Selene's POVSelene slammed the door as they entered the penthouse, her heels echoing against the marble floors. Her hair was disheveled, her dress stained, and her fury, unmatched. “Unbelievable,” she hissed, throwing her clutch onto the couch. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.” Damien followed behind her slowly, loosening his tie. “It wasn’t that bad—” Selene spun around. “Not that bad? Did you see the flashes? The whispers? I was dripping in wine, Damien!” “I saw. But what did you expect? You walked right up to Killian Black and tried to—” “Be noticed,” she snapped. “Make a mark. You know what kind of headlines are going to drop tomorrow? ‘Selene: The Wet Blanket at the Gala’ or worse—‘Killian’s Woman Outsmarts Calloway’s Fiancée.’” Damien sighed. “You’re exaggerating.” Selene marched toward him. “We need to top that headline.” He frowned. “What do you mean?” She crossed her arms. “I mean we pick a date. For the wedding. And announce it. Big. Public. Head
Calla tilted her head. “Names are for contracts. I’m not a product you can purchase.” A waiter passed by with a tray of wine. Calla shifted her foot ever so slightly. The waiter stumbled. Wine splashed all over Selene’s silver dress. She gasped and shrieked. “You idiot! Are you blind?!” Her hand flew up—ready to slap. But Calla caught her wrist mid-air. “Don’t.” Her voice was calm. Deadly calm. “You don’t get to hit anyone here.” The waiter stammered out apologies, shaking with panic. “Control yourself,” Damien hissed into Selene’s ear. “People are watching.” Indeed, murmurs and flashes rippled through the room. The cameras were eating it up. Selene looked around, flustered, face red with wine and fury. Calla leaned in just a little. “You might want to freshen up. This shade of wine? Doesn’t flatter.” Killian didn’t say a word. Just gave Selene a look that made her step back instinctively. He offered Calla his arm again. She took it with a smirk. As they walked away,
Across the ballroom, a pair stood out—not because of what they wore, but because of how desperately one of them wanted to be seen. Selene. Her mask dangled loosely in her fingers as she tilted her head, laughing a little too loudly. Her skin glowed under the golden lights, her makeup flawless, her smile strategic. Of course she'd taken off her mask. Of course. She wanted the world to know she was here. At the grandest masquerade of the year. With Damien Calloway. The cameras were already swinging in their direction. Selene twirled, ensuring every angle was caught. The press wouldn’t miss it, her face was the one they’d print in the society columns tomorrow, and she was ready for it. "Take yours off," she purred, leaning closer to Damien. He hesitated. Selene’s smile tightened. “C’mon, what’s the point if no one knows who you are?” With a sigh, Damien pulled off his mask, just as a camera flash went off nearby. And that… that was the moment Calla saw him. Her entire body
"Darling, if you don't wear the earrings, I will genuinely pass out," Pierre said, dramatically clutching his chest. Calla gave him a look through the mirror. "You said that about the necklace too." "And I meant it! But this? This is the final flourish. The cherry on the cake. The diamond on the crown!" She sighed, trying not to smile as she sat still in front of the mirror. The room had been transformed,.jewelry boxes, designer heels, perfumes she couldn’t pronounce, and more clothes than a red carpet wardrobe. It looked like a fashion hurricane had exploded in her room. And Pierre was at the center of it. He adjusted the last pin in her hair and stepped back with a flourish. "You are ready. The kingdom may now weep." "Overdramatic much?" "Always," he said with a wink. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Slay, bitch." Calla laughed softly as Pierre gathered his tools and accessories. A maid hovered in the doorway. "Ma'am, Mr. Black is on his way." Pierr
“You’ve never treated me this way before,” she muttered, voice shaking. Killian didn’t flinch. Vanessa took a breath, wiping at her smudged mascara. “The masked gala’s tonight.” Killian raised a brow, flicking ash into the tray. “And?” “I assume you’ll be attending,” she added carefully, brushing invisible lint off her coat. He leaned against the edge of his desk. “I always do.” “Well,” she said, attempting a smile, “who better to have on your arm than me? Like old times.” There was a pause. Killian chuckled. Low. Dangerous. “Vanessa… when have I ever made you my date to the masked gala?” Her face tightened. “So you’re taking that bitch?” He stood, slow and cold. Walked toward her until they were inches apart. He bent slightly, eyes burning into hers. “You don't get to speak about her,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “Especially not with that name in your mouth.” Vanessa's nostrils flared. “You're obsessed with her, aren’t you?” Killian exhaled through his
The library smelled of old wood, leather, and power. Calla sat curled in one of the velvet chairs, legs tucked under her, flipping through a heavy file labeled La Famma Holdings – Internal Ops. The words might as well have been in Greek. Finance reports, mergers, shell companies… it all looked too clean for someone like Killian. “You’re reading that upside down,” came his voice from the doorway. She didn’t look up. “hoping to find some secrets." “That makes one of us,” Killian said, strolling in and tossing his phone on the side table. She glanced at him. “Don’t you have a company to run?” “Turns out, you’re part of that company.” “Oh, good. Are you making me CFO or just your latest tax write-off?” Killian chuckled, moving closer. “You’ve got claws this morning.” Calla closed the file. “I’ve been reading about you. Not the headlines , the real business.” “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “There's La Famma’s listed under a thousand subsidiaries. Three law firms on retai