Sienna’s to-do list: graduate, avoid her father’s dodgy debts, and definitely not climb Harrison’s abs. Too bad the city’s scariest banker shoots her psycho fiancé, declares she’s his, and pins her to his desk chair like she’s the next IPO. Now she’s under house arrest in a penthouse that smells like sin and cedar, wearing his ring the size of a hockey puck, and he still hasn’t buttoned his shirt.
Tonight he’s taking her to a gala where every socialite wants her dead, he’s growling ‘mine’ against her throat in the elevator, and she just spotted the new villain loading a gun outside the champagne fountain. If she survives the evening, she still has to survive the honeymoon. Harrison’s already picked the soundtrack. And the handcuffs.