The front door clicked shut behind me, and I expected the usual quiet. My penthouse was supposed to be a fortress of silence, a clean and empty space where no one could ever bother me. But tonight, the air smelled like burning garlic and something sweet.
I frowned, dropping my briefcase on the marble counter. Twenty-four hours. Sienna had only been living here for one single day, and already my whole routine was completely ruined.
I walked down the wide hall toward the kitchen. The bright lights were on. Standing by the stove was Sienna, trying to cook her own dinner because she stubbornly refused to let my private chef make her meals. But that wasn't even the shocking part. She had somehow spilled red sauce all over her shirt, so she had taken it off and put on one of my old black dress
