Selene sat in the grand dining hall, a black glittery gown hugging her frame, sparkling under the warm chandelier lights. Her fingers toyed with the food on her plate, pushing a lone sausage around with a fork, her mind far from her meal. The earlier encounter played on loop in her head.
*What did I even touch? What was that thing?*
*And that scar… is he a killer? A warlord? A vampire? A freaking demon prince?*
"Don't play with your food," a deep voice interrupted her spiral.
She looked up.
Zenon descended the stairs in a sleek black suit, every step calculated and annoyingly graceful. Without breaking his stride, he leaned down, stabbed a sausage from her plate with her own fork, and took a bite as he passed.
Her jaw tightened. *This man has a lot of guts.*
She scooped the last spoon into her mouth and stood, smoothing her dress. He was already outside, speaking into his phone while twirling the car keys.
"Book the hotel now. I'm not in the mood for stress," he barked into the phone.
Selene crossed her arms, catching only fragments, but enough to fuel her imagination. *A hotel? Oh perfect—his harem of side chicks must be on standby. Lovely.*
"We're meeting the Business Tiers board," Zenon turned slightly, tone clipped. "Act like my wife. And don't try anything stupid."
Before she could respond, he slipped into the car, engine already purring. But Selene stood frozen, arms still folded.
"If I'm going to act like your wife," she said, voice clear, "you'll have to act like a husband too."
Inside the car, Zenon closed his eyes and exhaled like she'd just asked him to recite a poem in Mandarin. Then, without a word, he stepped out, walked to her side, opened her door, and unceremoniously dragged her in.
"Hey!" she snapped. "That's not how you treat a lady!"
He ignored her, leaned in, and clicked her seatbelt into place with a sharp *click.*
"You'll be needing this," he muttered as he slid back into the driver's seat and floored the accelerator.
Selene blinked. *Okay then. Husband mode: activated… sort of.*
After a few minutes of silence and fast city lights blurring past the window, the car came to a slow halt. The engine purred low, then went quiet. Selene glanced at Zenon.
He leaned back against the headrest, his eyes closed, tension laced through his jaw like iron wires. She waited.
"Selene," he said softly, without opening his eyes.
"Yes?" she answered, watching him closely.
"Selene."
"I'm listening."
"Selene."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she groaned, throwing her head back, arms flopping to her sides. "How many times do you have to say my name before it *feels* serious? Do you cast spells with repetition now?" she waved her hand dramatically as if squeezing air. "Just *say* it."
He opened his eyes slowly, turned to her, and said in that even tone, "Don't ruin things for me. At least… not today. You always do."
Selene blinked, mouth parting slightly. "Yes, mister scary face."
Zenon tilted his head, almost approving. "That one I'll accept."
His voice hardened slightly as he continued, "If anyone asks about our relationship—"
"Lie and say it's the best thing that ever happened to me?" she interjected with fake enthusiasm.
"No. Say it's a private matter… and smile."
She returned a slow, sarcastic grin. "Of course. Because *that* is the truth."
"And don't linger in unnecessary conversations. Meet me on the third floor—there's a garden. Wait for me there if I'm not back on time."
She raised a brow, serious now. "I hope this doesn't turn into some Shakespearean tragedy. I'm allergic to poison and daggers."
Zenon didn't laugh. He looked her straight in the eyes.
"Selene… where we're going is dangerous. Don't lose guard."
Her grin faded.
She nodded once, eyes steady.
"Understood."
---
Men and women dressed in sleek black strolled through the grand hall, glasses of champagne clinking, laughter buzzing beneath the golden chandeliers. The air smelled of perfume, old money, and masked intentions.
A woman across the room caught sight of Zenon and smiled—flirty, bold.
Selene's arm tightened around his.
"Hmph," she muttered, turning her face away and looking straight ahead, jaw clenched.
Zenon glanced down at her, still typing on his phone with one hand. "Are you jealous?"
"No," she said, too quickly.
"Then why are you gripping my arm like you're afraid I'll run off with her?"
"Hey, don't take this for anything, okay?" she snapped, eyes flicking up at him. "I'm just doing my job."
Zenon gave an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay. I get it."
They walked in silence for a beat. Then—
"Zenon!"
A woman in her late fifties approached with practiced elegance—heels clicking, makeup flawless, grace untouched by time. Her smile lit up the room.
Selene blinked. *Geez… is that Mrs. Ava Vander? Why do I suddenly feel older than her? She's stunning.*
Zenon slipped his arm from Selene's as he stepped forward to receive a warm hug from his mother.
"She's beautiful, son," Mrs. Ava said, eyes studying Selene with quiet approval.
Zenon looked away, reluctant to agree.
"I'm Selene, madam," Selene said sweetly, offering her hand. "Is your son always this way? He's so… arrogant."
She smiled, side-eyeing Zenon with mock irritation.
Zenon rolled his eyes. "Pot calling kettle black."
Mrs. Ava laughed. "Don't mind him. He's always been this way. You know how men are with their egos."
Selene leaned slightly toward Zenon and whispered with a smirk, "Told you I'm good at winning hearts."
Before he could respond, a bald man in a designer suit approached, bowing slightly.
"Mrs. Vander, it's an honor to have you here."
Mrs. Ava chuckled. "Please, it's Ava. *She's* the new Mrs. Vander."
She turned and gently placed her hand on Selene's shoulder with pride.
Selene froze slightly, blinking, then quickly smiled. It stretched across her face—wide, sweet, calculated. She glanced at Zenon for a cue.
He looked at her with that unreadable expression that screamed: *You're smiling too much.*
Her smile faltered instantly, dropping to something more neutral.
The man stepped forward, offering Selene a handshake. "A pleasure, Mrs. Vander."
His hand lingered—fingers slow to let go, eyes holding hers too long.
"That's enough of the pleasantries," Zenon said, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on Selene's shoulder.
Selene raised a brow. *Do people enjoy grabbing my shoulder or what? This thing should start charging rent—it's clearly in high demand.*
---