Bound to the calloway's heir

SIENNA.

The weight of my newly found freedom crushed me harder than the fear of my past ever could. I sat cross-legged on the plush cream-colored couch in Zane's study, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Absorbing the dazzling flood of the rising sun.

I heaved a deep sigh, soaking at the moment. The rival cartel had vanished as if they never existed. Zane and his men had wiped them out in a brutally bloody clash, and even though it had been a week, I was still haunted by the gory experience even when wide-awake.

I had known Zane Calloway was going to be the one to help me get rid of the consequences of my father's sins. His greedy obsession with power that had shackled me to a life of running and fighting was finally buried with the bodies of my enemies. I felt a budding of pride thinking back at the decisions that had brought me to that day. I didn't make a mistake coming to Atlas; Zane had not stopped until we were free of the cartel and everything from our past that had been haunting both of us. We were free.

Yet, as I stared at the glass of bourbon in my hand, I felt a restless itch, knowing I was truly free. But I had no idea what to do with it. It felt foreign.

Belinda, who was sprawled across the armchair opposite me, her auburn curls spilling over the cushion, was swiping through her phone, her fingers moving with casual precision. She must have felt my eyes on her because she suddenly looked up, and stared in my direction. Her eyes were soft, watching me with that quiet intensity that always made me feel seen.

"You're brooding again, Sisi," she said, tossing the phone to the space between the couch and the huge flower vase.

I snorted, swirling the bourbon but still not drinking. "I'm not brooding. I'm... thinking."

"Same difference to you." She sat up. "Spill it, Sienna. I don't like that look. Tell me I am wrong?"

I leaned back and let my gaze drift to the ceiling first, and the bar was stocked with liquor I had never heard of before. I became a full-time guest in Zane's home.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I thought ending the cartel would feel finally, like I had won something. But now that it's over, I feel like I'm floating without an anchor or a direction for my boat. Just... nothing."

Belinda tilted her head, her lips pouted as she considered me. "You're saying the chase was what kept you going." It wasn't a question. She always had a way of cutting through my mess of thoughts, laying them bare for me.

I nodded, my fingers tightening around the glass. "All those years of running and hiding from the cartel kind of gave me a purpose. A reason to keep moving, and without it, I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes glinting with warmth. "Sienna, you're not your father's shadow. You're not the cartel's prey anymore, either. You're free to live as you. And you get to decide what that means now. That's the scary part, sure, but it's also the best part."

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," she said, shrugging. "But you're not alone in it. You've got me, for one. And..." She hesitated, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "You've got Zane."

My stomach did a little flip at his name, and I hated how transparent it made me feel. Zane. He had fought beside me, bled for me, and somehow wormed his way into my heart despite my best efforts to keep him at arm's length.

I was in love with him without a doubt, but the idea of handing over the drive, which was my only leverage from my father's empire, felt like surrendering a part of myself. I wasn't ready to let go of that control, not even for him. Was I my father's child after all? Power-hungry like him.

"I don't know if I'm ready to give him the drive," I said, in a whisper. It's not that I don't trust him. I just need to stand on my own. I've spent my whole life running from someone else's choices. I want to make my own for once."

Belinda's smile softened, and she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Then don't give it to him. Not yet. Figure out what you want first. Zane's a big boy, he can handle waiting. And you know I'm with you, whatever you decide."

I squeezed her hand back, grateful beyond words. "Speaking of decisions," I said, leaning forward with a smirk. "What's this about you and Travis? You've been blushing like a schoolgirl every time he's mentioned."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she swatted at me, laughing. "Oh, shut up! I do not blush."

"See? You totally do," I teased, pointing at her. "Come on, Bel. Talk to me. You are going to go on that dinner date. You owe him for helping us back then, and don't you dare try to tell me it's just because he cracked the encryption on the drive."

She groaned, flopping back on the couch and covering her face with her hands. "Okay, fine. He's kind of adorable, alright? He's all nerdy and awkward, but there's this spark in him. he akes me feel giddy." She peeked through her fingers, "I want to see where it goes. Is that crazy?"

I grinned, warmth spreading through me at her admission. "Not crazy at all. Travis is a good guy. A little too obsessed with his tech toys, but good. You deserve someone who makes you giddy."

She dropped her hands, her smile wide and unguarded. "Thanks, Sienna. I mean it."

We leaned across the table, wrapping each other in a fierce hug. Her curls tickled my cheek.

A throat cleared behind us, sharp and deliberate. I froze, my heart lurching as I pulled back from Belinda. Zane stood in the doorway, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He leaned against the frame, hands in his leather jacket stretched tight over his shoulders. The man looked like he had stepped out of a movie, all charming and quiet intensity.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked, noting how my pulse raced, half from surprise, half from the way his gaze locked onto mine, like he could see right through me.

"Long enough," he said, a deep smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Heard you talking about being your own boss. I've got to say, it's pretty damn hot."

I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, he crossed the room in three strides, swept me off the couch, and kissed me. His warm lips were stealing my breath and scattering my thoughts. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his jacket, the world narrowing to the heat of his body against mine.

Belinda whooped, clapping like a cheerleader. "Get it, girl!"

Zane pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "I love you, Sienna," he murmured, "Hearing you talk like that... knowing you're carving your own path? Makes me love you even more."

I snickered, caught off guard by the confession I'd been waiting to hear for so long. "Took you long enough to say it," I teased.

He grinned, that rare, boyish smile that always undid me. Without another word, he scooped me up, my legs dangling as I giggled, actually giggled, like some lovesick teenager. Belinda's laughter followed us as he carried me out of the study, knowing where we were headed. The master bedroom. There, Zane would show me that I would never be a guest again.

I wanted that too, since I was bound to Calloway's heir from the minute I walked into Atlas. Or as my father's locket had eventually revealed, it was way before our path crossed. I was bound to be Zane Calloway's bride.

Prologue.

NOAH BENNETT.

The night trouble came to find me. It didn't just knock and walk in politely; it kicked the door down and walked in wearing the lightest shade of red dinner dress. And it chose the one night I had chosen to socialize to find me.

I was at the Eden, the exclusive lounge that my brother, Damian Pierce, had opened two weeks after Zane and Sienna's engagement, and, as it had been since its opening, it was filled with the one-percent elite of the city of Los Angeles. It sat on the penthouse floor of his central city empire, chandeliers dripping with jagged crystal gold, filling the entire space with light that reeked of money...and lots of it, too.

The air was so thick with expensive fragrances blended with cocktails of aged bourbon, and the vibrant tang of ambition of networkers. If I didn't belong to the Atlas Group and the extravagant lifestyle my four brothers lived, I would choke on the intensity of everything the second I got into the lounge. Way into the hall, I saw a brunette in a sequined red gown near the VIP ropes as she tossed her head back. My eyes caught her diamond earrings flashing at me like warning flares. A tech mogul by the velvet curtain argued over a deal, his Patek Philippe catching the light as he waved a hand that could buy half the city.

Every breath was a reminder that this was no ordinary lounge, and you had to hold some bars to actually be there. I sat at the bar, my black hair had been styled and slicked backward to give my face a more defined look, making my jawline stand out. I had picked a gray tuxedo, with its sharp cut, leaning against my body while I let the chaos sink into my bones. My fingers gripped a tumbler of Macallan 25, the amber liquid swirling like a storm I was ready to dive into. It was the last drop of the old wine, which meant one thing. I was drunk.

When the people around me started to float, I knew I had gone way above my liquor limit. I was drunk, not the kind that made you stumble, but the kind that made the world too vivid, too raw. Every sound in the room, from the clink of glasses, the low growl of the bass, the brittle laugh of patrons across the room, pierces through me.

Suddenly, the DJ's bassline thrummed through hidden speakers, urging me to let go of the weight I carried.

I saw Damian move through the crowd, his deep green eyes glinting with that dangerous charm that made him untouchable. He owned this place, not just the deed but the souls inside it, every smile and deal bending to his will. He had caught me earlier, whispering as he walked by.

"Keep your head, don't finish that bottle."

I smirked, raised my glass, and told him to shove his warnings. I wanted a night to live without being bothered. I wanted bliss, and I would take it, consequences be damned.

The bartender, seeing I had finished the bottle with me, slid another bottle of whiskey my way. I barely acknowledged him, my gaze drifting back to the crowd, restless, searching for something I couldn't name. That was when she appeared, gliding through the crowd of patrons.

Her red dress hugged her curves, and boy, she does have curves. The voluminous hips she got could either be from a strong mama's gene, years of active gym, or liposuction. It was perfect with the tiniest waist to complement it. I must have been lost trying without success to trace the outlines of her body contours as she walked closer. I snapped out of it, taking my eyes back to her face, oval with pouty lips that called to me. Her honey-blond hair spilled over one shoulder, brushing her full boobs as she moved with a sexy grace. She stopped at the bar, inches from me, and I picked up her distinct vanilla perfume, and the more I inhaled it, it spiked something darker in me.

"Double shot of Negroni," she said, reaching out perfectly manicured fingers to take the order from the bartender.

Since I was sitting directly at the bar, her shoulder brushed mine as she reached for her glass, and it sent a jolt through me. I turned, meeting her eyes, a light tone of blue. "You look like you're carrying the world, you should chill on that," she said, her lips curling, towards the whiskey bottle.

I leaned closer, "And you look like you're here to steal it," I shot back while I locked my eyes on hers.

She chuckled, a soft yet throaty sound that cut through the room, and I felt it in my gut, a pull I hadn't expected. Her name was Lila, she said, though I didn't care if it was real. Names were masks in a place like this, and we were both hiding something. She sipped her drink, her lipstick leaving a faint wine stain on the glass, and I watched, too aware of the heat building between us.

We flirted hard with words and glances that felt like foreplay. She leaned in each time she spoke, her breath warm against my ear, letting her hairbrush my cheek.

"This place is chaos," she murmured, her fingers trailing down my arm. "Too crowded. Don't you want to escape for a little while?" Her eyes held mine, bold, daring me to take the bait.

I knew better. I had built my life on control to spot the kind of traps she was hinting at. The Atlas Group didn't survive by chance but thrived because I saw the moves before they were made. Yet with Lila, I let the whiskey fill me with adrenaline.

I studied her, searching for the lie, but her smile was too perfect to be an act.

Lila's hand settled on my wrist. "I'm staying next door," she said. "The Elysian Hotel. Room 2304. Quieter. Private." Her eyes flicked to my lips, then back up, and I felt the pull.

My pulse kicked up, but the Macallan had dulled my caution, and against my better judgment, I wanted a blissful night. One where I wasn't the Atlas Group's enforcer, nor the man who had buried his past in blood. I wanted her, and I was ready to deal with the fallout later.

"Lead the way," I said, as I tossed back the last of my whiskey, the burning sensation grounding me as I set the glass down. She smiled slowly and turned, her hips swaying as she moved toward the exit.

The crowd parted for her to walk through because she made heads turn to get a better look at her curvy shape. Damian tried to get my attention as I followed Lila with my gaze fixed on her without a single care about him and his lavish lounge I was already leaving behind.

We reached the private elevator and she pressed the button. The huge doors slid open with a soft chime. We stepped inside the small space. The doors had barely closed when she turned to me with a deep smile beaming at me. "You're not like the others here," she said, stepping closer enough to get her fingers to brush the lapel of my jacket.

"And why is that?" I asked, letting my eyes fall on her boobs.

"The rest are players, but not you. You don't strike as one who just plays the game, you own it."

I grabbed her wrist, feeling her pulse under my thumb. "You don't know me," I said, letting my thumb trace a slow circle on her skin.

"Maybe I want to, Noah," she whispered, fanning my face with her warm breath.

The elevator hummed along as we descended, then flung its doors open onto the street. The cool night air hit me at once, and I felt the shift in the wind against the heat of the lounge.

"The Elysian Hotel is just across the street," Lila said as she stepped out, slipping her hand into mine like we were old lovers.

"Don't I know that?" I whispered back. Even as I crossed the street, my focus was on her soaking in everything about her. I felt like an artist trying to paint his muse. I studied the way her dress caught the streetlight, the curve of her neck as she glanced back at me, and her smile that revealed the dimples on both cheeks.

We reached the hotel's revolving doors and let the glass spin us into the lobby. The male clerk was busy working on the desktop in front of him, and he barely glanced at us as we walked past. Even Lila's heels, which clicked on the marble, did nothing to get his attention. He must be doing the numbers. Only that could make a man miss out on Lila's captivating presence.

When we got to the elevators, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew it had to be Damian without any doubt. I ignored it, since my hands were busy anyway, tightening around Lila's waist.

She leaned against the wall, her eyes locked on mine. "Last chance to walk away," she said.

I stepped closer, my hand on the wall beside her, locking her in. "I don't do walk-aways," I said, loving the way her smile widened.

The elevator dinged when we got to her floor, and the doors opened just as my phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Damian.

I sighed, swiping the screen as I switched to flight mode. I didn't want to be disturbed. I wanted to have Lila to myself and nothing else mattered. Lila's hand grazed my arm, her touch pulling me in, but her eyes suddenly held a glint I hadn't seen before, like a predator who'd just sprung her trap.

I realized before the first light of day that I had simply walked into trouble's lair.

HARPER.

The barbell clanked into place with a hard, satisfying echo as I exhaled sharply, lying back against the bench. I felt my chest heave under the weight of the steel I had just lifted, causing my arms to tremble slightly. Twenty reps and counting, and I was full of adrenaline, and I just let the sweat drip from my face down to my temple without bothering to wipe it off.

"Ease on the steel," Joe, my gym buddy, called out to me from the treadmill. He had a gray towel hung around his neck while he took a long sip from his water flask, some of it spilling over his white T-shirt and into his dark shorts.

"You bet," I replied, letting my eyes go to the huge smart TV that sits on a quarter section of the wall. The most-talked-about engagement party of the month was being aired, for what seemed like the millionth time already. It was starting to feel very annoying since every news channel was outdoing itself in securing the best angles of the newly engaged celebrity couple.

"Not these folks again," I whispered, reaching for my water flask, eyeing the TV. Zane Calloway's engagement wasn't the typical influencer's sponsored routine. The proposal scene was different from the usual celebrity paparazzi we had seen in recent times; the hall had been lavishly decorated with every type of rose petal in the world scattered across the polished floor. If I hadn't seen the engagement party already, I would have argued we had so many rose species. The endless flow of Italian Champagne down to the string quartets playing all genres of classical sound made it the fairytale dream of every lady in Los Angeles and beyond its borders.

And at the center of it all was Zane Calloway, the most wanted billionaire bachelor, handsomely tall, holding out a massive diamond ring to his charming woman, Sienna Carter, who beamed with absolute radiance in her blush-pink silk dress. Everything about it was perfect. And the investigative journalist in me, despite how much I tried not to get my nose wet, knew that was too perfect without a reason.

I sat up slowly, rolling my neck, watching through the sheen of sweat in my eyes. It wasn't the no-fault proposal whatsoever that had me curious, but it was the precision with which it was delivered. The entire thing felt like it was a show for PR. The kind of PR that made headlines. The kind I had come to learn to sniff out before most people even saw smoke. It was why I was the most decorated investigative journalist in the country, and something about the Calloway was starting to draw me in. The last time that happened, I was able to solve an all-time hit case, three years ago.

Zane Calloway and his four brothers, who manage Atlas, one of the most powerful tech-investment firms in the world. It was a billion-dollar empire, and from the news, they had zero issues, and the five men behind it were tagged as obscenely successful and Visionaries. But as I watched Zane kiss Sienna's hand and pull her close on the TV, I knew in my gut that something was off about these people. These kinds of folks don't show off unless they're trying to hide something. Things people like me help the world dig out.

I finished the rest of my set without looking away from the TV, and as the applause died down and the last violin note floated off into silence, I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the mats to cool down. I dropped into a long stretch and let my gaze flick to the mirrored wall behind Joe.

It's been three years since I had been on the chase of big scandals, but they never cracked. Every time I got close to a breakthrough, the trail would turn cold and leave the lawsuits I had built buried, and my leads would suddenly disappear. I needed a bigger story to show the world again that I still had my magic, that I wasn't just a one-hit journalist, I was more than desperate for another big case, and I seemed to believe that I had just found it. Zane and Sienna's engagement felt like the door of my dead career cracking alive again.

"See you tomorrow, Joe," I called out to him, and he waved back at me, resuming his routine.

By the time I made it to my car, my hands were already itching to begin what they loved to do most. Digging for information. The moment I hopped into my seat, I pulled out my phone and started to swipe through files I had bookmarked months ago about Atlas corporate structures, Board meeting summaries, and some of their maiden corps in Malta and Singapore. I did this when a rival firm had once hacked into their database and left the company's records open for everyone to see, yet all of their operations were legal on paper, all designed to cover every trail.

Hoping that I got just one lead... just one, that would help me believe I wasn't just grabbing at empty straws. I released the chair so that I could get more space for my laptop. I grabbed it from the seat next to me and set the side box between the seats and started to read all the information I could get about the five brothers. Aside from the trending engagement parties, all seem to have zero presence online except for one of them. Damian Pierce, who had just opened a huge lounge in the heart of the city. Tagging all four brothers to his post to thank them. I used the name tags to check out their profiles, and out of the four, one stood out to me.

Noah Bennett, who was the Vice President of Technical Operations, was a linchpin in the Atlas structure, Top-level, meaning he was just visible enough to be accountable but invisible enough to be thrown under the bus. I tapped his file, biting down on my lips as the profile loaded.

If there were a leak in their perfect fortress, it would be through him. I continued to check out most of what he had done until I clicked on an external link on one of his posts, and my laptop went off instantly.

"What the heck," I exclaimed, tapping on the power button impatiently until the screen popped up, it restarted to the boot menu instead of the booting prompts. That was odd.

"Okay?" I said, tapping on the prompts. It took about ten minutes before the screen eventually came up; everything on my desktop was blank, and my files had crashed. I was still confused about what had gone wrong with the laptop when an email dropped.

I clicked on it and saw it came from an anonymous sender. The content was just one line in block letters.

STOP DIGGING, YOU HAVE TO STOP.

I reread it twice and still made no sense of it. The email had no IP trail or metadata, which should have made me afraid. It didn't. Instead, the threats made me feel very alive.

That was the difference between now and three years ago, when I broke the pharmaceutical scandal and that won me awards which I had been riding high ever since, waiting for another spark. Yet, the sparks never came. Not until that morning, while reading that threat email.

That rush gave me the strength to get my car started and drive the ten-minute distance from the gym to my apartment. I pulled into my apartment garage, grabbed my gym bag, and climbed the stairs two at a time. Once inside, I dumped everything on the couch and powered up my desktop. While it booted, I switched on the smart music, letting the soft countryside song hum quietly while I went to grab my coffee mug that was now cold. As I took sips from it, the three names popping in my head were Atlas. The Calloway's proposal. Noah Bennett.

I sat back in the seat and started to work on the files saved on my desktop, knowing they had erased my laptop because of the link I clicked. It had been left there on purpose to discourage people who got too nosy, like me.

After working for a few hours, I arrived at the conclusion that Atlas wasn't just a tech firm. The whole set-up may be legal, but it had so much more going on between its walls, and I was ready to learn the real truth.

I closed my eyes and began to ponder the best way to get close. If I wanted in, it wasn't going to happen with a formal request or a hidden microphone, since these men were locked tighter than Fort Knox. But there was one thing that always got through walls like theirs. Their dirty desire was definitely their weakness, and if I couldn't knock on the front door as a journalist, I would slip in through the side as someone else entirely. My alter ego... Miss Lila.

Lila was the elegantly untraceable woman I used when I needed to go undercover. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask questions because she answered them. Lila did not have to work for money; she was attracted to it. She would be everything they wanted. And she would be mine to control.

I opened a new tab on the desktop and started building her profile online. When I was done, Lila Washington was born Lila Belle. She was an elite companion who was always traveling to meet her clients. She was educated in Paris and liked to party in the yacht circles of influential men. The kind of woman Zane Calloway's younger brother, Noah, might meet at an offshore party and assume was just another indulgence. But she would be watching and recording everything unraveling before her.

I paused only once, staring at the screen. "Oh Harper", I shook my head, knowing this was the most reckless thing I had ever done. And maybe the most brilliant if the end justifies the means.

The vibration of my phone pulled me out of my vein plans. When I checked the screen, it was a call from Joe.

"Hey, are you okay? You looked deep into your head earlier. New case?" he said. The clanking background sound of gym equipment made me realize he was still at the gym.

I smiled faintly as my fingers swiped over the keyboard as I typed my response. "Not exactly. Just chasing a lead.

He replied almost instantly.

"You'll catch it. You've got that fire-in-the-eyes look. Just don't forget to breathe. And eat."

I stared at the phone longer than I needed to. In a world where every person was a potential source or a threat, he was just a kind face. "Thanks, Joe. Really. I needed that."

We talked for a few more seconds before we ended the call and I set the phone down, letting my gaze drift back to the screen. Lila was ready and waiting.

I sent a short test message to one of my contacts, who provided the updates I needed about my case. Within minutes, the reply came confirming Noah Bennett's availability for an event Atlas men were hosting that weekend.

And just like that, I was no longer Harper West, the burnt-out reporter trying to claw her way back to relevance. I was Lila.

And I was going to take Atlas apart.

One brother at a time.