CHAPTER 5:THE WEDDING NIGHT MIND GAME

Selene scoffed, turned on her heel, and walked straight into the bedroom. Damien followed fast. The room felt too big, too cold—like even the walls wanted distance.

Near the bed, Selene stood with her arms crossed, while Damien leaned in the doorway, a smirk carved into his face like it belonged there.

“You seem nervous,” he murmured.

Selene gave him a look you’d never forget.

Damien stepped in slowly. The air between them was heavy—like something unseen pressed down. I just wanted the night to be over. When he finally reached her, his hand lifted, brushing her hair from her face.

“Really?” he asked low, teasing.

Selene didn’t budge an inch. She knew his games. She’d watched him toy with people, twist their emotions, shrink them down before delivering his kill shot. No way she'd let him have the satisfaction.

“I’ve said those words myself,” she whispered.

Damien hummed in amusement. His fingers trailed along her jaw—sending a shiver despite everything.

“Well, here we are,” he said softly.

Selene’s fists clenched tight.

“Okay, so what’s your big threat then?” she snapped. “Say it and get lost.”

“Threat?” Damien cocked his head. “Nah, not really, sweetheart. Just a heads-up.”

Selene held her breath—he was so close, he could’ve kissed her. And then... he didn’t.

Furious at herself for reacting, she let out a sharp breath.

“A little let down, maybe?” he mused.

Her hands trembled slightly. Damien laughed and stepped back. “I’m already here,” he said, turning and walking away. He shut the door behind him.

She lived through it that night.

---

Two days later

Selene stared into a grand mirror. Her reflection stared back in a deep red gown that clung like it had been tailored for power.

The fabric was soft—almost too soft. She looked... breathtaking.

Behind her, Damien adjusted his cuffs with a subtle, practiced flick.

“You behave tonight, okay?” he said casually, like it meant nothing.

Selene caught his eyes in the mirror. “What if I just... didn’t?”

He reached out, fixing a loose strand of her hair.

She swallowed hard, hating the squeeze that formed in her throat.

Their first official appearance as spouses—a charity gala, filled with New York’s elite.

As they walked in, all eyes turned.

Whispers floated behind champagne flutes.

How’d she get him? She doesn’t belong. She won’t last.

Damien looked unfazed. One hand rested on her waist, holding her close as he greeted moguls, CEOs, politicians like old friends.

“Smile,” he whispered softly against her ear. “Let it feel real. Maybe it’ll become real.”

A reporter approached.

“Mrs. Hawthorne,” she began, “How does it feel to marry one of the most powerful men in New York?”

Selene froze.

Damien’s fingers tightened on her waist, heat sparking beneath the fabric.

Selene forced a breath, then a laugh. “It... takes getting used to,” she said. Her voice almost sounded normal.

The reporter nodded, poised to ask more—but Damien cut in smoothly.

“Still basking in the honeymoon glow,” he said with a practiced smile.

The reporter beamed and moved on.

Selene exhaled, realizing—he’d just saved her.

---

Later, in the car

Damien reached over and grabbed her chin, firm.

“Careful, Selene,” he murmured. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it made her heart pound. Eyes blazing, Selene stared back.

Mess up once, she thought, and you’ll regret it.

When he let go, she rubbed her wrist slowly. The reminder of power between them stung.

She turned her face away. Silence thickened inside the car.

Damien sat beside her, calm—maybe too calm. He thrived on control. On watching people dance to his rhythm.

Selene gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t be one of them.

After a beat, he leaned back, that smirk tugging at his lips again.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said. His tone... held something darker, almost mocking.

“So, you think I nailed it?” she snapped.

He chuckled low.

Selene breathed in slow, trying to calm the storm rising in her. The whole night had been a battlefield of stares, whispers, reminders that she didn’t belong.

And Damien? He loved every second.

---

Outside the penthouse

The car rolled to a stop.

Selene glanced out the window. The glass tower loomed—Damien’s penthouse.

A prison. Hers, maybe.

The driver opened the door. Damien stepped out, turned, and offered her a hand.

Selene paused.

For a heartbeat, she thought of running. But where?

So she took his hand.

---

Inside the penthouse, the air shifted. No cameras. No reporters. No masks.

Damien’s charm dropped like a coat he no longer needed. He tossed his suit jacket over a chair.

“Long night,” he muttered.

Selene lingered at the center of the room, feeling his gaze settle on her.

“I’m tired,” she said, turning toward the guest bedroom.

His voice stopped her. Calm. Direct.

“And where do you think you’re headed?”

She turned slowly. “To sleep.”

“That’s not your room.”

“Seriously?”

He moved closer, expression unreadable.

“Truth?” he said, smirking. “Call it marriage.”

Her fists clenched hard. Damien reached out, trailing his fingers along her bare arm. Just a touch—and her skin burned.

She hated that.

“Anywhere,” he said lightly, “Just sleep.”

He turned, walked into the master bedroom, and left her standing alone in silence.

His voice echoed once more, faint but certain:

“Don’t forget—every move you make, I’ll be watching.”