Chapter Seven: Tesned Confrontation

Selene’s POV – Ronan’s Mansion

The silence of the room enveloped me like an oppressive shroud—cold, suffocating, and profoundly unwelcome.

I curled up on the edge of the immense bed, its plushness both inviting and confining, pulling my knees tightly to my chest. My arms wrapped around them in a protective embrace, as if they could shield me from the impending storm of chaos swirling just beyond the door. This bed, too soft and impossibly clean, exuded an air of luxury that felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary—it was like a throne constructed for a captive. The biting irony of my situation wasn’t lost on me.

No tears came, no matter how desperately I tried.

I had absolutely attempted to cry, to unleash the flood of emotions swirling within me. But my heart, battered and weary, had succumbed to a numbing silence, as if my body had sensed the futility of it all.

In this twisted reality, tears were nothing but a wasted effort.

They wouldn’t change a thing, nor would they budge the devil who’d plucked me from one hell, only to entrap me in another.

Ronan Blackwood.

The name rolled around my mind like a curse, heavy and bitter on my tongue. He had pulled me from Damien’s tight grasp, only to shackle me with chains of his own design. Yet, he hadn't harmed me—at least not in ways I could physically feel. Not yet.

This was something far worse.

I felt like a lamb led to slaughter, and the haunting silence that enveloped the mansion amplified the sense of anticipation, making me feel like prey waiting to be hunted.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, a sharp sound slicing through my spiraling thoughts like a knife.

In walked a girl—tall and sharp-featured, with hair pulled back into a severe bun that matched the frigid tone of her voice.

“Dinner is ready,” she announced, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion, as if it were merely another item to check off a monotonous list.

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I stared at her with vacant eyes, then averted my gaze, focusing on the intricate patterns in the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow me whole if I wished hard enough.

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, my voice hoarse and strained, almost a whisper that barely broke the silence hanging in the room.

She scoffed at my response, the sound dripping with disdain.

“Do you think starving yourself is going to help anything?” Her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned casually against the doorframe, a tacit display of indifference. “You should be grateful the boss decided to keep you around.”

Gratitude. The word burned in my mind like a caustic chemical.

“I never asked him to save me,” I shot back, my voice rising with a bitterness I didn’t know I still possessed. “I never asked anyone to.”

Her gaze locked onto mine, unflinching. The irritation that had colored her expression shifted, morphing into something colder, more calculated. “I don’t care what you asked for. Like it or not, you’re here. And like it or not, I was ordered to ensure you eat. I may not like you, but I’m certainly not about to get punished because you want to play the tragic heroine.”

My fists clenched into tight balls on my lap, a physical manifestation of my rising frustration. “Just let me go,” I pleaded again, my voice barely more than a desperate whisper.

“If I had the power, trust me, I’d toss you out myself,” she replied with an edge. “But I don’t. You’re his problem now. And if you want even the smallest chance of surviving this place, take my advice: stop acting like a porcelain doll.”

I blinked at her, taken aback by the raw ferocity in her tone.

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that caught me off guard. “You want to escape? Then eat. Build your strength. Familiarize yourself with this place. Memorize the halls, the doors, the guards’ rotations—whatever it takes. But stop wasting time crying in the dark.”

There was an unyielding quality in her voice. Not sympathy-no, this was the voice of someone who’d survived monsters and learned how to navigate their dangerous world.

I remained silent, my mind racing.

“You don’t have a choice,” she added, her voice hard and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to come to dinner. I’m giving you an order.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, striding out of the room, not even bothering to wait for my reply.

For a moment, I sat frozen, my heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to escape. Every part of me wanted to scream, to curl up into myself and deny the reality of my circumstances. But deep down, the truth echoed louder than my despair—she was right.

If I kept breaking down like this, I wouldn’t last a day. I needed to think, to gather my strength and prepare for whatever lay ahead. If I ever wanted to truly escape this place, I couldn’t do it starving and weak.

With great effort, I pushed myself off the bed, my legs wobbling beneath me as if they had forgotten how to support my weight. Lena cast a brief glance back at me before continuing down the hallway, and I forced myself to follow her.

The corridor outside my room was lined with ornate antique sconces, their dim flames flickering to cast a warm golden light against the cold stone walls that seemed to stretch into infinity. The air felt thick, as though the very house was taking an interest in my every move, scrutinizing my every thought.

With each turn we took, every ornate corridor we passed, I endeavored to commit every detail to memory. I mentally mapped out my surroundings, drawing mental pictures of gargoyles and intricate woodwork to etch them into my mind.

We descended a grand marble staircase, my heart fluttering with anxiety as I observed tall, dark windows framing a bleak night filled with distant lights shimmering beyond the mansion’s fortified gates.

Finally, we reached the dining room.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The sight before me was breathtaking, as if I had stumbled upon a scene from a masterful painting.

A long mahogany table gleamed under the glow of an extravagant crystal chandelier, its prisms reflecting light like diamonds across the room. The exquisite place settings were laid out with pristine precision, silver cutlery sparkling like blades poised for conflict. The center of the table was adorned with an abundance of dishes—steaming roast meat that glistened temptingly, vibrant vegetables bursting with color, warm, freshly baked bread, and creamy soup that practically wafted its warmth toward me. It was an audacious display, too much food for a girl held like a prisoner.

“You can eat to your heart’s satisfaction,” Lena said curtly, her tone brooking no argument. “Afterward, the maids will escort you back to your room.”

I nodded, feeling dazed and overwhelmed.

As I stepped toward the table, the earthy aromas washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning my senses in a whirlwind of indulgence. My stomach growled violently, the sound echoing through the cavernous dining room and coloring my cheeks with embarrassment. I hadn’t realized how ravenous I was until the enticing scent of seasoned lamb and buttery rice made my legs weak.

With slightly trembling hands, I sat down slowly, like I was trying to navigate a fragile state of equilibrium.

Just then, Lena's phone buzzed, breaking the spell of the moment. She cursed quietly under her breath, stepping outside the room to answer, muttering something I couldn’t quite catch.

And just like that, I was left alone, surrounded by the lavish feast that beckoned me.

… … …

Ronan's POV – Ronan's Warehouse

The sharp tang of gasoline and gun oil hung thick in the air, a testament to the world I navigated, mixing with the low hum of machinery and the quiet murmurs of my men as they worked diligently, moving heavy crates of cargo under the flickering fluorescent lights. Night had swallowed the city whole, wrapping it in darkness and mystery, but inside my warehouse, the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation, a well-oiled machine waiting for the next operation to unfold.

Luca stood across from me, his posture tense, the digital tablet in his hand casting a faint glow that danced against the stubble lining his jaw. He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before finally meeting my gaze. "Boss," he said, his tone carefully measured, "Mr. Siago wants the goods delivered personally. Tonight."

I leaned back against my desk, the wood groaning slightly under my weight. I cracked my neck slowly, relishing the tension that filled the room like a fine wine swirling in a glass, both potent and heady. "Should I cancel the arrangements? Look for other buyers?" he added cautiously, concern etched on his face.

I shook my head, my resolve as steady as stone. "That won't be necessary. If he wants a face-to-face meeting, then fine. Let him."

Luca's brow furrowed deeper, shadowed by doubt. "I feel like he’s planning something. No one demands a personal meet unless they’ve got extra cards hidden up their sleeve."

I couldn't help but smirk; the thrill of the impending conflict was intoxicating. "Doesn't matter what he's hiding. If he dares to double-cross me, I’ll bury him," I replied, every word dripping with cold finality. Luca nodded, and I could see the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction.

"Continue with the arrangements," I instructed, a sense of authority wrapping around my words. "But the exchange goes down tomorrow. Let him choose the location. I want to see where he thinks he holds the upper hand."

"Alright, boss, I’ll—" He started, but was cut off by a loud crash echoing from outside.

"RONAN! RONAN, COME OUT HERE!" The fury in that voice struck like a whip, crackling through the air.

Luca flinched, his body tensing instinctively. "Boss," he murmured, already knowing the answer. "It’s Damien."

Of course it was. Only one man could scream like a cornered dog, desperate to prove himself.

I sighed, rolling my neck again as I stepped away from the desk, the creaking sound oddly satisfying in the charged atmosphere. "Let him in."

Luca hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. "Shouldn’t we—"

"No need for that. Let the bastard in. Let’s hear what he has to say," I commanded, my voice steady and unwavering.

Luca nodded and slipped through the side door. Moments later, Damien stormed in, a thundercloud made flesh, dark and looming.

His jaw was clenched tight, fists balled at his sides, veins bulging in his neck like cables ready to snap under pressure. His eyes blazed with a mix of fury and desperation, wild and cornered.

"What the hell is this shit you’re pulling, Ronan?!" he barked, his voice reverberating through the warehouse.

I didn’t flinch; instead, a calm and maddening smile crept onto my lips, my demeanor deliberately nonchalant. "Damien. I was wondering when you’d come crawling in. Though I expected you'd bring flowers. Do you miss me?"

He slammed his fists down on the metal table between us, the impact loud enough to rattle the tools laid out haphazardly. "Cut the crap. Where is Selene?"

"Selene..." I let her name roll off my tongue with feigned ignorance, savoring the moment. "Doesn’t ring a bell."

"Don’t you fucking dare!" he snarled, his voice a low growl thick with anger. "I know you have her. You’ve always had eyes on her!"

There it was: the raw, bleeding truth laid bare. I had watched her from the shadows, not because she belonged to him, but because she never should have been his to begin with.

"You talk about her like she’s property," I replied, my voice soft but cutting. "Then again, you did try to sell her."

"She’s my wife. I can do whatever the hell I want!" His chest heaved with the weight of his pride, barely contained fury radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

"Then you shouldn’t care what happens to her now. If she was just a bargaining chip, why are you here, growling at my gates like a desperate dog?"

He stepped closer, every muscle in his body taut with rage, his expression one of intense fury. "You’re pushing me, Ronan. Don’t forget the law still exists. I can have you arrested for this."

I laughed, the sound echoing through the warehouse, rich and dangerous, a predator’s laughter. "The law? You really think I play by those rules?"

There was a tense silence between us as I stepped closer until we were just feet apart, the air thick with unspoken threats.

"Here’s my advice, Damien: forget Selene."

He slammed his hand against the table again, his frustration palpable, loud enough to make the men outside shift uncomfortably at the sound. "She’s my wife! You have no right to take her!"

Now my expression changed; the mask of indifference fell away to reveal the monster beneath, a darkness I had learned to embrace.

I moved like a shadow, fluid and threatening, stopping just short of him, the heat of our animosity crackling between us. "You lost your right the second you sold her. You don’t get to play the victim now. She doesn’t belong to you anymore."

He glared at me, breathing hard, anger radiating off him in waves. "Why are you so protective, huh? What is she to you? Are you that blind, Ronan? You’re risking everything for her.

“She’s not worth—”

The words hung in the air, unfinished.

The deafening gunshot erupted like a thunderclap, echoing through the hollow space. The bullet found its mark, striking the concrete wall just inches from his head, sending a shower of dust and debris cascading down onto his shoulders. I watched as Damien’s eyes widened in shock, the realization of the danger he was in dawning on him.

I lowered the pistol deliberately, the faint wisps of smoke curling lazily from the barrel, as if to emphasize the gravity of the moment.

“You should know,” I remarked, my voice steady and calm, each syllable deliberate, “I don’t miss when I want to hit. That was a warning. Next time, I won’t aim for the wall.”

Damien's gaze flicked between the wall and me, his mouth opening as if to protest, but no sound escaped. The audacity of his threat lingered in the air, overshadowed by the reality that he was now at my mercy.

"This is your last chance, Damien," I continued, my tone unwavering, each word drenched in finality. "Forget her. Leave, and never try to claim her again. Selene belongs to me now. Not you. Not anyone else.”

With a deliberate motion, I holstered the weapon, the reassuring click of the mechanism echoing in the silence that followed. I turned slightly, casting a shadow over him, my words dripping like ice. “Even Salvator can’t take her away from me. And you sure as hell never will.”

Behind me, I could hear the rapid thudding of Damien’s heart, matched by the heavy breaths he took as he processed the threat I had just laid before him. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

In a moment that felt stretched across an eternity, the shuffle of retreating footsteps reached my ears. I didn’t need to glance back;

I didn’t have to turn around to know he was walking away, each step echoing with a finality that pierced through the tension in the air.

In that moment, he finally grasped the truth:

This confrontation was never merely a matter of power or a quest for revenge. No, it had evolved into something far more significant.

This was war.

And at the heart of it all was Selene, the driving force behind my fury—the one whose existence had ignited the relentless fire within me.