Never Felt This Dangerous
The moment I stepped into the Wolfe penthouse, I knew I'd made a mistake.
The air reeked of danger disguised as luxury—whiskey-aged secrets, silent threats in designer heels, and that invisible layer of cocaine clinging to champagne flutes. Spotlights glittered off every diamond, every sequin. The entire room buzzed like a live wire dipped in wealth and whispered betrayal.
I didn't belong here.
But I held my chin high and made sure my heels struck the marble like a dare.
Let them whisper. Let them gawk. That's what they wanted, right? The scandal queen herself—Selene Blackwood, crawling back into the same high society that exiled her three years ago.
This time, I wasn't crawling.
I was hunting.
I took a glass of champagne and sipped with practiced grace, ignoring the heat climbing my spine.
Then I saw her.
Vivienne Wolfe.
Lucian's sister. Ice in red satin. She moved toward me like she didn't walk—she glided, all venom and silk and flawless disdain.
"Selene Blackwood," she purred, lips barely hiding a smirk. "Still dragging chaos behind you like a train?"
I smiled. Fake. Polished. The kind I learned in courtrooms and funerals.
"Vivienne," I said. "Still speaking like a villain in a stage play?"
Her grin twitched.
One point for me.
"You're brave, showing up here," she said, leaning in close. "You do know *he's* here."
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
I already *felt* him.
Lucian Wolfe.
My lungs forgot how to work. My entire body turned to static.
And then—I turned.
He stood across the room, leaning against the bar like a scene carved out of sin and sculpted in Armani. Black suit, darker eyes, the same cruel mouth that used to kiss like it was tearing me apart. He was staring straight at me, like I was the last secret he didn't get to break.
I turned back to Vivienne.
"Tell him to keep his distance."
But it was too late.
He was already walking toward me.
---
I took a single step—and my heel caught on the damn rug.
I stumbled.
Fast hands caught me before I fell. Familiar hands.
Lucian's.
He smelled like trouble and memory. His grip was warm steel. His smirk? Infuriating.
"Still clumsy," he murmured. "Some things never change."
"Neither do narcissists," I shot back, straightening.
Our eyes locked. And for a moment, the room disappeared.
I could feel it—the danger, the electricity, the heat rising between us like smoke from an old fire we never put out.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"Neither should you," I whispered.
He stepped closer. Too close. My breath hitched. His voice dropped.
"You're going to start a war walking back into my life like this."
I stared up at him, unblinking. "Then you better win, Wolfe."
His smile vanished.
And just like that, the mask slipped.
For a second, I saw it—everything he wasn't saying. The fury. The hunger. The regret.
And something else...
A warning.
"Careful, Selene," he said darkly. "You never did know when to run."
---
I left before he could finish the sentence. I didn't run—but I didn't stay either.
Because staying?
Would have been the real mistake.
But as I walked away, I felt his eyes on me like fingerprints against my spine.
And I knew\...
This wasn't over.
Not even close.