Selene's brows creased as she stirred awake.
She blinked slowly, then sat up — the soft glow of a laptop screen caught her eyes. Her gaze shifted.
There he was.
Zenon.
Seated a few feet away, one hand on the laptop, glasses resting on the bridge of his sharp nose. His face looked carved from marble, all lines and edges, serious as ever. His fingers danced across the keyboard — fast, efficient, emotionless.
She yawned quietly, voice low and teasing.
"Mr. Scary Face…"
The clock blinked on the wall. *1:46 p.m.*
She knelt on the couch, peering at him like a curious cat, then slid dramatically into the armchair beside it, whispering to herself as her fingers fidgeted.
"What can I say? What can I tell him?"
She squinted.
"Compliment? Tease? Pretend I didn't just wake up with pillow lines on my face?"
Zenon didn't look up.
Still typing.
Still perfect.
Then — he smiled.
Just a faint tug at the corner of his lips as he read something on the screen.
Selene gasped softly, covering her mouth.
*"Did he just smile? Oh no — is it because he knows I'm watching him?"*
Her face turned red. She grabbed a cushion, squealed quietly into it like a teenager.
"Vander's gonna top this," Zenon muttered to himself, eyes still on the screen. "I swear, that idiot won't see it coming."
Selene froze.
"…Is he talking to *me*?" she whispered, wide-eyed.
Zenon shut the laptop gently and crossed one leg over the other, calm as ever.
Selene sat still, hugging the cushion, unsure if she should laugh, hide, or run.
---
He stood tall, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows across the quiet parlor. His steps were slow, heavy, as he moved past the couch toward the bar. Selene, curled up on the opposite end in her oversized brown cardigan, watched him in silence.
He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass, set them both down on the table, and poured himself a drink without a word.
Selene stood from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, her voice soft.
"W-What are we celebrating, Zen?"
His eyes flicked to her, then back to the glass. "Don't touch that," he said sharply as she reached out toward the drink.
She pulled back, nodded quietly, and sat down, trying not to appear rattled.
Zenon studied her, glass in hand.
"You were waiting for me?"
Selene gave a small smile, playing with the sleeve of her cardigan. "Yes… I mean, not *you*—I was waiting for my homemade food. The one I told you to make. That's all."
His brow lifted. "Right."
He took a slow sip. The sharp scent of whiskey hung between them.
"Go to bed before you fall asleep in my arms," he said dryly, his tone low, teasing—but there was a weight behind it.
"You've been drinking…" she murmured, a little laugh slipping out. Nervous. Unsure.
"No," he replied, setting the glass down. "I've been celebrating."
He moved closer. Selene tensed as he leaned in. His breath was warm against her neck—rich with whiskey and something darker. His eyes, half-lidded from exhaustion or drink, didn't leave hers.
*Gosh, I love-hate this man.*
Before she could step back, he gently pushed her down onto the couch, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. Her breath hitched.
"You're… drunk," she whispered.
Zenon's gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips, down to her collarbone. His head dipped, lips brushing lightly against her skin, just enough to make her tremble.
He paused, forcing himself to pull away. His breath was ragged, jaw clenched like he was battling something inside him.
"Selene."
Her name left his mouth like a confession.
Then he stood, his back turning to her as he adjusted his collar. "Dress beautifully tomorrow," he said over his shoulder, voice calm again. "I plan to kill some bastards."
He walked toward the stairs without another glance, leaving the half-empty glass of whiskey behind—and Selene still lying there, breathless, confused, and undeniably shaken.
---
"Let her go or I'll pull this trigger and paint the floor red. I mean it."
A sharp, deep voice echoed in her head—then came the gunshot.
Selene bolted upright in bed, panting, drenched in sweat. Her chest heaved as she looked around the quiet room.
"Geez," she muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead. "That was insane."
She threw the sheets off, dragging her feet to the bathroom. Muffled grumbling echoed as she splashed water on her face, trying to scrub off the remnants of the dream.
Minutes later, she stepped out—still dripping wet, naked, and shivering. She headed straight for the closet.
"Look beautiful, baby girl," she said to herself with a grin, pulling out a deep navy blue gown with glittering details. The fabric shimmered under the light, hugging her skin as she slipped it over her head.
She struggled with the zipper.
"Hmm... hmm—ugh, come on."
She hopped slightly, still wrestling with it, then turned to the mirror. She froze when she caught sight of her neck. Her fingers brushed the spot where Zenon's lips had almost touched the night before.
A soft smile crept onto her face.
Click-clack. Her heels echoed through the hall as she descended the stairs, arms stretched out slightly for balance.
Zenon stood near the door, adjusting his cufflinks, eyes sharp and composed. He glanced at her.
"Is this the first time you're wearing heels?"
She rolled her eyes with all the drama she could muster.
"Oh please, I've been doing this for ages—"
Her foot twisted. She missed a step.
She would've crashed headfirst if Zenon hadn't caught her waist in time, pulling her upright like it was nothing.
"We're not acting out a romantic drama, Selene," he said flatly. "This is strictly business."
She peeled his hands off and straightened.
"I know. You don't have to remind me, Mr. Vander."
He paused, studying her face.
Then, a rare smile broke across his lips.
"Have you gotten used to being called Mrs. Vander yet?"
Selene smirked, a glint in her eye, and gave a proud nod.
"More than you think."
---
The company building was cold—too cold. Or maybe it was just the chill from the stiff suits and strange faces staring at her... again.
Selene's fingers fidgeted in Zenon's grasp, but his hand stayed clipped firmly to hers, grounding her. His attention, however, was locked on Mr. Bobby, who walked briskly beside them, spilling out corporate greetings and nervous chuckles.
She noticed something quickly—every time a man stared at her a moment too long, Zenon's cold stare would follow. Deadpan. Unblinking. Intimidating.
Selene almost laughed.
*Jealousy.*
Without a word, he pulled her gently but firmly through the wide hallway into the boardroom.
The second they stepped in, the room shifted. Men stood. Some tried to discreetly adjust their ties. A few women leaned into one another, whispering, "Is that... Mr. Vander's wife?"
All eyes were on them.
Then came applause—scattered, unsure, but polite.
Zenon walked past them like a shadow through light, straight to the head of the table. He didn't return a single greeting. No nods. No smiles.
He simply pulled the chair out, sat with deliberate calm, and crossed one leg over the other.
Silence.
A few grins faltered. Someone scratched his head, clearly embarrassed by the cold welcome. A few exchanged awkward glances.
And Selene stood beside him, biting her inner cheek to stop from smirking.
*He didn't have to say a word. The room was already under his thumb.*
---
Zenon sighed—long, low, bored.
His gaze swept over the room, eyes sharp, calculating. Everyone still stood, stiff like toy soldiers awaiting orders.
"Are you going to stand there like dumb puppets?" His voice cut through the room.
The tension snapped. A few chuckled nervously, others mumbled greetings as they awkwardly took their seats, the atmosphere now too tight, too fragile.
The secretary began the meeting, voice shaking, papers rattling in her fingers. Zenon didn't react—he simply switched the palm supporting his chin, glancing from left to right like he was watching a slow, dull parade.
Then he stopped.
Someone in the room wasn't watching the screen.
A man—Mr. Ryder—was watching Selene.
Too long. Too fixed. Too bold.
Zenon's gaze narrowed.
Selene, meanwhile, was slouched in her chair beside him, legs crossed, expression deadpan.
"What a boring day," she muttered under her breath. "I can't wait to eat burgers and binge on a movie."
She glanced at Zenon… then caught the man's stare.
"Oh… ah ah, another social riot about to happen," she whispered with an amused grin.
When the meeting finally ended, everyone stood. Bows, handshakes, stammered "Welcome, Mrs. Vander," and a few shame-faced exits.
Then—
"Mr. Ryder," Zenon called, voice ice.
The man froze mid-step.
Zenon leaned back, gaze piercing. "I don't like people… riding on my properties. Watch where those eyes go next time."
Mr. Ryder's face flushed as he gave a frantic nod and nearly bolted.
Selene sauntered over, one hand on her forehead like a dramatic actress.
"I'm dying of boredom. Someone save me."
She dropped beside him. "Two homemade meals, please. That's the payment for enduring this chaos."
One of the board members laughed. "Mr. Vander, your wife is truly a humorous one."
Zenon didn't laugh. He didn't even blink.
The man's laughter faded awkwardly.
Clearing his throat, he tried to recover. "Anyway, congratulations on ranking among the top three companies. Quite an achievement."
A pause.
"But you know… it's curious. A wife suddenly shows up from nowhere. How did you two meet?"
Zenon's heart skipped—not from nerves, but from the sudden irritation that tightened his jaw.
He didn't have a rehearsed lie. He didn't even want to explain. For a man who always had a plan, this caught him completely off guard.
His fingers twitched on the table.
Selene blinked beside him, head tilting slightly.
Waiting.
—