The hours between afternoon and evening stretched unnaturally long.
Selene sat by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, watching the sky change color in slow increments. Pale blue softened into bruised gray. Clouds gathered in thick layers, pressing low over the city as if the heavens themselves were closing in.
The mansion mirrored the sky.
It grew darker not because the sun faded, but because lights were deliberately dimmed. Corridors that had been softly lit earlier now glowed faintly, shadows lengthening along the walls. The silence deepened, becoming more deliberate, more controlled.
This was not a house preparing for night.
It was a house preparing for something else.
Selene noticed the change in rhythm first. Footsteps passed her door more frequently. Voices murmured and stopped abruptly. Somewhere below, metal clinked softly, not the sound of cutlery, but of something heavier being handled with care.
She rose and paced the room.
Every instinct told her that remaining still would be a mistake. Yet every attempt to open the door ended the same way. Locked. Always locked. Not aggressively, not loudly. Just firm and unquestionable.
The tray of food brought earlier sat untouched on the table. She could not bring herself to eat. Her stomach felt hollow, but it was a hollow filled with tension rather than hunger.
She pressed her palm to the wall.
It was warm.
That unsettled her more than the cold marble had. The mansion was not only watching. It was alive.
The door unlocked without warning.
Selene turned sharply as a woman entered, her steps soft but purposeful. She wore black from head to toe, tailored and precise. Her dark hair was pulled back, exposing a face that had learned to reveal nothing it did not intend.
"I'm Camille," the woman said. "I handle domestic arrangements."
Selene studied her. "Arrangements?"
Camille smiled faintly. "Appearances. Schedules. Expectations."
She gestured toward the wardrobe. "You'll be joining Mr. Moreau for dinner."
Selene's heart skipped. "I thought he said I was to remain here."
"You are," Camille replied calmly. "Until you are summoned."
"And now I'm being summoned?"
"Yes."
Selene exhaled slowly. "By him?"
Camille's eyes flicked briefly toward the ceiling. Cameras. "By the house," she said instead.
That answer chilled Selene more than any direct threat.
Camille moved with efficiency, opening drawers, selecting garments with practiced ease. She did not ask Selene's preferences. She did not explain her choices.
A dress emerged. Dark wine in color. Soft fabric that clung rather than draped. Elegant without being loud. Dangerous in its restraint.
"This is inappropriate," Selene said quietly.
"It is precise," Camille corrected. "You will not attract attention. You will command it."
"I don't want attention."
Camille paused, finally meeting her gaze fully. "Want has nothing to do with it anymore."
The words struck deeper than Selene expected.
As Camille worked, adjusting fabric and smoothing her hair, Selene watched her reflection. She barely recognized the woman staring back. The fear was still there, but something else had joined it.
Awareness.
"You've worked for him a long time," Selene said.
Camille's hands stilled for half a second. "Long enough to know when to speak carefully."
"Does he own you too?"
Camille's expression softened, just slightly. "No. He does not own me."
Selene's breath caught. "Then why do you stay?"
Camille leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Because leaving would be dangerous."
Before Selene could respond, Camille straightened. "You're ready."
The knock came moments later.
Adrien did not enter immediately. He waited, as if allowing Selene time to prepare herself. When he did step inside, the room seemed to shift around him, gravity pulling subtly in his direction.
His gaze traveled over her, slow and assessing. Not hungry. Not gentle. Calculating.
"Acceptable," he said.
Selene bristled. "That's all?"
"It is enough."
They walked side by side through the corridors, but Adrien never touched her. Not once. The distance between them was deliberate. Controlled. More unsettling than any physical contact would have been.
The dining hall was transformed.
Candles lined the long table, their flames steady and unmoving. Crystal glasses caught the light, refracting it into sharp fragments. The room smelled of expensive food layered with something darker underneath.
Men filled the seats.
Not staff.
Power.
They were dressed impeccably, but Selene saw beyond the suits. The way they held themselves. The way their eyes measured everything. These were not men who waited for permission.
Until Adrien entered.
Conversation stopped instantly.
Every gaze turned to him.
Then to her.
Adrien pulled out a chair beside his own and waited until Selene sat before taking his seat. The gesture was small, but it sent a ripple through the room.
She felt it.
"So this is her," a man across the table said, his smile sharp. "The ghost we've been hearing about."
Adrien's hand rested lightly on the back of Selene's chair. Not affectionate. Possessive.
"This is Selene," he said evenly. "My wife."
The word landed like a blade.
A murmur spread through the table.
"Married," another man repeated. "That was fast."
Adrien smiled faintly. "When something matters, I don't delay."
Selene kept her gaze on her plate, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She felt like prey pretending not to notice the hunters circling.
The conversation resumed, though now every topic brushed against danger. Territory disputes disguised as investments. Blood debts spoken of as inconveniences. Lives reduced to numbers.
Selene learned quickly when to breathe quietly and when not to move at all.
At one point, a man leaned toward her. "Does he treat you well?"
Adrien answered before she could. "He treats her perfectly."
The man chuckled. "I asked her."
Adrien's gaze hardened. "And I answered."
Silence snapped tight.
The man leaned back, hands raised slightly. "No offense."
Adrien did not respond.
Dinner continued.
Selene noticed something then. Adrien ate very little. He drank even less. His attention never left the room. Every movement. Every shift in tone.
He was not hosting.
He was guarding.
When the final course was cleared, Adrien stood.
"That will be all," he said.
No one argued.
As they left the room, Selene's legs trembled with delayed reaction. The door closed behind them, sealing away the voices.
Only then did she breathe fully.
"That was cruel," she said softly.
Adrien stopped walking.
"Cruelty keeps you alive," he replied.
"I felt like an object."
"You were a message."
She faced him. "To who?"
"To everyone who thinks I have weaknesses."
"And now?"
"And now they know better."
They reached her door.
Adrien rested his hand against it but did not open it immediately.
"You listened," he said. "You observed. You stayed silent."
She lifted her chin. "You taught me how to disappear."
"No," he corrected. "I taught you how to survive."
She hesitated. "And if I don't want to survive this way?"
His eyes darkened, something dangerous stirring beneath the calm. "Then you will not survive at all."
The door opened.
Before she stepped inside, Selene turned back. "You keep saying this is for my protection."
"Yes."
"Protection from who?"
Adrien held her gaze for a long moment. "From the world that will tear you apart the moment it realizes how valuable you are."
The door closed.
Selene leaned against it, her heart racing.
Tonight had changed something.
She understood now that Adrien was not simply cruel or controlling.
He was afraid.
Not for himself.
For her.
And that realization frightened her more than anything else.
Because fear made men dangerous.
And she was now the thing he feared losing.