Chapter 3 No Rules, Just Us

The café date should have been the awkward part.

But it wasn't.

Sienna Rae had braced herself for the clumsy dance of two people trying to act normal after a night so charged it had practically set the sheets on fire. But sitting across from Mason, sipping coffee with the scent of roasted beans and fresh croissants in the air, it felt-surprisingly-easy.

And that terrified her.

Because easy wasn't something she trusted. Easy was usually the setup before the fall.

But he didn't push. He didn't pry. He didn't try to define anything with labels or promises.

They just talked.

About her content channel. About his insomnia. About how he hates mint chocolate anything and how she thinks that makes him borderline untrustworthy.

He smiled at her like she was the most interesting thing in the world.

And she, in turn, found herself telling him things she hadn't shared in months.

Years, maybe.

They lingered for hours, well past the lunch crowd, until the staff began wiping down tables and flipping chairs upside down.

As they stood, Mason placed his hand at the small of her back-possessive, but gentle-and whispered, "Walk with me."

She didn't hesitate.

The streets were quieter downtown, tucked between the high-rise shadows of afternoon. Their footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement as they strolled through an alley of high-end boutiques and hidden art galleries.

He stopped in front of a small shop with vintage photography in the windows.

"This one's mine," he said, nodding toward the entrance.

Sienna's eyes widened. "You own an art gallery?"

"I own the building. My sister curates the gallery inside. I just pay for the privilege of being bossed around every time I show up."

She smiled, warmth blooming. "She sounds like a smart woman."

He chuckled, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

The space inside was intimate and flooded with natural light from the skylights above. Black and white photographs lined the walls-raw, emotional snapshots of strangers and cities, of couples caught mid-laugh, of hands nearly touching.

It wasn't just art. It was intimacy made visible.

"This place..." she whispered, slowly walking deeper into the gallery, "It's incredible."

"I like coming here when I need to feel something."

She glanced back at him. "Do you?"

"Often," he admitted.

She turned to face him fully, standing in the middle of the room. "And what are you feeling now?"

He stepped closer.

"You."

Her breath hitched.

"I want to know what this is, Sienna," he said, voice low and rough. "Whatever it is... I want more of it."

She blinked. "I don't do rules well."

"Then let's not make any."

Her pulse quickened.

"No labels?"

"No timelines. No pressure. Just... us. Whenever we want it. However we want it."

"And if it gets messy?"

"We clean it up together."

God help her-she believed him.

They kissed in the gallery.

Long, slow, unhurried kisses that tasted of honesty and longing and something dangerously close to hope.

And then they made love against the wall, surrounded by portraits of strangers, their bodies pressed together with the same raw passion captured on film.

It wasn't about lust this time.

It was connection.

Skin to skin.

Heart to heart.

And when he whispered her name like a prayer, she closed her eyes and gave in completely.

Three weeks passed.

And Sienna fell into a rhythm she never saw coming.

Late-night texts. Spontaneous meetups. Quiet mornings in his kitchen with sunlight in her hair and his hand on her thigh. Sometimes they didn't even sleep together-they just talked, watched old movies, argued about music genres and who made better tacos.

She didn't post about him.

He didn't ask her to.

This part of her life was private. Sacred.

She liked it that way.

Until the world started closing in.

It began with a comment on one of her Instagram reels.

"Is that Ryder & Wolfe's Mason Wolfe

in the background?"

She froze, eyes scanning the video. She'd filmed a quick day-in-the-life vlog from his penthouse, careful to keep things neutral-but someone had recognized the corner of his custom bar setup.

She deleted the comment, heart pounding.

Then came the DMs.

"Girl... are you dating THE Mason Wolfe?"

"Is that his rooftop? Looks like the one from

last month's Vanity Luxe feature."

"Please spill. Are you two a thing?!"

Sienna panicked.

She hadn't even told Gia yet.

Mason had been clear-he wasn't hiding her, but he valued privacy. The media circled his world like vultures. A whisper of romance, and the headlines would turn her name into clickbait.

She needed to talk to him. Soon.

But fate had other plans.

That night, Sienna received a last-minute invite to an exclusive influencer event hosted at a new luxury spa opening in West Hollywood. She almost didn't go.

But Gia was already on her way, and the event promised insane brand deals, free treatments, and champagne waterfalls. She forced herself into a sleek dress, touched up her makeup, and slipped into heels like armor.

She'd talk to Mason tomorrow.

She swore she would.

Only... she didn't expect him to be there.

Not Mason.

The ex.

His name was Devon.

Model-chiseled, charming, manipulative as hell.

He saw her across the room like a heat-seeking missile, weaving through the crowd with a practiced smile and arms wide.

"Look what the hell I've been missing," he said, grabbing her waist before she could twist away.

"Let go."

"C'mon, Rae. Don't be like that. You look amazing. Damn."

She tried to step back, but his grip tightened slightly.

And then she heard the voice that made her knees go weak.

"She said let go."

Mason.

He stood behind Devon, voice cold and lethal. His jaw tight. His eyes dangerous.

Devon looked between them and scoffed. "Ah. So this is the new guy, huh? The replacement?"

Sienna's cheeks flamed.

Mason stepped forward, standing between them. "I'm not the replacement. I'm the upgrade."

Devon laughed, low and smug. "You think you're different? She'll get bored. She always does."

Mason didn't flinch. "Maybe. But she sure as hell won't come running back to you."

Security approached-someone must've noticed the tension-and Devon backed off with a mock salute, fading into the crowd.

Mason turned to her. "You okay?"

She nodded, breath shaking. "Yeah. Thanks."

His hand hovered at her waist. "You didn't tell me he'd be here."

"I didn't know."

"You should've told me about the video. The comments. All of it."

Her heart stuttered. "I didn't want to complicate things."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Too late."

She looked down. "Are you mad?"

"No," he said quietly. "I'm scared."

That made her look up.

"Scared of what?"

"Of losing this. Of losing you."

Her chest squeezed.

"You're not going to lose me."

"You sure about that?" His voice cracked slightly. "Because I've never done this, Sienna. I've never cared about someone who could actually hurt me."

She reached for his hand.

"And I've never had someone who saw me beyond the filters and the algorithms."

They stood there, surrounded by strangers, and made a silent promise with nothing more than their eyes.

This was real now.

It was messy.

It was fragile.

But it was worth it.

Mason didn't let go of her hand-not even when they left the spa event together and stepped into the back of his sleek black town car. His fingers were warm, steady. His thumb stroked slow circles across her knuckles like he needed the anchor of her skin to stay grounded.

Sienna was quiet, staring out the window as the L.A. lights blurred past. The silence wasn't awkward-it was heavy. Real.

"I didn't know he'd be there," she finally said, her voice low.

Mason didn't answer right away.

"I know," he murmured.

She turned to face him. "Then why do I feel like I'm being punished for it?"

He shifted toward her, resting his elbow on the seat. "Because I'm not good at this. I get reactive. Possessive. I saw him with his hands on you and-I didn't think. I just wanted to tear his arms off."

She blinked. "That's... disturbingly hot."

His lips twitched, finally. "You think so?"

"A little."

Silence again. But it was softer now. Safer.

Sienna leaned back and exhaled. "Devon was a mess. We were a mess. He cheated, I stayed too long, and when I finally walked away, he made sure I never forgot it."

"Asshole."

"Yep. He said I'd never be taken seriously. That I was just a pair of tits with a ring light."

Mason's jaw clenched. "You should've told me that."

She shrugged. "I'm telling you now."

His fingers laced through hers. "You're more than your content. More than your body. More than anyone's damn opinion."

She blinked back sudden tears, caught off-guard by the sheer rightness of his voice. His belief in her was unwavering-even when her own cracked.

"Why do you see me like that?" she whispered.

He looked her straight in the eye.

"Because you're real. And because you don't see yourself clearly yet. But I do."

Her throat tightened.

Damn him.

He always knew just where to press-what to say that peeled her wide open.

Back at his penthouse, Sienna kicked off her heels and padded barefoot across the hardwood floors. The place was bathed in soft amber light, the skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like scattered diamonds.

Mason watched her from the doorway, tie loosened, shirt half-untucked.

"Stay tonight," he said.

She paused.

"Not for sex," he added. "Unless you want to, of course. I just... want you here."

The vulnerability in his voice was so at odds with his usual confidence that it wrapped around her ribs like a cord and pulled.

"I'll stay."

They ended up in the kitchen, of all places.

She wore one of his shirts-soft and worn-and sat on the counter while he made grilled cheese sandwiches with aged cheddar and truffle oil.

"Bougie as hell," she teased, biting into one.

"You say that like it's an insult."

"It is when I have to Google your pantry items."

He laughed, leaned in, and kissed her mid-chew.

"You're cute when you're mouthy."

"Careful," she warned, "I bite."

His eyes darkened. "So do I."

She froze for half a second-then kissed him again, slower this time.

When they pulled apart, her lips were swollen, his hands warm on her thighs.

"You're trouble," she whispered.

"You make me want to be good," he replied.

Later, tangled in sheets, they lay facing each other in bed, the city stretching out behind Mason's shoulder.

Sienna traced the tattoo on his forearm-a black compass surrounded by stars.

"What's this mean?" she asked.

He looked down at it. "It's from when I lost my dad. I got it the day I took over his company. It reminds me that no matter how lost I feel, I can still find my way."

She looked up. "You ever feel lost with me?"

He brushed her cheek. "Never."

She smiled, then whispered, "I think I'm falling."

His breath caught.

"I already have," he said.

The words weren't planned.

They just happened.

And she didn't run.

She just leaned in and kissed him again.

Because it felt right.

Because it was right.

The next morning, sunlight spilled into the room like a soft confession. Sienna woke first, watching Mason sleep-lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted slightly, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic.

She didn't move.

Didn't want to wake him.

She just... watched.

And wondered how the hell she'd gotten here. From flings and filters to this-raw, quiet, vulnerable.

She was scared.

But she didn't want to run.

Not yet.

Not when she felt more herself in his bed than anywhere else.

A week later, the headlines hit.

"Mason Wolfe's New Muse? Mysterious Woman Spotted at Rooftop Party and Penthouse Balcony"

"Wolfe in Love? Billionaire Mogul Reportedly Dating Curvy Influencer Sienna Rae

Her phone exploded.

Texts. Emails. Comments. DM requests in the thousands.

She stared at the screen, paralyzed.

And then the call came.

Mason.

"Hey," she said, voice tight.

"I saw."

"I swear I didn't-"

"I know," he cut in gently. "It's not your fault."

"But it's going to get ugly."

"I can handle ugly," he said. "What I can't handle is losing you."

She closed her eyes.

"Do you want to go public?" he asked.

"What do you want?"

"I want to keep you. However that looks."

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

"Then I'll face it with you."

He exhaled in relief. "That's all I needed to hear."

Later that night, Mason posted a photo.

Just one.

A blurred shot of him holding Sienna's hand as they crossed a street in the city.

No caption.

No tags.

Just proof.

That he'd chosen her.

And she had chosen him right back.