The Voss family villa glimmered like a palace of lights, the grand chandelier scattering rainbows across the polished floors. Guests murmured over champagne flutes, their laughter punctuated by the clink of crystal.
"Have you seen the eldest Miss Voss yet? They're throwing this whole reunion for her, and she hasn't even shown up."
"Isn't she from some backwoods village? Seriously, what's the point of all this pomp? Bet she can't even hold a wine glass properly—total disaster waiting to happen."
"Totally. Look at Vivian. She studied under Leonard Bell—talent, poise, and that engagement with Brandon Hughes? Power couple material. This random girl arriving out of nowhere? She can't even shine Vivian's shoes."
"It's been too long. Maybe she freaked out and locked herself in a room. Wouldn't surprise me."
A few well-dressed ladies snorted and exchanged smug glances. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, eager for the humiliation they assumed would unfold.
Upstairs, in stark contrast to the noise and glitter below, tension hung thick in the air.
"Move!" barked the leader.
Four figures lunged at Selene Voss simultaneously, precision in every motion. They aimed to subdue her, but she didn't flinch.
Selene shifted—not fast, but perfectly. She slid through their attacks as if the air itself bent to her will. Her movements were a dance of lethal grace: block, strike, twist, and lock.
"Crack!"
A wrist snapped. One attacker slammed against the wall with a grunt.
Within seconds, all four Vipers—each with international warrants out for their capture—lay groaning on the floor. Selene hadn't even moved from her starting spot.
She looked down at them with unblinking eyes.
Calm, cold, commanding.
"So," she asked, "who sent you?"
The team leader swallowed hard, trembling. "We mean no harm. We were ordered to… request your return."
Selene rolled up her sleeve, revealing a wrist that looked delicate but radiated strength. Her gaze cut through them like a blade.
"Request?" she said. "This is what Victor Kane calls asking nicely?"
The man winced, clutching his dislocated arm. "Things… went south in Continent W. We lost a lot. Mr. Kane… he said if anyone could fix it, it's you. He… had no choice."
Selene's eyes flickered—just the tiniest trace of recognition. Victor always caved.
She turned to the window, her gaze sweeping over the hazy crowd below. The glittering party was another world, light-years away from the chaos of Continent W and the deadly nights she'd endured there.
"Go tell Victor," she said. "I walked away for a reason. That mess? He can clean it up himself. And if he dares poke around here again… I won't hold back."
"Y-yes! Right away!" The Vipers scrambled, terrified, vanishing through the window as quickly as they had come.
A peppy voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Miss Selene! The party's started ages ago! The Master and Madam are waiting downstairs, and so are the guests! You'd better hurry, or the dress Madam picked will be wasted!"
Lila Drake's fake concern was transparent. Her smirk betrayed her real excitement: seeing Selene embarrassed in a cheap, tacky gown.
Selene glanced at the gown. Cold amusement danced in her eyes.
They really thought she'd walk out like that?
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and eyed the heavy curtains: deep sea blue silk, expensive and luxurious—typical Voss extravagance.
"At least this looks better than that… trash," she muttered.
In one smooth motion, she yanked the curtain down. The silk tumbled gracefully, and she tore a long section by hand. No scissors. No thread. Just raw skill.
With fluid precision, she twisted, tucked, and tied the fabric around herself. A one-shoulder gown formed effortlessly, hugging her waist, pleating elegantly, and draping into a long, flowing train. A perfect silhouette, unique, flawless.
The transformation complete, Selene Voss—or the woman the world would soon remember—was ready.