CHAPTER 7: SHATTERED COMPOSURE

CHAPTER 7: SHATTERED COMPOSURE

SELENE'S POV

Where did he go? How—how did he just vanish? He was here. He was literally here seconds ago. There’s no escape route, no door, no window—nothing. The space beside me is still humming with the memory of him, like the air itself hasn’t quite caught up to his disappearance. My chest tightens as I spin in place, frantic eyes darting over every inch of the room as if a hidden trapdoor might materialize if I stare hard enough.

I blink rapidly, trying to stitch the scene together, trying to force my brain into coherence. Okay… what the living hell just happened? I thought… he… He was… no, no, no, that makes no sense. My head reels, my heart hammers, and the silence only amplifies the storm spiraling inside me.

“Are you okay, Selene? Why are you looking over there?”

My sister’s voice cuts in, sharp and grounding. She sounds more bewildered by me than anything else, her brows pinched as she follows my frantic gaze. I can’t answer. I can only stare at that empty space, wide-eyed, desperate to make sense of the impossible.

How the hell did he do that?

Her hand grips my shoulder, warm and insistent, shaking me until my bones rattle, dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts. I flinch and snap my head toward her, blinking rapidly, pulling myself back into the present. Her expression is pointed, demanding, the kind of look that makes me squirm like a guilty child. I manage a weak, nervous smile, scratching at my neck with restless fingers, the habit I can never seem to break.

She notices, of course. She always notices. Stepping back, she crosses her arms, instantly slipping into that exasperated, parental posture.

“You had better tell me everything right now, Selene. Like I said earlier, if you can’t, then there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to help you. Because, honestly? You’re in a big mess. Mom and Dad are practically boiling over back at home. It took the security guards and me to stop them from storming over here themselves.”

Her words are knives in soft flesh, cutting clean. My lips tremble, my gaze wandering the room, desperately searching for a lifeline that isn’t there.

God, this is bad. So bad. Terrible. Horrible beyond measure.

Lyra follows my eyes, her face hardening as she scans the room like a detective, like she expects to piece together the wreckage of my night from the shadows in the corners. The tension in her frown makes my stomach clench tighter.

“Do you care to explain to me what the hell happened here?”

The dryness in my throat makes swallowing feel like sandpaper. My laugh comes out high and brittle, a nervous sound, as my fingers once again claw at my neck. Anything to distract. Anything to stall.

Good Lord, I need help. I need something, anything, to pull me out of this pit. I just need to get home first, breathe, calm down, then maybe—maybe—I’ll figure out how to untangle this nightmare.

“Goodness me, I heard something happened to my baby!”

The familiar, melodic voice crashes into the room, and both our heads whip toward the door. Relief washes through me the instant I see Morganna glide in, radiant as ever, polished and dazzling, carrying her presence like a crown. Thank the gods—salvation, in the form of my best friend.

I exhale shakily, gratitude flooding me as she swoops in. Lyra, of course, rolls her eyes.

“Hey, Morganna,” I say, relief dripping from every syllable as she pulls me into a fierce hug.

Her eyes search me frantically, her hands skimming my arms as if checking for wounds. “What the hell happened? Are you okay? Where were you all night? We were all practically sick with worry!”

I chuckle nervously, flicking a glance at Lyra—whose skeptical, narrowed stare only makes me shift uncomfortably.

“Uhm… nothing. Just my absurd attempt at drowning away my sorrows,” I mutter, rubbing my arm, wishing the floor would open up.

Morganna’s brow creases instantly. “Is it because of what your dad said?”

Her words are daggers straight into my chest. Pain surges back into me, fresh, raw, and stinging as though the wound had never closed. My throat burns as I fight the tears threatening to spill. His words—those cruel, heavy words—are carved into my heart, and now the ache roars back in merciless waves. I bite down hard, but the tears slip free anyway, streaking my cheeks before I can stop them.

“Oh, Selly…” Morganna breathes, her arms wrapping me tighter, cradling me as if she could shield me from every jagged thing. “You should have come to me instead of this.”

And then, sharp as a blade:

“I guess that’s enough for today. Thanks, Morganna. I’ll take it from here.”

Lyra’s voice cuts in, tugging me from her embrace. My head snaps toward her, frowning. What the hell is she doing now?

Morganna stiffens, her lips parting. “I was just—”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re doing. But this is family business, not something a friend should be sticking her nose into.”

What the actual fuck? I gape at her, the venom in her words striking like whiplash. Why so cruel? Why now?

“That’s rude, Lyra,” I snap, heat flooding my voice, my temper clawing its way upward. Her hostility has been festering ever since Morganna entered my life, and I’ve had enough.

Lyra meets my glare, then sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. But this isn’t the time for arguments. Selene, we need to leave right now, unless you want Mom and Dad’s wrath unleashed on you for your rebellion.”

Her words cut deeper than I want to admit. I flinch, my expression falling. She notices. She always does. Her face softens quickly.

“Selene, please. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“No, it’s fine.” My voice comes out brittle, shaking. “You’re right. I’m the family rebel, after all. I’ll just head out and—”

“Selene. No. Please, you have to listen.”

She reaches for me, but I rip my arm away, fury pulsing hot in my veins. The anger, the pain, the heaviness in my chest—it all comes crashing down at once. I can’t breathe under the weight.

Why is she like this with Morganna? Always resentful, always sharp-tongued, as if my best friend were poison. I’ve tried to smooth the edges, tried to mediate, but nothing works. I’ve given up on fixing it, and yet here it is, erupting at the worst possible time, when my world is already on fire.

She looks apologetic, yes—but right now, I don’t care.

“Selene, please. I’m sorry. Let’s not fight now. Let me help you.”

And then my phone explodes with sound, shrill and merciless, cutting through the tension like a blade. My stomach plummets. Dad’s name burns on the screen like a curse.

Oh shit.

My lips tremble. Fear seizes me, rooting me to the floor, stealing my breath. My anger vanishes, drowned under a tidal wave of dread. I know exactly what waits for me—his wrath, his punishment, the crushing weight of being a Ravencroft and stepping out of line.

I glance at Lyra, wide-eyed. She sees it all written across my face. She lifts her hands in surrender.

“Alright. I know we’ve got our issues, but let’s put them aside. I’ve got a fresh set of clothes in the car. We need to get you home before Dad finds out anything more. And remember—you still need to tell me what the hell happened here.”

“I’ll get the clothes,” Morganna says quickly, slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with Lyra’s piercing scrutiny.

Her sigh is heavy, dragging the air down with it. I can see her holding back words, the ones she wants to hurl but chooses to choke down instead. Finally, she turns away.

“Give me a few seconds. I’ll check with hotel security. We need to make sure whatever happened here doesn’t get out and tarnish the family name.”

Of course. Always the family name. Always the reputation.

When the door shuts behind her, my body collapses. I slump against the bed, burying my face in my hands, a broken sound rattling out of me.

Gods. What is all this? What’s happening to me?

“Well, that was a close call.”

The voice—deep, silky, sin laced into every syllable—slams into my ears. I jerk upright, my heart vaulting into my throat.

He’s there. Back again. The gorgeous, devastating devil of a man, standing smug and unbothered, still naked, as if reality itself bends to his will.

“What the fuck…”

He chuckles, dark and low, stepping closer, his eyes flicking to the closed door as if amused by how near disaster had brushed us.

“What? How did you… where did you—”

My words fracture as his chuckle rolls over me, powerful, mocking.

“We’re strangers, after all,” he says smoothly, his grin infuriatingly sure. “I don’t expect you to know much about me.”

Instinct makes me retreat, my foot catching on the displaced rug. My world tilts. I stumble backward, bracing for the hard, merciless crash of the floor.

But then—wind. A blur, swift as shadows slicing the air.

Suddenly, I’m not falling. I’m pressed flush against him, my palms spread against his hard, bare chest, his hands gripping firmly at my ass, holding me up with infuriating ease.

Sweet Jesus.

Oh sweet—

Oh sweet fucking jeez.