Chapter Eight: Breakfast with him

Selene's POV

The sharp chime of the doorbell shattered the stillness of the morning, jarring me from the shallow depths of my restless sleep. My body was heavy, stiff, as if each unprocessed emotion from the night before had solidified into a tangible weight that clung to my limbs. Groaning, I forced myself out of the massive bed, its lush velvet covering wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud rather than offering the comfort it was meant to provide.

When I opened the door, I was met with an unsettling sight—a line of maids standing in perfect formation. Dressed in crisp, identical uniforms, their expressions were indistinguishable masks of subservience. Each maid held hangers aloft like offerings, displaying a kaleidoscope of dresses—casual sundresses dotted with floral patterns, elegant gowns that could steal the spotlight at any gala, alluring outfits designed to entice, and formal attire that radiated sophistication.

“Good morning, ma’am,” they chanted in unnaturally synchronized voices, stepping into the room with the precision of a well-rehearsed performance, as though they were the true owners of this space.

I stood frozen, confusion painted across my features, as they efficiently began to organize the garments in the walk-in wardrobe. Their movements were streamlined and mechanical, akin to robots programmed for a specific task.

“What's all this for?” I croaked, my voice rasping with the remnants of sleep.

One maid turned to me, a flicker of a smile dancing across her lips, though it was devoid of warmth. “The Boss instructed us to stock your wardrobe.”

‘Stock up?’ The term felt like a slap, as if I were nothing more than a new acquisition, a shiny object to be dressed up and displayed at his whim.

Before I could muster a response, another maid emerged from the bathroom, hands neatly folded in front of herself. “Your bath is ready, ma’am. The Boss requests you at the dining table in the next thirty minutes.”

Amidst the chaos of emotions swirling inside me, I felt an urge to scream. I wanted to shatter the porcelain vase perched by the door, flinging it across the room in defiance. But I didn’t and could n’t—not yet.

Survival meant compliance. If I ever hoped to escape this gilded cage, I had to convince Ronan that I was playing along, that I was accepting my new fate.

“Fine,” I muttered, then turned on my heel, entering the steam-filled sanctuary of the bathroom, knowing I had little choice but to comply.

**30 Minutes Later: Dining Room**

Descending the sweeping grand staircase felt like walking to the gallows, a lamb being led to slaughter. My pulse quickened as I scanned the opulent dining room, every detail refined and intimidating, like a fortress designed to entrap a weary soul.

At the far end of the imposing mahogany dining table sat Ronan, his focus absorbed by his phone, the glow illuminating his face in a way that made him appear almost detached, as if he were completely unaware—or unconcerned- of the turmoil he had inflicted on my life. He tapped away casually, possessing an air of nonchalance that made my insides churn.

The moment I reached the final step, his gaze flicked up, piercing through my own attempt at indifference. “Are you planning on standing there all morning?” His voice flowed like silk, smooth and taunting, as if I weren’t a captive in a situation that had suffocated my very essence.

Silence enveloped me, and without a word, I trudged to the chair opposite him, the weight of Lena’s disapproving glare piercing through the air. She was already seated, her judgmental eyes flickering over me like a hawk assessing its prey.

Avoiding Ronan’s gaze, I began serving myself, though the rich aromas wafting from the array of dishes only twisted my stomach further; a cruel reminder of the inadequate sustenance I had endured in the days prior. Even as I chewed on mouthfuls of perfectly prepared food, my thoughts raced, plotting how to explore my surroundings, to map out every hall and hidden door, every shadow that felt a little too threatening.

“How do you like your new room?” Ronan’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, slicing deep into my thoughts like a knife.

I kept my eyes downcast, refusing to engage. “You mean, how do I like my new cage?” The words emerged with a bite I hoped conveyed my true feelings.

He chuckled, a sound that ignited an ember of rage within me. He found amusement in my anger, my desperation.

“I don’t care what you call it now,” he replied smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “But you’ll come to like it—eventually.”

Finally meeting his gaze, I dropped my fork, the clatter echoing in the quiet room. “What if I don’t? I don’t belong here. Let me leave in peace.”

His expression remained impassive, an unyielding mask that offered no hint of understanding, not a flicker of regret. “Why would you think you don’t belong here?”

“Because I know I don’t,” I asserted firmly.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me as though I were a puzzle he was trying to decipher. The intensity of his stare unnerved me, peering into the depths of my mind and unraveling the layers of my defenses.

Then, unexpectedly, his phone rang, disrupting our standoff. He picked it up, standing without a word, his departure as casual as his entrance.

Good riddance.

Lena looked at me from across the table, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge my next move. “You’re brave,” she said, her tone as icy as a winter’s night. “But you should watch your mouth. Ronan isn’t someone who tolerates disrespect. I don’t know why he’s overlooking it now, but don’t push your luck.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood and followed Ronan out, leaving me to stew in silence, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders.

Glaring at the door they exited through, I muttered under my breath, “Cold and aloof... just like him.”

I speared a spoon into the remnants of my meal, my frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Calm down, Selene. Play your cards right. Smile when needed. Pretend. Blend in. Because the moment you let your guard down in this place… You become theirs.”

And I would be damned if I belonged to anyone ever again.

Not to Ronan. Not to anyone.

… … … .

Ronan’s POV

“Prepare yourself. We’re going for the exchange tonight,” I announced, my voice flat, dripping with finality—any dissent was futile—as I finally set the phone down on the polished surface of the table. The dial tone lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the perilous deal I’d just secured.

Lena, her brow furrowed in disbelief, lifted her gaze from the scattered documents cluttering the desk. “You’re going personally?”

I nodded once, slow and deliberate, as if emphasizing the seriousness of the situation. “Seigo insists on it. He’s making a statement by showing up in person, and I’ll reciprocate.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion dancing behind the calm facade she usually maintained. “That’s incredibly bold. What if it’s a trap?”

I met her gaze head-on, refusing to flinch, my voice dipping lower, laced with a cold undertone of amusement. “Then I’ll gladly fall into it.”

For a moment, she blinked, caught off guard by my nonchalance, before folding her arms tightly over her chest, as if to shield herself from the implications of my words. “You make it sound like dying is some sort of thrilling side hobby.”

A smile, cold and calculated, tugged at the corners of my mouth. “I’m not planning on dying tonight, Lena. I’m planning on making Seigo wish he hadn’t dared to play god with me.”

Lena leaned back against the desk, the tension in the room thickening as she crossed her arms defensively. “And what if there’s someone bigger backing him? Someone we haven’t encountered yet?”

The silence that hung in the air stretched between us, heavy with the weight of her question. The very notion of a larger player sent an electric pulse of anticipation rushing through me, banishing any trace of fear.

“That would be… refreshing,” I finally replied, savoring the idea. “I’ve kept my head down long enough. Doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft.”

She scoffed, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “You talk about this like war is a game.”

“No,” I countered, my voice dropping to a darker, more serious register. “War is a message. It conveys authority in ways words never could. If Seigo thinks he can draw me out and strike first, then he’s in for a hell of a response.”

Lena stepped around the desk, coming to a stop just inches away from me, the intensity of her scrutiny palpable. “And what about her?”

Her. Selene.

The thought of her sparked a whirlwind of emotion, curling in the back of my mind like a wisp of smoke—beautiful and infuriatingly stubborn. She was a flame trapped in human form, and her fire was beginning to spread dangerously close.

“She stays,” I said firmly, my voice brooking no argument. “The maids will keep an eye on her. I don’t want her setting fire to the whole damn place while I’m out.”

The tilt of Lena’s head revealed curiosity as she studied me with penetrating intensity. “You care.”

“No,” I replied too quickly, the denial escaping my lips before I could temper it with reason.

A sharp brow arched above her keen eyes. “You do. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

I fell silent, choosing not to engage further. Instead, I stepped around her, heading purposefully for the weapons vault. My silence, heavy with unresolved tension, served as an answer in its own right.

Care? I couldn’t afford such luxuries.

Selene was unpredictable, a volatile force in her own right. But she also possessed an innocence that she was blissfully unaware of, naïve to the treacherous depths of the pit she’d been thrown into. She didn’t belong in my world. But now that she was mine, I’d be damned if anyone else thought they could claim her.

Not Damien.

Not Salvator.

Not the haunting ghosts of the past that she was still desperately trying to escape.

As I entered the vault room, Lena followed closely behind. The cool, metallic scent of steel enveloped me, mingling with the faint whiff of gunpowder that hung in the air like an uninvited specter. I reached for a custom Glock, the familiar weight of it soothing in my grip as I checked the clip and holstered it with practiced ease.

“We leave at eleven,” I instructed, my tone brisk and resolute, not bothering to turn around to face her. “Get the convoy ready. Keep everything clean. No unnecessary heat.”

“Yes, boss,” she replied, her voice laced with professionalism, but I could sense the underlying tension in her response.

Stepping out of the room, the weight of impending war settled heavily on my shoulders, more burdensome than any armor could provide. But it wasn’t the treacherous deal with Seigo that haunted me—it was her.

Selene.

Her defiance.

Her flame.

The way her gaze pierced through my carefully constructed facade, as if she saw me for who I truly was: the villain in a story she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

I was the villain, I knew that all too well.

But tonight, I was prepared to play the devil, too.