Chapter 5 — Selene’s Panic

Selene stood in the sun-drenched atrium of The Adair Mansion, the glittering chandelier above her throwing fractured light onto the marble floor. Normally, this was her stage, a palace where she reigned, where servants jumped at her commands and Rowan’s gaze inevitably returned to her.

But now?

Now every second stretched thin, Rowan slipping through her fingers like sand.

It had been three days since Marcelline’s exit. Three days since Rowan had uttered that cursed word—enough—and ordered her out of his office. She replayed it over and over, the ice in his voice, the dismissal. Rowan had never spoken to her that way, not once in nine years. He even ignored her text the night before.

Selene paced, heels clicking sharp against the floor. Her reflection in the gilded mirror mocked her, perfect hair, painted lips, emerald silk draped flawlessly over her frame. She looked every inch the mistress of the house, but the gnawing in her chest wouldn’t quiet.

He hadn’t called. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t even looked at her the same.

“Rowan…” she whispered under her breath, almost like a prayer. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

A maid walked past, carrying linens. Selene’s eyes narrowed. “You...stop.”

The girl froze, clutching the fabric.

“Why were the flowers in the drawing room wilted this morning? Do you think I won’t notice such negligence?” Selene’s tone cracked like a whip.

The maid stammered. “M-my apologies, Miss Selene. I’ll replace them at once.”

“Replace them? They should never have been wilted!” Selene’s voice rose, shrill with desperation. “If you think Rowan tolerates incompetence, you’re mistaken. Get out of my sight!”

The maid fled, nearly tripping over herself. Selene exhaled, chest heaving. Normally, the outburst would soothe her, but today it left a sour taste.

She turned to the window, eyes scanning the driveway. Empty. Rowan had left before dawn, and though she had dressed early, waiting with his favorite breakfast, he hadn’t stopped to see her.

Something was shifting. Something dangerous.

By midday, the whispers had reached her.

It began with a phone call from her closest confidante, Lady Armitage, voice dripping with faux sympathy.

“Darling, I do hope you’re all right.”

Selene frowned. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

A pause. Then, the dagger.

“Oh, I just thought, given the spectacle. You hadn’t heard? Everyone’s talking about it.”

Selene’s grip on the phone tightened. “Talking about what?”

“Marcelline, of course. Leaving Rowan Adair at his own table… in a helicopter, no less! Truly cinematic. Half of high society is eating it up. I swear, the women are thrilled. Imagine, the silent wife walking away with such flair. It’s… well, Selene, it’s delicious.”

Selene’s blood went cold.

She forced a brittle laugh. “Cinematic? Please. Marcelline’s nothing but a desperate housewife clinging to relevance.”

“Mmm,” Lady Armitage drawled, unconvinced. “Funny, isn’t it? Everyone thought she was meek, invisible. And now, suddenly, the entire city can’t stop saying her name.”

The call ended, but the echo remained, buzzing in Selene’s skull.

Everyone can’t stop saying her name.

Her name.

Not Selene’s. Not the woman who had Rowan’s ear for nine years. But Marcelline’s.

She must do something she thought. Rowan came back quite early and headed straight to his study. Selene found Rowan in his study, papers spread across his desk. He didn’t look up when she entered.

She lingered in the doorway, fingers twisting her necklace. “Rowan… you’ve been so distant lately.”

He hummed, distracted.

“I know you’re upset about her little… stunt,” Selene continued carefully, “but you can’t let her undermine you. People will think she has power over you.”

At that, Rowan did look up. His eyes were cold, unreadable. “And doesn’t she?”

Selene’s heart stuttered.

He turned back to his work, dismissing her without another word.

Humiliation burned her cheeks. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. He had never spoken to her this way.

Something was unraveling, and she couldn’t stop it.

She opened her mouth to say something when her phone buzzed. A message from another socialite, laced with poison:

See you at the gala, dear. I do hope Rowan will have time for you, considering Marcelline Odette is the true guest of honor.

Selene froze. Her lipstick smudged across her cheek.

She reread the message. Once. Twice. No, it couldn’t be. Marcelline… invited? To that gala?

The Imperial Winter Gala was the crown jewel of the season, hosted only for the elite of the elite. Rowan was always a headline guest, the center of power and prestige. And now—Marcelline?

She turned and Rowan was still focused on his work. She muttered a quick prayer and left his room hurriedly.

She just couldn't hold the panic. She paused in the hallway, her hands shook as she dialed furiously. Within minutes, confirmation came from her sources. It was true. Marcelline Odette had been extended a personal invitation.

And not just any invitation.

The highlighted guest of the evening.

Selene’s knees buckled. She sat heavily, mirror reflecting her wide, terrified eyes.

If Marcelline stepped into that ballroom, poised, radiant, free of Rowan’s shadow, everything Selene had built would crumble.

Rowan would see her. The world would see her. And Selene… Selene would be reduced to nothing but the woman who clung too long.

“No,” Selene whispered, tears pricking her lashes. “No, I won’t let her take this from me.”

Her reflection stared back, lipstick smeared, hair disheveled, desperation raw on her face. For the first time, Selene didn’t see the untouchable mistress of the Adair empire.

She saw a woman losing everything.