The Price of Late Realization and Neglecting Your Loved One

Sienna's POV

I had been secretly in love with my childhood friend for five years. Finally, I mustered the courage to propose to him.

But he looked me in the eye and said, “It was just for fun. Did you really take it seriously? Who marries a fling, anyway?”

“Our feelings for each other since we were kids… That was just a game to you?” I asked in disbelief.

He shrugged and replied casually, “Don’t worry, Sienna. Even if I go through with the family-arranged marriage and marry someone else, I won’t abandon you.”

Then his voice softened as if offering me a gift as he continued, “I’ll still see you, just like before. Maybe not every month—how about every week instead? Isn’t that enough?”

Subconsciously, my hand moved on its own and the sharp slap echoed between us. Afterward, I turned my heels and walked away.

An arranged marriage, huh? Fine. I’d find my own match. And it’d be a damn good one.

At my bachelorette party, I didn’t expect Lance Madron to have the audacity to show up with his fiancée in tow, no less.

Later, on the rooftop, he cornered me. His hands circled my waist, and he leaned close, his breath teasing my ear.

“Sienna, it’s been so long. Haven’t you missed me?”

I pushed his face away, scowling. “Your fiancée is downstairs, and you’re acting like this?”

“She knows about you,” he said with a smirk. “She came here today on purpose to show you who’s boss. I’m just here to remind you, out of the kindness of my heart. Everyone knows how long you’ve been chasing me. So, for my sake, why don’t you just bear with it, huh?”

“You’re disgusting!” I cut him off, my voice sharp.

He acted unfazed, shrugging with that insufferable smirk of his. “Come on, I know you love me. Why not just settle for being my mistress? Isn’t that enough for you?”

His eyes sparkled with expectation as if I should be grateful for this so-called privilege. Those alluring eyes—so intense they could melt hearts—wandered to my collarbone, darkening with desire.

Then, Lance leaned in to kiss me, but the crash of glass shattering from downstairs stopped him in his tracks.

Hearing it, he pushed me away as if I were poison and his face instantly became composed.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, my chest tightening with unease.

Lance adjusted his shirt, feigning innocence. “No matter what happens down there, just endure it. It’ll blow over soon.”

His cryptic words made my stomach churn. Without wasting another second, I bolted downstairs.

As soon as I reached the main hall, I saw a woman smashing my things with a baseball bat.

“Maia!” someone shouted, trying to calm her down. “What’s going on? You went to the rooftop and came back this mad?”

“Stop it now, Maia, before you ruin everything in Sienna’s house!” another pleaded.

The once-glorious champagne tower was now a pile of broken glass, shards littering the floor.

It didn’t take much to guess who was responsible for the chaos.

Maia Fowler stood there, wild-eyed, shouting, “I’ll do whatever I want! She dared seduce my fiancé. Yet I'm not allowed to be angry about it?”

As she spoke, she raised the bat, aiming for a porcelain vase on a nearby shelf.

Just then, I yelled, “Stop it!”

But despite my shout, she didn’t even turn around and the vase shattered into pieces. Only then did she turn to me and glare at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Sienna, Lance said he doesn’t like you anymore. So why are you still so desperately and shamelessly pushing yourself into him?”

Her voice dripped with disdain. “You threw this party just to seduce my fiancé and embarrass me, didn't you? Do you think it’s fun to humiliate me?”

“I didn’t seduce him!” I shot back, denying her accusation.

But she snorted, lifting her chin defiantly. “Ask them—who here believes you? But if you really want me to believe you, slap yourself ten times. Then I might consider it.”

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Of course, nobody believed me. Years of pining after Lance had left me with a reputation I couldn’t shake. Explaining myself here felt pointless.

However, Maia wasn’t done. Soon, one of her friends pulled out a phone and cast photos onto the screen.

In one, it looked like I was leaning in to kiss Lance—though I remembered it as me shoving him away. In the next, he was coldly pushing me aside, and I stood there, my face blank.

To anyone else, it painted a clear picture: I was the desperate one throwing myself at him.