood out first, Matthew Strathmore - 2A. But just above mine, in 1A: Sienna James. Full name. No more mystery. Just four syllables and punch to my chest. James. James, James... Why did that sound familiar? I clicked into it, checking the original ticket holder name, pre-reservation changes. Passenger: Ryan Strathmore. I stilled. Blinked. No. No goddamn way. I clicked again, into the original booking receipts. Ryan's name filled the slot for 2A, my seat - refunded and cancelled two days before the flight. I couldn't breathe. I scrolled down, looking for the card made to book the reservation, and there in bold lettering and asterisk were the last four digits of his fucking maintenance account. The emergency fund I fed money into every time Ryan cried broke and begged like a petulant teenager. My jaw clenched so hard I felt it in the back of my skull. I'd paid for that flight. I'd paid for the ticket that landed her next to me, and the reason Sienna James itched at the very back of my memory became clear. That single time, almost a year ago now, that I'd cared enough to ask him what was going on in his life and he'd said her name. His ex. The ex that, according to Sienna, he'd cheated on. I'd heard bits and pieces of the story when Ryan had left, and he'd called to ask for money. Details I hadn't asked for but had gotten anyway-dumped her, he'd said. Clingy. Emotional. Dramatic. Desperate. Got "weird" when he slept with someone else after their breakup. But that wasn't true, was it? Nothing ever was with him. Of course she wasn't the problem. Of course he was. And I'd slept with her. I leaned back in my chair, the weight of the revelation pressing against my spine, and dragged my hand down my face, willing air into my lungs. She was his. His ex, his mistake, his mess. And somehow I'd managed to walk right into the fucking middle of it despite trying my absolute best to keep distance for my peace of mind. But Ryan had been busy lately. I knew that much. Knew that he'd flipped on a dime and started begging me for money out the wazoo, far more than usual. Knew he'd bought a ring. Knew he moved fast with whoever he was with now, and I didn't have much of a choice when it came to paying for it. Knew he was marrying her after only a month of being broken up with Sienna. Knew I was footing the bill for it. Maybe unintentionally sleeping with Sienna hadn't been shoving myself into his mess. Maybe it was an opportunity. Sienna wasn't simply a mistake, no, she was a turning point, a key. She was a part of the debris Ryan always left in his wake, a face in a sea of ruined trust funds, ruined friendships, ruined women. But this time, the damage wasn't abstract, spoken through a telephone call or a text message. It wasn't distant. This time I'd touched it. Tasted it. And I had a chance to not just stand by now. The image of her in that first-class lounge, chin high, voice sharp, wearing that little yellow sundress like she had something to prove, flashed in my head. She didn't even know who I was. She had no idea what she'd stepped into, and yet, she'd held her ground like she was ready to go down swinging. She'd walked into first class and took the damn trip anyway. That wasn't desperation, that was grit. And that was useful. I knew Ryan. I knew his insecurities. His ego was a house of cards just waiting for a gust of wind, and Sienna could be that. Not if I manipulated her, not if I pushed her into something she didn't want, but if I offered her something, if it was mutually beneficial... Maybe she wanted revenge. Maybe she just wanted control over her life again. Either way, I could give her that. I could give her a match. I could watch her set him on fire. I could burn him down with her.