The glint of glass was all I saw before instinct screamed at me to move.
Selene came at me, her grip tight around a champagne bottle, eyes wild with hatred, mouth twisted in fury.
I froze for half a second, caught off guard not by her words—but the absolute madness behind her actions.
Then, a blur of movement.
A hand—long-fingered, pale, and firm—reached out and caught Selene's wrist mid-air, just before the bottle could strike.
Selene gasped and so did I.
The man holding her wrist stood still and composed, yet the air around him seemed to hum with power.
He looked slightly older than Damien—early forties, maybe—but carried himself with such effortless grace it made him seem both ageless and eternal.
His suit was black velvet. His eyes locked onto Selene's with calmness.
"That's no way to treat your future Luna, Lady Selene." he said quietly.
His voice was soft. Peaceful, even. But it carried weight. Like thunder hidden behind silk.
