Chapter 21: Velvet Knives

The bar throbbed with low bass, moody lighting, and the perfume of expensive liquor and richer intentions. Selene stepped in, one foot after the other, slow and deliberate, like a whisper meant to be heard.

Her satin dress clung to her frame in shades of crimson wine, thin straps resting on her shoulders. The slit on one side revealed just enough thigh to be enticing but not vulgar.

Paired with soft heels and a slick gloss on her lips, she looked like a sweet, innocent girl.

Her expression, however, was wide-eyed, thoughtful and hesitant. It told another story. She kept her head slightly down as she weaved through the crowd of drunk heirs and giggling heiresses. She didn’t want to be recognized yet.

Her phone buzzed. ‘Private booth. Far right.’

The bouncer guarding the rope parted the curtain for her with a respectful nod. Selene stepped into the private lounge, and instantly, the chaos outside dulled. The lighting was dimmer here—rich amber lights glowing from crystal sconces, illuminating the thick velvet of the booths.

Damien was in the far corner, a half-circle of dark leather shadowed by privacy. Three of his friends were seated with him, the low table cluttered with bottles of whiskey and half-filled glasses. When Selene entered, all four pairs of eyes turned to her.

“Elara’s sister,” one murmured. The tone was casual, but the gaze was hungry. They knew who she was—but more importantly, they knew she wasn't the one with the ring.

Damien didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at her, his dark eyes raking over her with a cold stillness that made her chest tighten—not from fear, but anticipation.

“You said ten minutes,” he finally spoke. The words were smooth but sharp.

Selene’s lashes fluttered as she approached. “I know… I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, apologetic. “The traffic into downtown was heavier than I thought.”

She looked down as she said it, wringing her fingers together like a girl caught out past her curfew. She hovered by the edge of the booth, waiting for the faintest nod from Damien. When he gave it, she slid in gracefully, perching lightly on the edge of the seat to maintain a careful distance.

One of the men passed her a drink, but she shook her head. “Thank you, but… I’m not good with alcohol,” she murmured with a shy smile. “It makes me say things I probably shouldn’t.”

“That might make you even more fun,” the man on the left laughed low.

Damien didn’t even look at the man who spoke. He simply shifted his gaze toward his friends, his eyes cold and devoid of humor. It was a silent command, one they had learned to obey years ago. Without a word, the three men picked up their drinks and slid out of the booth. They disappeared into the pulse of the main bar, leaving the heavy velvet curtains as the only thing standing between the two of them and the world.

Now, it was just the two of them. The silence in the booth became a living thing, thick and suffocating.

“I honestly thought you were with Elara earlier,” Selene began, her voice trailing off as if she realized she'd made a mistake now that they were alone. “She left the mall with you... but I was so confused when she came back with—”

Damien’s jaw didn't move, but his entire body stilled. Selene caught herself quickly. “Oh. I probably shouldn’t have said that. Forget I did.”

“Where?” he asked flatly.

Selene hesitated, playing the reluctant truth-teller. “Well… in front of the house. She was getting out of a car.” She looked up, her voice tinged with faint confusion. “I didn’t want to assume anything, but… it looked like Cassian’s. A Bentley, right?”

A beat of silence followed.

It was the kind of silence that made you build on your imagination until you arrived at the wrong conclusion, exactly what Selene wanted.

Damien’s grip around his glass tightened until his knuckles went white.

“I didn’t think much of it,” she added quickly, her tone frantic now. “I mean… they were probably just talking. But the shoes she wore this morning… I heard from one of the maids that Cassian gave them to her. All of them.”

She lifted her brows, feigning soft shock. “He brought her back… and gifted her all those beautiful things while you were out thinking of what's best for the both of you.”

Selene’s voice dropped and was filled with pity.

Damian's cheeks flushed in humiliation and he forcefully chugged down his drink.

Selene observed him with delight,her plan was working. She just had to fan the flames a little more.

“Footwear is… such an intimate gift, isn’t it? You have to really know someone. Their size. What would flatter their legs. What they’d feel beautiful in.”

She looked away, her expression unreadable. “It says a lot about how much time they've spent together, doesn’t it?”

Damien didn’t speak. But the look in his eyes was no longer blank. Selene saw the anger bloom in him, a glacial, possessive fury.

That pleased her. For once, it wasn’t about her sister being better. It was about Elara being unfaithful.

She closed the space between them just slightly. Just enough that her thigh brushed his leg as she moved closer. She smelled of white musk and golden oil—jasmine and fig—something soft and hypnotic that cut through the smell of whiskey.

She acted like she was merely adjusting herself, fixing a strap that had "accidentally" slipped a quarter-inch down her shoulder. But she could feel his attention shift. Damien’s breathing wasn’t slow anymore,both from his fury and their proximity.

She glanced at him with a careful, coy gaze. He looked at her, and for the first time, he wasn't looking at "the adopted sister."

His eyes trailed her body,his mind suddenly going back to that sweet taste in the car the other night.

‘Why should I bother about that unfaithful girl while there's a woman right here?’

He was looking at a woman who was right here, loyal, and smelling of jasmine, while his fiancée was off with his greatest rival.

Selene’s lips parted as if to say something, but she didn’t speak.

Damien set his glass down on the marble table with a heavy thud. He leaned into her space, his hand coming up to grip the back of her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a bruising pressure.

"You're very observant, Selene," he rasped, his voice dark with a dangerous new interest. "And you're right. Elara is clearly distracted. Perhaps I need someone who actually knows where her loyalties lie."

Selene didn't pull away. She leaned into the touch, her victory tasting sweeter than any wine. The game was on.