Chapter 4 Headlines and Heartbeats

Sienna Rae had been through some pretty weird mornings-once waking up with false eyelashes stuck to her chin and another time realizing she'd accidentally gone live for twenty minutes while using a face mask that made her look like a haunted cabbage.

But this?

This was next level.

She blinked at her phone as it buzzed nonstop on the nightstand, the screen glowing like a beacon of chaos.

"Mason Wolfe's mystery woman EXPOSED-inside the life of curvy content queen Sienna Rae".

"From thirst traps to heart traps: Wolfe and Rae's midnight romance confirmed".

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, tugging the sheets higher.

Mason stirred beside her, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep. "That bad?"

She turned the phone toward him. "We're officially a thing. The media says so."

He winced. "I didn't think that blurry photo would blow up like this."

"It's your fault for being rich, hot, and mildly broody," she teased. "Paparazzi can smell that combo from miles away."

He groaned and reached for her, pulling her against his chest. "Let them talk."

"But my comment section has turned into the Thunderdome. I've already been called everything from a gold digger to a plus-size fantasy."

His arms tightened. "You're not a fantasy. You're mine."

God. He said it so casually-so possessively-it did strange things to her chest.

"You don't think this changes things?" she asked quietly.

Mason tilted her chin. "Only if we let it."

Two hours later, she was sitting on the balcony of his penthouse in his oversized sweatshirt, sipping coffee, and doom-scrolling.

Everywhere she looked-Twitter, TikTok, gossip blogs-her name was next to his.

Sienna Rae, formerly of bikini haul fame, now billionaire's flame.

Sienna Rae: Gold Digger or Girl Boss?

And while some people were defending her fiercely, others were dissecting her body, her past, her personality like she was a product up for review.

She tossed her phone on the table and buried her face in her hands.

Mason walked out shirtless, holding a second cup of coffee and looking unfairly perfect for a man who didn't even use filters.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, then nodded. "I don't know. I'm trying to be chill, but I've never been exposed like this."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Come on. Let's disappear."

She blinked up at him. "Where?"

"Anywhere you want. I have a jet and a long weekend."

By noon, they were cruising at 30,000 feet in a private jet headed for Napa Valley. Mason claimed he knew a secluded vineyard with no paparazzi, no cell service, and-his words-the best damn wine and view combo in California.

It felt unreal.

Just hours ago, she was drowning in online comments and anxiety. Now she was sipping champagne, barefoot in a cream knit dress, listening to the low rumble of engines while Mason scrolled through a wine list like it was foreplay.

"You like reds or whites?" he asked.

She smirked. "I like anything that makes my cheeks tingly."

He glanced over, gaze darkening. "You're already making mine tingle."

God. He had no right being that smooth.

When they arrived at the vineyard, it was sunset.

The estate was tucked into rolling green hills with a rustic-modern villa made of warm stone and wood. The owner, a friend of Mason's, greeted them like old friends before disappearing with a wink.

The moment the door closed behind them, Sienna turned in a slow circle.

"Okay, this is sexy. I feel like we just walked onto the set of a rich people sex tape."

Mason chuckled, tossing their bags into the master bedroom. "Is that your way of saying you approve?"

"I approve," she said, walking into his arms. "But only if I get the starring role."

He kissed her like a promise.

"You already do."

They spent that evening barefoot, drunk on wine and touch, feeding each other strawberries and laughing like fools in the kitchen. The stress of the headlines faded with every brush of his fingers, every stolen kiss against the marble counters.

It wasn't just about passion anymore.

It was comfort. Safety. Home in a person.

And Sienna could feel it-this wasn't a fling anymore.

Not for her.

Not for him.

And maybe that was the scariest part.

Later that night, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe and a glass of cabernet, Sienna stood by the open doors of the villa's bedroom balcony. The moon cast silver light across the vines that blanketed the valley below, and the breeze was scented with lavender and woodsmoke.

Mason came up behind her, placing a kiss on her shoulder. His chest was bare, warm, and solid as he pressed it against her back.

"You've been quiet," he murmured.

She leaned into him, sighing. "It's just... all of it. You, this weekend, the headlines, how fast everything's changing."

"Too fast?"

"I don't know. It's scary, but I don't want to stop."

He turned her gently, cupping her face in both hands. "Then don't. Let it scare you. Let it make your heart race. But don't run from it."

Sienna looked up at him-this man who had stormed into her life with arrogance and smirks, who now held her like she was breakable and precious all at once.

She nodded.

Mason kissed her slowly, with the kind of reverence that made her knees weak.

And then the robe was gone.

His hands were everywhere-mapping her skin like she was something to be memorized. He didn't rush. Didn't take. He gave.

He worshipped.

And she let him.

They made love like the world had stopped spinning, like there was no noise, no pressure, no outside world. Just the soft hush of lips and breath, the sound of skin against skin, and the beat of two hearts slowly syncing into something terrifyingly real.

Afterward, tangled in sheets, she lay beside him, her head on his chest.

He was silent for a long moment, fingers brushing the curve of her waist. Then he whispered, "I haven't brought anyone here before."

She lifted her head. "To Napa?"

He nodded. "This place is... private. I come here when I need to think. Or when everything gets too loud."

"You've had a lot of loud?"

His smile was sad. "You know how it is. Billionaire, dead parents, emotionally unavailable, blah blah. I play the part, I sleep around, I keep things surface-level."

She studied him. "Until me."

"Until you."

There it was again-that vulnerability beneath the edge. That version of Mason that he never showed the world.

Sienna reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.

"I like this side of you," she said softly.

"I like the way you see me," he replied.

They fell asleep like that-naked, intertwined, safe.

The next morning, they were sprawled across the kitchen island, laughing while attempting to make pancakes. Sienna had flour on her nose, Mason had batter on his abs, and neither of them cared about the mess.

She fed him a bite, and he licked her thumb with a grin.

"You do that again and I swear I'll bend you over this counter."

"Promises, promises," she teased, wriggling her hips.

He growled and lunged. She shrieked and bolted, dashing barefoot across the villa with him on her heels.

They ended up in the shower, where steam filled the air and the sounds of laughter turned to breathy moans and echoing gasps.

Every touch was deeper. Every look lingered longer.

It wasn't just sex anymore.

It was them.

Later, wrapped in a towel and towel-drying her curls, Sienna scrolled through her inbox.

Brand offers.

Interview requests.

Podcasts.

Everyone suddenly wanted a piece of her.

She tossed the phone aside and walked out to the veranda, where Mason sat shirtless with a glass of rosé and a magazine spread across his lap.

He looked up. "You're thinking too hard."

"I'm being treated like I just won the Super Bowl for sleeping with you."

He gave a lazy smirk. "Didn't you?"

She threw a towel at him. "Not helping."

He sobered. "Do you want this? The attention? The spotlight?"

"I want the truth," she admitted. "I want people to see me for more than just your newest conquest."

"You're not a conquest, Sienna."

She tilted her head. "Then what am I?"

He stood and walked over, framing her face between his hands.

"You're the one who made me care again."

She swallowed hard. "Say that again."

He kissed her. "You're the one who made me feel again."

They spent the day wine tasting and hiking a short trail that led to a private hilltop view. Sienna snapped pictures on her phone, made ridiculous faces, and tried to convince Mason to pose for her stories.

He refused at first. Until she called him a coward.

Then he grabbed her and dipped her low, kissing her until she gasped-and that was the photo she posted, captioned:

He's not so grumpy when I'm on top.

The comments exploded in minutes, but for once, she didn't care.

Because this time, she wasn't hiding.

They returned to the city late Sunday evening, their bodies still sun-kissed from wine country and hearts a little heavier from everything unsaid.

The city hadn't changed.

But something between them had.

Mason drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Sienna's thigh. It was an unconscious gesture now-possessive and comforting all at once. She glanced over at him more than once during the ride. The sharp jawline, the quiet intensity in his eyes, the way he tapped his thumb absently like he was thinking too hard.

She wanted to ask what he was thinking.

But she didn't.

Because the truth scared her more than the silence.

When they reached his building, the doorman greeted them with a discreet nod-nothing new there. What was new was the envelope the concierge handed Mason, marked with an embossed Wolfe Corporation seal.

He opened it with a flick of his wrist.

Sienna stood beside him, watching his jaw tick as he read.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

He hesitated.

Then handed her the letter

Mason,

You're a grown man, and we've

respected you decisions,but your

appearance at the gala this Friday is

no longer optional. The board wants

you to be there. They want to meet her.

Make sure she's briefed.

-D

Sienna stared at the paper. "What the hell is this?"

"My brother. Damian. He runs the board at Wolfe Corporation."

"He wants to meet me?"

"He wants to evaluate you," Mason said grimly. "Like you're a risk to the brand."

"Wow," she muttered. "Nothing makes a girl feel more wanted than a surprise job interview disguised as a black-tie event."

"I can cancel-"

"No." She straightened. "I'll go."

He blinked. "You will?"

"I'm not some scandal in heels, Mason. And if I'm going to be in your life for real, they need to see me for who I am."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're something else, you know that?"

She smirked. "You're damn right I am."

But the smile faded quickly as the week crept forward.

The media attention exploded. Paparazzi were parked outside Sienna's building. Brands flooded her inbox with deals, some genuine, others exploitative. Her best friend Gia called her in a frenzy after a lifestyle blog did a "Before Mason" profile that used unflattering photos from her early influencer days.

"They're trying to tear you down to make the story spicier,"Gia warned. "Don't let them."

Sienna tried to play it cool, but deep down, it stung. She'd worked hard to build her brand. She didn't want to be famous because of Mason. She wanted to be respected despite him.

On Thursday night, she stayed at her own place just to catch her breath. Mason didn't fight her on it, but he did show up the next morning with coffee, a giant pastry box, and an annoyed scowl at the photographers lurking near her building.

"They're getting too close," he muttered as he placed a hand at her lower back.

"I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to."

She looked up at him. "Neither should you."

He exhaled. "This thing between us-it's real, Sienna. And that means I need to do better."

She blinked. "Better how?"

"Better at protecting you. Better at being with you."

His voice cracked a little. She saw it-vulnerability again, creeping past the façade.

"I don't want this to fall apart because I didn't act fast enough."

Her heart flipped. "It's not falling apart. I'm still here."

"For how long?"

"As long as you want me."

Silence.

Then: "Forever."

Her breath caught.

Mason stepped forward, crowding her against the counter. "I don't want a fling anymore."

"Then stop calling it that."

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

"Be mine. For real."

"I already am."

That Friday night, they arrived at the gala arm-in-arm.

Sienna wore a fitted champagne-colored gown that hugged every curve, her hair swept into soft waves, and her signature red lipstick like armor. Mason wore a classic tux, but his eyes never left her once.

She was magnetic.

They walked into the grand hall of glass chandeliers and couture gowns, and the world turned to look at them like they were royalty.

But Sienna didn't feel like a guest.

She felt like a threat.

Whispers followed her. Some curious. Some cruel. Mason held her tighter.

At the center of the room stood Damian Wolfe-taller, leaner, colder. His smile was thin, calculating.

"So," he said, swirling a glass of whiskey. "You're the reason Mason's been off his game."

Sienna smiled sweetly. "Or maybe I'm the reason he's finally playing it."

Mason choked on his drink.

Damian raised a brow. "Fiery. I like her."

But Sienna didn't care for the approval.

She cared about the man whose fingers tightened around hers the second the sharks started circling.

And that night, after hours of being stared at, whispered about, and scrutinized, Sienna leaned into Mason's ear during the final waltz.

"Take me home."

He didn't need to be asked twice.

Back in his penthouse, they stripped each other slowly-less urgency, more reverence. Like they needed to feel everything, remember everything.

They made love that night like two people who knew there was no turning back.

And when they lay tangled in the aftermath, Mason pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered:

"This isn't just after midnight anymore. This is every damn hour."

Sienna smiled.

Because she already knew.