Selene couldn't ask him to repeat it—she'd heard him clearly.
He checked his watch, then looked back at her, waiting.
She stood frozen, palms damp, brain screaming, He's not serious. He's actually serious.
"Okay… okay," she whispered to herself, fingers finding the zipper. "This is fine. Totally fine. Just undressing in front of a stranger in a parking lot—nothing weird about that at all."
The zipper caught halfway.
She hissed, tugged harder. "Great. Now it's stuck. Perfect timing."
After a quick struggle and another muttered curse, the zip finally slid down. The gown loosened and slipped off her shoulders, revealing a black singlet and blue shorts underneath. She clutched the dress to her chest like a security blanket.
"See? Not naked. Just humiliated," she muttered, folding the floral fabric carefully over her arm.
Zenon pressed a button on the car key. The vehicle clicked open, quiet and expensive.
Selene reached for the front door—but it didn't move.
"The back," he said. The words were clipped, final.
She stared at him for a beat, then sighed, her dignity slipping right along with the gown.
"Right. Of course. The back seat. Because why stop the humiliation halfway?"
Sliding in, she exhaled hard and whispered to herself,
"Nice going, Selene. Propose to a man, strip for him, and still end up in the back seat. You're really killing it tonight."
He drove smoothly, the car humming with quiet power—expensive, sleek, and cold, just like him. The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating. After what felt like forever, he finally glanced at her through the rear-view mirror.
Selene caught his gaze and made a silly face—something childish, like blehh.
He looked away, jaw tight. What an annoying woman, he cursed inwardly.
Marry me.
The words replayed in his head, sharp and absurd. Of all the things he'd heard today, that was the one that wouldn't stop echoing.
Selene cleared her throat softly. "A clean contract marriage… to convince the tiers," she said, meeting his eyes again through the mirror. Her voice trembled a little, but she tried to sound confident.
The car suddenly slowed to a stop with a low hiss. Zenon leaned forward, resting one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the driver's seat, his cold gaze meeting hers in the mirror.
"Hey—are we trying to commit suicide here?" she blurted, gripping the edge of her seat.
"Get out," he said, his tone cutting through the air like ice.
Her stomach dropped.
Selene looked at him, wide-eyed.
Oh no, Selene… what did you just say? she scolded herself silently, biting her lip. This man will kick you out of the car like a puppet any second now.
"I can marry you," she blurted out before her brain could stop her.
Zenon finally turned his head, his expression unreadable.
"I'm not interested in marriage," he said flatly.
---
Selene sat up straighter in the back seat, her grip firm on her floral gown, voice steady despite the storm in her chest.
"You need this too," she said, locking eyes with him through the mirror. "Don't let pride make you lose what you've built, Mr. Vander."
Zenon didn't answer right away. Instead, he gave a slow, amused smirk and turned slightly in his seat to face her, his amber eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"I like it when little flowers pretend they've grown thorns," he said, voice low and mocking. "Brave… and foolish."
Selene flinched inwardly but held his gaze.
"You think a contract marriage is some kind of Romeo and Juliet fantasy?" he continued, the smirk sharpening. "Do you even understand what it means to be my wife?"
Her breath hitched.
*His wife.* Not just a deal. Not just a solution.
Mrs. Vander.
The name slammed into her like a tidal wave. Her throat tightened, the weight of the title suddenly suffocating
---
The meetings. The cameras. The dinners and business negotiations—*all* with her standing beside him as *Mrs. Vander*.
Why hadn't she thought of that?
Her pulse quickened. That title wasn't just a name; it was a position. A performance. A storm waiting to swallow her whole.
Her spiraling thoughts were cut short by his voice—deep, hoarse, laced with irritation.
*"Why do you want to do this shit?"*
Selene blinked. *This shit?* Her lips parted slightly, almost offended.
He really had no filter.
She bit the inside of her cheek. *What kind of man calls marriage "shit"… and still looks like a cover model while doing it?*
But he hadn't driven off. He hadn't kicked her out. He was talking. That was something.
She sat up straighter, swallowing her pride.
*"Because we'll both benefit,"* she said calmly, despite the thunder in her chest.
Zenon tilted his head slightly, as if weighing her every syllable.
The silence was heavy, but she didn't flinch.
Let him scoff. Let him smirk.
But let him *listen*.
---
The engine purred to life as Zenon restarted the car.
*"I hope you have an address,"* he said, eyes fixed on the road. *"Because I'm dropping you off. This discussion is over."*
Selene blinked, her brows furrowing. *So that's it?*
She leaned her head against the window, resting her chin on her palm, watching the city blur past.
*No, seriously… this man is annoyingly handsome. Why do the cruel ones always get the good genes?*
Her eyes wandered to his sharp jawline, his perfect posture behind the wheel—*so calm, so untouchable.*
*Rich men and their so-called charisma,* she scoffed inwardly.
But her heart sank. Time was running out. She couldn't afford to walk away empty-handed. She needed this… no, she *deserved* a chance.
*How I wish I were a fairy,* she mused bitterly. *One wand wave and poof—problem solved. No desperate deals. No arrogant billionaires.*
*"Get off."*
The harsh voice yanked her back to reality.
She blinked again. The car had come to a stop. They were in front of Karen's apartment—the "hostage house," as Selene liked to call it.
*What?! No "thank you for the ride"? No fake smile? That's how you drop off a lady?*
She opened the door, muttering under her breath.
*"You don't even get five stars for this ride."*
Then she *slammed* the door—loud enough for him to feel it—before walking off without a second glance.
The car idled for a few seconds, then slowly drove off into the night.
—
---
Selene walked into the apartment, the door creaking behind her. Loud, chaotic music blasted from the parlor—of course Karen was in one of *those* moods again.
She didn't bother asking her to turn it down. She was too tired to argue.
Karen called out a lazy, *"You're late!"* with a sugary edge that made Selene wince.
*"Good evening to you too,"* she mumbled dryly, dragging herself past the noise, swaying like a drunk. Her legs felt like lead.
She reached her room, kicked the door closed behind her, and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
*"Six months,"* she whispered, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above her.
*"Just six months…"*
Her fingers curled slightly over her stomach as a wave of anxiety rose. The memory of Zenon's cold voice, his face, the arrogance in his smirk—they all came flooding back.
She sighed, letting her body melt into the mattress as the cooler air kissed her skin. The fan hummed in rhythm with her thoughts.
*"Zenon Vander…"* she whispered.
And then, she slipped into sleep.
---