Page 20 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

SEVENTEEN

W eeks had passed, and more pictures surfaced, and while this had been part of the plan, which I never liked, it still felt wrong. Especially since we were actually a thing, falling in deeper and deeper.

But…They were calling me his girl now.

Not Sienna Ray. Not the woman with three platinum albums, two sold-out tours, and a voice they swore healed them. Not the artist who’d kept her name clean, her head down, and her soul in the music.

Just… his.

I didn’t blame Taraj. Not really. He wasn’t the one posting the photos, making the reels, stitching old interviews with new clips of us walking into a restaurant. But still—every frame told a story I hadn’t signed off on. And every story made me smaller.

One picture in particular hit different. I was mid-laugh, hand on his chest, while he looked down at me like I was his everything. The comments were relentless.

“Y’all see how he looking at her? That’s HIS woman.”

“That’s the kinda muse I need. She glowing for him.”

“She BEEN with industry dudes. At least Raj real.”

That last one sliced clean through me. I knew exactly who they meant. One man. One regret. One moment I couldn’t undo. And though they didn’t know the details, they always smelled blood.

Even now. Even after I’d spent years making damn sure I never let another man write my narrative.

I set my phone face-down on the hotel table and walked to the window, arms crossed tight over my chest. The Pittsburgh skyline blurred through the glass, steel and gray and quiet.

I had made love to that man two nights ago. I’d let him hold me like I was fragile and sacred. Let him kiss my thighs like they carried secrets he was honored to keep. I wanted that moment to stay untouched.

But the world was twisting it and maybe that’s what scared me most—how easily I could lose myself inside something so beautiful. How much I wanted to.

My phone buzzed again. I let it ring twice before lifting it.

Jas: You okay?

Me: You see the post?

Jas: Yeah.

Jas: Also saw you looking like a damn trophy.

Me: That’s the problem.

Jas: …talk to me.

Me: They don’t care who I am, Jas. Just that I’m his. Like I’ve never had a name before.

Jas: You do have a name. You are the name. You are Sienna Raymond. Sienna Ray to them.

Jas: They can’t shrink you unless you let them.

Jas: Now take a breath and go do something with that ache.

I stared at her message for a long time. Then I tapped out one more.

Me: I’m calling Amir.

He answered on the third ring.

“Sienna?”

“I need to work,” I said. My voice was calmer than I felt. “Can I get in today?”

“You good?”

“I just… I need to move something through.”

There was a pause. Then, “Come by around four. I’ll hold the room for you.”

By the time I walked into the studio, my stomach was tight with silence. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Hadn’t slept much the night before either. I was all raw nerve and reverberating thoughts.

The space was dark, lit only by a low amber lamp near the console. Amir was already inside, hoodie on, head nodding slightly to something playing in his headphones. He looked up when I entered, eyes soft.

“Mic’s hot. The keys are yours.”

I nodded once and made my way to the booth. I took off my shoes. Let my toes press into the cool floor. That always made me feel grounded.

The keyboard was already plugged in, waiting. I sat, fingers hovering. My throat ached in that familiar way—the kind that told me the truth was sitting just behind it, waiting for permission to rise.

I didn’t ask for a track. Didn’t cue anything up.

I just… played.

Simple chords at first. Soulful, aching. Then layered progressions, soft suspensions. A storm you don’t see coming until you’re standing in it.

Then I sang. Not for him.

Not for them . Just for me.

“Say I was never more than a look in your song

A headline to hold you

A curve to lean on...

But I was a story long before you said my name

And now they forget me

In the echo of your flame… ”

My voice cracked—clean and true— and I kept going. Pouring myself out into the atmosphere. Disappearing in my pain but not only that…also into my passion and the budding of love I fought to deny.

One verse. Another. A key change. A breakdown. A wordless run that felt like conversation. And when it ended, when the last note dissolved into the quiet, I stayed still. Hands trembling. Shoulders shaking.

A tear fell. Then another. I wiped them, but not fast enough.

Amir was there before I knew it. He didn’t say anything at first—just placed a bottle of water on the stand beside me, then sat across the glass, watching me the way only someone who’s been cracked open by the craft can.

“I recorded it,” he said quietly.

I blinked.

“I hope that’s okay.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He leaned in. “You did something holy in here, Sienna.”

My throat clenched. I wasn’t ready for that.

But he didn’t push. Just sat there, holding the space like he knew how sacred this moment was.

“I’ve seen magic in this room,” he said. “But that? That was something else.”

I closed my eyes because this— this —was the part no one clapped for. The part no one captured. The part that wouldn’t trend on timelines or be used for clickbait. This was the truth.

And I’d finally found the courage to sing it.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You know,” he murmured, “for a long time… women only wanted me for the shine. The noise. The flash.”

I blinked. Still coming down.

“They didn’t know my mom’s name. Didn’t know what I was working through. Just knew what I could give them. The access. ”

I didn’t expect that. But I understood it more than I wanted to.

“Only one person ever saw me before the shine,” he added. “Before the plaques. Before the streams.”

“Amaya,” I whispered.

He nodded. “She wanted me before all of this. And she still does. She ain’t impressed by what I got—she’s moved by how I move. And when you feel that? When somebody wants your core , not just your image?” He paused. “It shifts something.”

I swallowed hard. Something thick rising in my chest.

He leaned in. “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now.

But I see how the game plays you. I see what it’s doing out there.

And I know what it feels like to be praised publicly but misunderstood privately.

To be branded as something convenient, when you’re carrying so much more than they could ever write in a caption. ”

I blinked fast. Still listening. Still hearing the last note of my song behind his words.

“You’re not somebody’s side story,” he said. “You’re the whole headline. And if they can’t see it, that’s their blindness. Not your burden.”

I pressed the bottle to my lips but didn’t drink.

“You laid something down today that was bigger than music,” he added. “It was truth. And I know pain when I hear it.”

I nodded slowly.

“And if you ever want to take that pain and build something beautiful out of it?” He cracked the faintest smile. “I got strings. Keys. Space. Just say the word.”

That made my chest ache all over again—but in a different way.

“What’s it called?” he asked, softly.

I didn’t think I had an answer but… rose from my throat like it had been waiting .

“ Echo of Your Flame. ”

“Dope. I love it,” he nodded.

I glanced over at him, voice softer now. “You ever gonna marry her?”

He leaned back, eyes warming. “When you agree to sing on the proposal track I’ve been working on.”

My lips parted, caught off guard. “Me?”

He grinned. “Amaya plays your songs on repeat like they’re scripture. If I’m gonna ask her to be my forever, I want your voice in the background.”

I didn’t say anything. Just held his gaze. Let the weight of his words sink in.

He didn’t know it, but in that moment, he gave me something back. For the first time in days, I didn’t feel reduced.

I didn’t feel reactive. I felt real and … whole again.