Page 24 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

TWENTY-ONE

I wasn’t in the room when they decided how to sell us.

Not at the café. Not on the calls. Not when the storyboards were passed around.

Jalen had pulled up on me yesterday, trying to keep it light. Tried to spin it like a win.

“They want to lead with the chemistry,” he said, flashing that label-polished grin like it was good news. “Soft shots. Real light. Her voice over yours. The way y’all look at each other? That’s the hook.”

He sat back like he expected a fist bump or a thank you. But I didn’t give him either. Instead, I let silence stretch, then leaned forward slow. “You tell me why I wasn’t there when that was decided.”

Jalen blinked. “I figured it was more of a visual strategy thing—marketing. Keesha and Barry had already scoped some rough ideas, and?—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He exhaled. “Look, Raj, it’s not personal. We’ve gotta move fast on this, and Sienna?—”

“Sienna was there.”

My voice dropped, tight and low. “And y’all sent the assistant to ask me after the fact. Like I’m a prop.”

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

“Come on, man. You’re not?—”

“You ever been treated like packaging for someone else’s purpose?” I asked. “Like your talent is decoration instead of the reason we’re even here?”

His mouth opened. Closed again.

“I wrote Dangerous Love. That’s my story in those bars. My blood in those lyrics.” My voice tightened. “And I was nearly killed behind another deal where people decided my value for me.”

Jalen froze—not flinching, but definitely clocking the weight behind the words.

“I’ve played this game quiet. Humble. Patient. Let the music speak.” I leaned in, my voice low and steady. “But don’t confuse that with being passive. You know who my father is.”

The room held still. No raised voices. No threats. Just the sharp shift in air when somebody remembers who they’re sitting across from.

“I don’t want problems,” I continued, “but I’m not above solving them—permanently—if it comes to that. I’ve had to once before.”

Jalen swallowed. The flicker in his eyes wasn’t fear—it was recognition. A recalibration.

Because for the first time, he saw it. Not just the legacy. The bloodline. But what it meant when it lived in me too.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice lower now. “I should’ve looped you in sooner. That’s on me.”

I didn’t blink. Just sat back, let the silence stretch, my pulse steady.

Now here we were. I’d said my piece. And I was still on the outside.

When my dad asked how shit was going and my silence became the answer, he started talking about getting with Eli and I regretted not filling that space in with something.

No one wanted Eli to become Maestro . All of a sudden, the label would be asking me where Jalen had disappeared to, and I would know Jalen wasn’t ever going to turn up. Nah.

So I told him I had it handled and the truth was, I felt close to that point where I’d leave all this good boy shit alone and show them who the fuck I could be, but Sienna’s smile filled my mind and that wasn’t the man I wanted to be for her.

Speaking of her…I knew what this was. The whole pairing—this moment, this rollout—sparked off Night Things. My shit. My sound. But Sienna? She was the headline. The return. The golden voice they were betting on.

And I didn’t mind that. But I wasn’t about to be the background beat in someone else’s ballad.

“Yo,” Amir said, tugging the mic closer. “She told the execs no fake chemistry. Said if they want magic, they gotta let it breathe. No script.”

That didn’t surprise me.

It sounded like her. Unbothered. Unmoved. Uncompromising .

Still, it hit me sideways because honesty’s a bitch when you’re not sure where you stand in it.

“She’s cool with recording the engagement track too,” Amir added. “I asked her myself. She said yeah.”

My chest went tight.

He’d asked if I could write something for him and Amaya—something true. Something lasting. Of course I’d said yes.

I just didn’t know she’d be singing on it.

Another duet.

Another song that wasn’t ours —but might still split me open.

“She say anything else?” I asked.

“Just that she’d be here around five. Coming alone.”

That’s how she’d been moving.

Solo. Guarded. Not cold. Just… locked up.

“She been texting you?” Amir asked.

“Yeah. Studio stuff. Nothing personal.”

He nodded. I didn’t. Because it was getting personal. Even in her silence.

Especially in the spaces where her voice used to live. And Dangerous Love was still unfinished. Because what’s a song about longing—without the woman you long for in the room?

Amir had been watching me silently. The way I would watch him when he was going through it with Amaya. As if he could read my thoughts he said, “I remember when that shit had me twisted,” he said, laughing.

“Back when Amaya was acting like we were just ‘good friends’ and I was eating her shrimp fried rice like it wasn’t breaking my heart.”

That pulled a real smile from me. “You were down bad.”

He pointed. “Still am. But it’s worth it. When you’re in the thick of it, you can’t see the forest for the trees.”

I looked away, jaw flexing.

Because yeah… I was deep in it. Deeper than I meant to be .

Before I could respond, he clapped my shoulder. “We lay this right, it’ll be a classic. One run, catch the feel. Photogs stepping in later—just some raw stuff. BTS energy.”

I nodded.

But the quiet stayed with me.

That ache that came when you started to feel like background in your own story.

And yet, I stayed. Because something in me believed the door wasn’t fully shut.

Sienna arrived twenty minutes later.

Myles too—laughing, dapping up the team with that easy energy he always carried. But I didn’t clock him at first. Not when she stepped in.

Her skin shimmered golden-brown beneath the soft lights, like she’d rushed to get here but still looked composed.

Effortless. Her curls pulled into a low puff, a few rebellious spirals dancing over her cheekbones.

No lipstick. No gloss. Just her—bare, beautiful, unguarded in a way that made my chest tighten.

Her eyes scanned the room, sharp and focused. But when they brushed over me—just for a moment—I felt it. That flicker of something real. Recognition. Then… distance.

We ran the track once. Then again.

The song was intimate—slow piano, soft strings, barely-there percussion. It rose like breath and dropped into stillness, the kind of space you needed when love was trying to say something.

I laid the foundation. She followed. But on the third run… something changed. The wall around her cracked. Her shoulders dr opped. Her voice opened. And the bridge—low, warm, aching—it shifted the whole damn room.

She didn’t perform it. She lived it. And for that moment, I knew she wasn’t thinking about campaign strategy or headlines. She was feeling. Maybe not me , maybe not us —but something that softened her.

I watched her mouth form the final words. Watched her chest rise. Her eyes closed for a second too long. I felt it in my chest. Deep. When she caught me looking, she didn’t look away.

The track faded. Dangerous Love was done.

“Perfect,” Amir said. “We’re good. Myles—go ahead and prep the stems.”

He gave me a look. “I’m out. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “We’re good.”

He nodded and left, reading the air like the pro he was.

Now it was just us.

The lights dimmed to amber. The blackout windows blurred the world outside.

And suddenly it felt like everything was holding its breath.

She stood at the console, arms crossed, the faintest shimmer still glowing on her collarbone. A delicate gold chain rested just above the dip of her throat.

I stepped closer. Not all the way. Just enough to feel her there.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice quiet.

She hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You sounded beautiful,” I said. “That bridge? You brought it to life.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine. “You wrote it.”

I shrugged. “Wrote it for a friend. Didn’t know it’d hit like that when you sang it.”

She paused.

I could feel the hesitation hanging between us like smoke.

“I heard about the campaign,” I said. “What you asked for. No fake shit. No curated storylines. You were right to say it.”

She tensed. “If you think I?—”

“I don’t.” I cut in, gentle. “I respect it. I do . I just… I wanna feel like I’m in it with you. Not watching from the outside.”

Her mouth parted. Then closed. Her eyes softened—like she wanted to believe me, but didn’t know if she could.

“Sienna…” I stepped in, slow. “It’s not about the rollout. Or the cameras. Or even what they see.”

I swallowed, my voice low. “It’s you. I just need to know I’m not losing something that never even got to be .”

She looked up—really looked and the distance dropped away. Only the memories of what we’d created in and out of the booth were visiting with us.

Her voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just—everything got loud. Too many eyes. Too many people with plans for us.”

“And none of ’em asked me,” I said. “Jalen works for me . But I wasn’t even in the room.”

Her face changed. “It wasn’t my intent to be a part of that experience for you.”

“I know. But it made me feel like…”

I exhaled. “Like maybe I wasn’t the star in this story. Just a placeholder.”

Her eyes shone. And she stepped closer.

“You were never a placeholder,” she said softly. “You were the spark, and I, of all people, should have made sure you knew that because that had been my fear all along.”

I reached for her hand. Laced our fingers together like muscle memory.

“You still want this?” I asked. “Whatever this becomes?”

She nodded slow. “If we get to build it our way.”

I kissed her then.

Soft. Certain. Honest. Her lips parted with a sigh I felt in my bones. In the place where music and meaning met. And when we broke apart, her lashes fluttered. She was still close—this time, not out of obligation, but choice.

“That wasn’t part of the image,” she whispered.

I traced her cheek with my thumb, slow. “Then let’s create something they can’t package.”

Because this was ours. The only real thing in a world of edits and frames. And when she leaned into me again—she stayed.