Silence has always been my weapon. My shield. My armor. I've used it to make the world bend, to make people listen without a single word, and yet, here in this office, staring down at the city that obeys me, I feel something I can't name. Unease.
The reports lie in neat piles, the numbers predictable, the deals routine. Every sheet screams order, precision, control, but none of it matters when she walks in. Not a single deal, not a single boardroom victory, can prepare me for this.
Selene Hart. That name shouldn't even be here. She has no right. No appointment, no warning, no respect for my rules, and yet she's standing there. And there's something in the way she's standing—balanced, calm, almost unreadable—that tells me she knows exactly what she's doing.
She steps into my office like she owns the room. Calm, composed, unshakable, fearless. My silence, my presence—none of it fazed her. Most people would have knelt, bowed, begged. She doesn't even glance at the floor. She looks at me directly. Sharp eyes that remember too much. Eyes that can see me in ways no one else ever could.
And for the first time in a long time, I don't know what to do.
"Kael Blackwood," she says, her voice steady, almost teasing. "We need to talk."
That's it. Three words, and something inside me shifts. My first instinct is to shut her down, to push her out, to remind her why people don't like me. That's what I always do. But another part of me—the part I've buried beneath years of control—wants her to stay. To speak. To unearth everything I've tried to forget.
I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled in silence, and I let her sit in it. Let the seconds stretch. Most people would crack by now. Most would beg. Not her. She doesn't even blink. She doesn't flinch. That tiny, calm defiance twists something inside me. Something I thought I buried ten years ago.
"You always do this," she says, almost a smirk playing on her lips. "You wait. You watch." But I'm not going anywhere.
I want to respond, to say something sharp, something that reminds her of the danger she's flirting with, but the words stick. They refuse to come. I have a rule about weakness, about letting anyone—especially someone like her—see me crack.
She's too bold. Too fearless. Too alive. And God, she doesn't even know the danger she's walking into.
I rise, slow, deliberate. The room seems to shrink around me, every inch of it filled with me, and yet she doesn't flinch. Not a flicker. Most people would crumble under a look like this. Most would go on their knees without a word. Not her.
I pace behind the desk, careful not to step too close, careful not to give her any advantage. And yet, my body tenses when she moves, even slightly. Most people are invisible in my world. She isn't. She makes me aware, and that is the problem. Because the moment someone like her dares to stand against me, I realize just how fragile I've become without even knowing it. She is my weakness. And maybe, just maybe, the only one who can pull me out of the cage I've built around my heart.
"Do you even know what you're asking?" I finally say, my voice low, deliberate. "Do you understand the chaos you're stepping into?"
Her smile doesn't falter. "I'm not afraid," she says. Her eyes don't waver. "You can try to scare me, Kael, but it won't work."
The words should hit like an insult. They should light a fuse, make me tear her apart with a single sentence, remind her how badly she's miscalculated.
But they don't.
They crawl under my skin instead, digging up something I buried a long time ago. Curiosity.
A dangerous one. And then a shift.
Not fear for me—never that.
Fear for her. Because she has no idea what she's standing in front of… or what I'll do once I stop holding back.
I step closer. The air between us thickens. She's daring me, challenging me, and part of me wants to knock her back, put her in her place. But another part—the part I've buried beneath years of control—wants to see how far she'll go, wants to see if she can break me.
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't care. I should push her out before she discovers the cracks I've spent a lifetime hiding. But her existence in a world where no one else dares… it pulls at me anyway.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. "I know you," she says softly. Not as a friend. Not as an enemy. She sees me. Truly sees me. And that's dangerous. That's terrifying. But I can't look away.
Her presence is like a storm. I've been trained to control it, and yet she makes it impossible. She's chaos wrapped in calm, danger wrapped in light. And the thought that she might stay… terrifies me more than anything.
I feel a tightening in my chest, an unfamiliar ache. My rules, my shield, my armor—they're cracking. And it's all because of her. Selene Hart. The woman who should fear me, and yet doesn't.
She smiles again, faintly, almost playfully. "I'm not leaving, Kael. Not until you answer me."
I inhale slowly. Control. Always control. But inside, the truth grows in me. For the first time, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, control isn't everything.
I glance at the windows. The city spreads below, a million lives going on, oblivious to the storm in this room. Yet I feel like the entire world is holding its breath.
Her fingers tap the edge of the desk, almost impatiently. Every tap echoes in the silence, each one a tiny challenge. I want to speak. I want to snap. I want to warn her. But none of the words come.
The hum of the city seems louder now. The distant wail of sirens, the horns, the soft echo of footsteps in the corridor outside—all of it fades. I only hear her. Only feel her. Only see the way she's holding herself, standing in my world as though she belongs here, though she should not.
And then I realize something dangerous. Something terrifying. Something I can't ignore.
I don't know what happens next.
And I'm not sure if I want to.
Because the next move could change everything.
The next word could destroy us.
Or bring us together.
And for the first time in a decade, I feel… uncertain.