Chapter 4

Selene POV

I called my mother seventeen times.

Seventeen calls that went straight to voicemail while Caspian's driver navigated the Queens traffic with professional calm. Each unanswered ring felt like a countdown to disaster, and by the time we pulled up outside my childhood apartment building, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone.

The building looked smaller than I remembered a tired brick structure wedged between a bodega and a laundromat, with fire escapes that hadn't seen maintenance since the Clinton administration. This was home, but through the sedan's tinted windows, it felt like I was seeing it through someone else's eyes. Someone who noticed the broken streetlights and the groups of men loitering on corners, smoking cigarettes and watching everything with calculating stares.

Had they always been there? Or was I just noticing them now that I knew what to look for?

"Ma'am?" The driver's voice was polite but urgent. "We should go inside."

I nodded, unable to find my voice. The night air hit me like a slap when I stepped out of the car, October wind carrying the familiar scents of exhaust fumes and someone's late dinner. But underneath it all was something else tension, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

The lobby door was propped open with a brick, security camera dark and dead as usual. Mrs. Chen from 2B was checking her mail, humming softly to herself, completely oblivious to the way my world had tilted off its axis. Normal life, continuing as if nothing had changed.

I took the stairs two at a time, my sneakers echoing in the narrow stairwell. Third floor, apartment 3C. The same door I'd walked through a thousand times, painted institutional green and marked with scratches from when we'd moved in my dresser ten years ago.

My key stuck in the lock it always did but when I finally got it open, warm light spilled into the hallway along with the smell of my mother's lavender candles.

"Selene?" Mom's voice came from the kitchen, surprised but pleased. "What are you doing here so late?"

I found her at the stove, stirring something that smelled like heaven in a dented pot. She was still in her work uniform navy scrubs that had seen better days, her dark hair pulled back in a practical bun. At forty-three, she was still beautiful, but the years of working double shifts to keep us afloat had left their mark in the lines around her eyes and the way she moved like everything hurt.

"I was worried," I said, which wasn't technically a lie. "You didn't answer your phone."

She gestured to the counter where her phone sat plugged into the charger, screen dark. "Dead battery. You know how I am with technology." Her smile was warm but tired. "I was just making some soup. Are you hungry?"

My stomach clenched, but not from hunger. How was I supposed to tell her that everything she'd done to protect me all the lies, all the sacrifices might have been for nothing?

"Mom, we need to talk."

Something in my voice made her turn around fully, wooden spoon still in hand. Her brown eyes so much like mine searched my face with the kind of maternal radar that could detect trouble from orbit.

"What's wrong, baby?"

The endearment almost broke me. When was the last time someone had called me that? When was the last time I'd felt safe enough to be someone's baby?

"I met someone today," I began carefully. "Someone who told me things about Dad. About my real father."

The color drained from her face so fast I thought she might faint. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor, and her hands gripped the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

"What did they tell you?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"That he's alive. That his name is Lucien Marcellus. That you ran away from him when you were pregnant with me."

She closed her eyes, shoulders sagging like I'd just confirmed her worst nightmare. "How did you find out?"

"Caspian Santoro told me." The name hit her like a physical blow. She actually staggered backward, one hand pressed to her chest.

"Caspian?" The way she said his name was like a prayer and a curse rolled into one. "Oh God, Selene. Oh God, what have you done?"

"What do you mean, what have I done? I haven't done anything!" Panic was rising in my throat like bile. "Mom, they're threatening you. Someone sent me a text about your work schedule, about the bus route you take home. They know where we live."

She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shook her head over and over. "I tried so hard to keep you away from this. I thought if I could just stay hidden long enough, if I could make myself small enough..."

"Keep me away from what?" I grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "Mom, I need to understand. What is Dad what is Lucien what kind of man is he?"

"The kind who kills people who cross him," she whispered. "The kind who would burn down this entire building to send a message. The kind who would use his own daughter as a weapon if it served his purposes."

The words hit me like physical blows. I'd known, intellectually, that my father was dangerous. But hearing it from my mother seeing the terror in her eyes made it real in a way that all of Caspian's elegant warnings hadn't.

"And Caspian?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

Mom's laugh was bitter. "Caspian is worse. He's everything Lucien is, but smarter. More patient. More..." She struggled for the word. "Seductive. He makes you think you have choices when you don't. He makes you think he's saving you when he's really claiming you."

"Claiming me?"

"You're young, Selene. Beautiful. Powerful in ways you don't even understand yet." She cupped my face in her hands, and I could feel them trembling. "Men like that don't help people out of kindness. They collect them. They own them."

"But he's offering to protect us. To keep Dad Lucien away from us."

"At what cost?" Her eyes were fierce now, the fear replaced by something harder. "What does he want in return?"

I swallowed hard. "He wants me to marry his son."

"Marry?" The word came out like a gunshot. "Selene, no. Absolutely not. We'll run. We'll disappear. We'll"

"We'll what?" I pulled away from her, frustration boiling over. "We'll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders? We'll abandon everything we've built here? What about your job? What about Miguel?"

My younger brother was at NYU on a partial scholarship, studying engineering and completely oblivious to the storm about to break over our family. The thought of destroying his future because of my father's sins made something violent twist in my chest.

"We'll figure it out," Mom said, but she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.

"There's nothing to figure out." The voice came from behind me, cold and amused and utterly unwelcome.

We both spun around to find a man standing in our kitchen doorway. He was tall and lean, with silver hair and pale eyes that reminded me of winter mornings. His suit was expensive but understated, and he moved with the kind of predatory grace that made my skin crawl.

"Hello, Maria," he said, and my mother made a sound like a wounded animal.

"Vincent." Her voice was barely audible. "How did you the locks"

"Please." He waved a dismissive hand. "I've been picking locks since before your daughter was born. Though I must say, your security is laughably inadequate. Anyone could walk right in."

The threat was unmistakable. My mother grabbed my arm, pulling me behind her like she could shield me with her body. It was a gesture so automatic, so maternal, that it made my heart ache.

"What do you want?" I asked, proud of how steady my voice sounded.

Vincent's smile was all teeth and no warmth. "I want to deliver a message from your father, little princess. He's very excited to meet you."

"I don't want to meet him."

"What you want is irrelevant." He pulled out his phone, swiping to a photo that made my blood freeze. It was Miguel, walking across the NYU campus with his backpack slung over one shoulder, completely unaware that he was being watched. "Your father is a reasonable man. He's willing to give you time to adjust to your new circumstances. But his patience isn't unlimited."

"Leave my family alone," I said, stepping out from behind my mother despite her grip on my arm. "They don't have anything to do with this."

"They have everything to do with this. They're your weakness, which makes them valuable." Vincent slid his phone back into his pocket. "Forty-eight hours, Selene. That's how long you have to come home willingly. After that..." He shrugged elegantly.

"After that, what?"

"After that, we stop asking nicely."

He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Oh, and in case you're thinking of calling your new friend Caspian for help don't. This is between families. He interferes, and people start dying."

Then he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of expensive cologne and the sound of my mother's broken sobs.

I stood in the middle of our tiny kitchen, surrounded by the detritus of our ordinary life bills stacked on the counter, Miguel's soccer trophy on the windowsill, the soup still simmering on the stove and felt the last of my innocence crumble to dust.

Forty-eight hours.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on Caspian's business card. He answered on the first ring.

"I'll do it," I said before he could speak. "I'll marry Dario. But I have conditions."

"I'm listening."

"My mother and brother stay safe. No matter what happens, no matter what I have to do, they don't get hurt."

"Done. What else?"

"I want to meet with Dario first. Tonight. Before this goes any further, I need to know what I'm walking into."

There was a pause, and I could almost hear him thinking. "That can be arranged. I'll send a car."

"No." I looked at my mother, who was clutching the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright. "I'll come to you. Text me an address."

"Selene"

"Forty-eight hours just became tonight, Caspian. If you want this alliance, you better make sure your son is ready for it."

I hung up before he could respond, my hands steadier than they'd been all day. Strange how making an impossible choice could feel like freedom.

My phone buzzed with an address in Manhattan. Somewhere expensive, no doubt. Somewhere that would seal my fate with crystal and champagne and promises that felt like chains.

But as I kissed my mother goodbye and walked out into the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't just walking toward my future husband.

I was walking toward something much more dangerous.