Sienna Winters stared at the rejection email for the third time. It was almost like a cruel joke at this point.

"Dear Ms. Winters, we regret to inform you that your manuscript, Fading Hearts, does not meet the current needs of our list."

She let out a breath and clicked the email shut, resisting the urge to throw her laptop out the window. The thing was, she wasn't even angry anymore. Not really. Just tired. Tired of the endless "add more steam" notes, tired of the forced tropes that publishers seemed to think were necessary for a book to be successful, and tired of sacrificing her own voice just to make someone else's idea of love seem more marketable.

The problem wasn't her writing; it was her refusal to cave into the industry's demands. She wasn't one of those writers who needed to spice up a love scene with exaggerated moans or graphic details. She believed in something real, something authentic—the kind of love that could be felt in a glance, a touch, a stolen moment.

She picked up her coffee mug, now cold, and sipped anyway, cringing at the bitter taste. "Why even bother?" she muttered to herself. "Maybe I should just write what they want. Maybe that's the only way to make it. Just add a little more sex, a little more heat, and it'll all be fine." But no.

Her phone buzzed, and her heart skipped a beat. She half-expected it to be another rejection from a different publisher. Instead, it was a message from her agent, Riley.

Riley: "Did you see the new feedback from Ethan Blackwell at Harper & Co? They say your book needs more "emotionally charged intimacy." You know what that means, right?"

Sienna's reply was blunt: "Tell them I'm not changing it."

She put the phone down, rubbing her eyes, knowing full well that Riley would probably try to convince her to reconsider. But there was no point. She wasn't going to sell out. If she had to, she'd quit writing altogether.

A knock at the door made her jump, and before she could respond, the door swung open.

Ethan Blackwell, the last person she wanted to see today, leaned casually against the doorframe, holding a coffee cup. His signature smirk was firmly in place, and he was dressed in the kind of effortless style that made every woman in the room wonder how he made it look so easy.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, irritated despite herself.

"I came to deliver some much-needed feedback, of course," Ethan replied, stepping inside. "Although, if I'd known you were in this state, I might have reconsidered."

She shot him a glare. "I'm fine. Just another rejection letter from a publisher who thinks my book needs more 'passion'."

Ethan took a sip of his coffee and raised an eyebrow. "More passion? Is that code for 'more sex scenes'?"

Sienna gritted her teeth. She didn't want to get into this again, but something about the way Ethan always looked at her as though he had it all figured out set her off. "It's not about sex scenes, Ethan. It's about writing love that feels real. Not some quick fling or a one-night stand wrapped in a pretty bow."

He set his coffee cup down on the counter, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You know, the industry thinks you're selling yourself short."

"Oh, please. Don't come here lecturing me about what the industry thinks. You're the one pushing me to write more explicit scenes every time we talk."

He stepped closer, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "I'm just saying, if you want to get published, you might need to adapt."

Sienna crossed her arms. "And what, completely change my writing style? I'm not doing that, Ethan. I'm not turning my love story into something it's not just to please a few readers looking for a quick fix."

Ethan's gaze softened for a split second, then returned to its usual confident, knowing self. "So what's your plan then? Just keep writing your stories and hoping someone will see the potential?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I have a better idea."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And that is?"

She leaned in, her voice low but firm. "I bet I can write a bestselling romance without a single explicit scene. No sex, no cheap thrills. Just pure emotional connection. And if I win, you publish it as it is. No changes, no edits, no adding anything just to make it more... marketable."

Ethan chuckled, crossing his arms. "That's cute, Sienna. But you really think you can pull that off?"

She smirked back. "I'm willing to bet you a hundred grand I can."

He took a moment, considering her words, before nodding slowly. "Alright, deal. But when you fail—and trust me, you will—I get to rewrite your book however I see fit."

Sienna didn't flinch. "Deal. But just so you know, I'm not failing. Romance doesn't need to be about the physical. It's all about the emotional connection. And I'm going to prove it to you."