The gallery was full.
Not just with patrons, collectors, and influencers.
But with eyes.
And whispers.
This was Sienna Carter's night—her first solo-curated show since her name became the headline on every art blog and gossip site from Brooklyn to Berlin.
They weren't just there for the pieces anymore.
They were there to see her.
Sienna stood in the center of the room like a flame refusing to flicker. Deep mahogany skin glowing beneath an off-shoulder floor-length gown—gold silk hugging every curve like it had been poured onto her body. Her locs were pulled into a crown of soft coils and gold cuffs, lips painted the color of ripe plum, eyes sharp and unreadable.
She didn't flinch beneath the attention.
But she felt it.
Especially when she saw her.
Jade Rivers.
Art consultant.
Uptown royalty.
And once, the woman who introduced Sienna to Luca… long before the chemistry became a wildfire.
Jade wore white. Always did. It was her signature. A statement. That glowing, icy kind of beauty with 4C curls sculpted into a high top bun, cheekbones like sculpture, and a voice dipped in cashmere and challenge.
She stood near one of the centerpiece installations—a suspended body cast in bronze, contorted into a shape that could've been pain… or ecstasy.
Jade tilted her head.
Smiled like a knife.
"Beautiful piece," she said, as Sienna approached. "Is it supposed to symbolize surrender? Or is it just personal?"
Sienna didn't blink. "Why do you ask?"
Jade's smile didn't falter. "Because lately, it seems like you're curating with your legs open instead of your eyes."
A beat passed.
The room seemed to go still around them.
Sienna smiled softly. "I thought you'd outgrown petty, Jade. Or at least learned to hide it behind better language."
Jade's lips twitched.
"I don't care who you fuck, Sienna," she said. "But don't think for a second that sleeping with Luca Hayes makes you untouchable. You're not breaking barriers. You're just making it easier for people to question why you got here in the first place."
Sienna stepped closer, voice low and even.
"I'm not afraid of being questioned. I welcome it. Because the difference between us, Jade? You climbed by playing the game. I rewrote the rules."
"Is that what you call it? Letting a man dominate you in every room except this one?"
Sienna smiled again. But this time, her eyes flared.
"I let no one do anything. I chose Luca. Like I choose how I move, how I lead, and how I love. And if that threatens you? Maybe it's because your influence came from proximity. Mine came from power."
Jade's mask cracked—just a little.
But she recovered fast.
"We'll see how long it lasts," she said. "Once the shine wears off, and the world decides it's had enough of you."
And then she walked away.
Luca arrived ten minutes later—tall, broad, cocoa-brown skin gleaming against the collar of a deep navy suit. His hair cropped low, beard sharp, eyes already locked on her.
He saw the tension in her jaw.
He felt the chill in the air.
"What happened?" he asked.
Sienna didn't look at him.
"Jade happened."
He stiffened. "What did she say?"
"That I'm not revolutionary. Just convenient."
His eyes darkened. "Say the word. I'll bury her with every connection I've got."
She turned to him. "No. Let me handle it. My fight. My terms."
"How?"
"I'm going to make them all watch me win. Loud. Black. Loved. And unapologetically seen."
He touched her cheek.
"Then I'll stand beside you. Or behind you. Wherever you need me."
She leaned into his palm, her voice a whisper.
"I need you right here. With me. Proudly."
Then, without hesitation, she took his hand and led him to the center of the room.
Photographers turned.
Phones lifted.
And when Luca leaned in—pressed his lips to her temple, then whispered something only she could hear—Sienna smiled wide, regal, and dangerous.
She wasn't his shadow.
She was his equal.
And they weren't hiding anymore.
Not their love.
Not their power.
Not their Blackness.
Let the world stare.
They'd give it something worth watching.