Page 22 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

NINETEEN

T he hotel room was quiet, but my thoughts weren’t.

I stood barefoot near the floor-to-ceiling window, arms folded, robe loose around me, looking down at Pittsburgh from the thirty-second floor.

Everything below was a blur of amber streetlamps and the slow drag of traffic.

I could still hear the echo of my own voice in the studio hours earlier—raw, unfiltered, real.

That song hadn’t been for them. It was for me.

For the ache sitting in the center of my chest that I’d carried too long without naming.

And yet… Amir had heard it because there was no way he couldn’t but I didn’t expect what came next, after he hit record and Brielle called.

“They heard it, Sienna. Amir sent Echo of Your Flame to the execs.”

I was still in the back seat then. Dre driving, steady hands on the wheel. Eyes on the road, but I could tell he felt the shift in the air the moment my phone rang.

“What do you mean they heard it ?”

My voice had come out harsher than I intended.

“They’re obsessed,” she said, completely ignoring my angst. “Talking about lead single potential. But that’s not the point— girl, what was that? I haven’t heard you like that in years.”

I hadn’t responded. Not really.

Because I didn’t have the words.

Until now.

My phone lit up again. A message from him—again.

Raj:

Still on for tomorrow?

I’ll probably be late. Wrapping something for the drop.

But I’ll be there.

Unless you don’t want me to be.

That last line made my stomach pull. He felt it—the distance.

Not just in the days we hadn’t spoken, but in what had been said without words. The pause. The ache underneath my silence. The way I hadn’t responded to the footage, the headlines, the noise.

But this—this was him reaching anyway.

There was another message right behind it.

Raj:

Also…

I heard the track. Still hearing it.

That was something else. Because you let yourself be vulnerable and free.

My breath caught.

Because he hadn’t just listened. He’d heard me.

Not the branded version of myself. Not the media-trained woman who knew which angles flattered and which notes soared. He heard what I buried. What I’d let spill without armor.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

I considered not replying. Considered letting the silence speak for me, just a little longer. But I couldn’t.

Me:

It wasn’t meant for anyone to hear.

But I’m… glad you did.

The dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then returned again.

Raj:

Maybe it was meant.

Just not for everyone.

You sounded like somebody remembering herself .

My throat tightened.

Because that was exactly what it was. A remembering. A return and the scariest part was I didn’t know if I could stay there.

The screen dimmed in my hand, but I didn’t move to lock it. Just pulled the blankets higher, clutching them to my chest like they could keep the truth from spilling out of me completely.

That track was mine but now it was something else. Something more.

Just like him.

He wasn’t just a feature anymore. He was the melody I couldn’t stop humming in my head. A vibration under my skin I hadn’t asked for but could no longer ignore.

My thighs still held the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he’d sung my name without needing a mic.

I should’ve felt powerful. But instead, I felt like a woman caught in a verse she didn’t write… but couldn’t stop singing.