The chandeliers glistened like droplets of crystal rain above the ballroom, casting fractured light across designer suits and sequined gowns. Laughter floated like perfume, artificial and practiced, as the wealthy elite of Marlowe City danced between champagne glasses and whispered betrayals.
Selene Virelli stood still in the eye of that storm.
She wore red—not just any red, but a shade that burned against her pale skin like fresh blood. Her dress clung to her frame like liquid fire, silk rippling with each breath she took. It wasn't the kind of red you wore to be admired. It was the kind you wore to be remembered.
Every step she took across the marble floor was deliberate, a soundless strike against an invisible enemy. Her heels clicked like gunshots. Her eyes swept the crowd, cold and calculating, yet softened with a smile that could disarm gods. She was elegance carved from vengeance.
Victor Harrow noticed her immediately.
He was leaning against the balcony, surrounded by lesser men pretending to matter. A self-made billionaire with fingers in pharmaceuticals, tech, and politics—Victor was a man who bought power by the ounce and loyalty by the minute. But he had one fatal weakness: he always thought he was the smartest man in the room.
Selene would make sure he died believing that, too.
She approached slowly, giving him time to see her, to let desire dull his instincts. Their eyes met. His lips curled into the kind of smile that thought it had already won.
"You're not from here," he said, voice smooth as polished granite.
"No," Selene replied, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing tray. She didn't drink it. "But men like you are everywhere."
He laughed, not realizing she'd insulted him. She leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear.
"Buy me a drink somewhere quieter," she said.
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"
Selene's smile was the curve of a dagger. "You'll find I'm rarely complicated."
It was a lie. She was a labyrinth lined with razors.
He offered his arm. She took it.
As they descended the stairs into the quieter lounge, Selene reached into her clutch and silently clicked open a hidden compartment. Inside lay a folded photo of a teenage girl with soft eyes and a blue orchid pinned in her hair.
Selene's smile faltered for only half a second.
Then she sealed the compartment and followed Victor Harrow to his favorite corner table.
Tonight, she would make him fall in love.
Later, she would make him scream.