Selene sat quietly in the steaming bathtub, her head tilted back against the cool edge as the warmth soaked into her tired limbs. A soft hum escaped her lips.
"Never had this in 25 years," she muttered to herself, her voice lazy, reluctant — like she was trying not to enjoy it too much.
Knock, knock.
She jolted upright, water sloshing around her as she reached for her towel. Wrapping it tightly around her soaked body, she padded barefoot to the door, still dripping.
A petite woman stood there, graceful and smiling politely.
"The master requests your presence in his study," the woman said gently. "No bright colors, no perfumes stronger than lavender… and no smiles."
Selene blinked. "Excuse me?"
But the woman had already turned away.
Selene forced a smile. "Noted," she called sweetly, closing the door.
As soon as it clicked shut, her expression dropped.
"A study room?" she scoffed, tossing her wet towel into the hamper. "Does this man know who he's dealing with?"
She eyed herself in the mirror, running a hand through her damp hair, rolling her eyes.
"Ugh, I hope he's not planning to sleep with me there," she muttered.
Then paused.
"Wait—no. Don't even think about that now, Selene."
She made a face. "I mean, he's so not my type. He's cold, arrogant, impossible—"
Her eyes met her reflection again. Her lip tucked under her teeth. Her head tilted back ever so slightly.
"Oh, for God's sake," she groaned. "I hate this."
A long sigh escaped her as she pulled on a simple brown robe, towel-dried her hair, and took one last glance in the mirror.
"I hate to admit it… but this man drives me crazy."
She shut her eyes, drew in a breath, then opened the door with renewed confidence.
"Let's show him what we've got."
She stepped out, slamming the door behind her — not too loud, but just enough to feel like a warning.
---
As Selene moved down the second-floor hallway in her brown robe, her bare feet soft against the cool floor, she couldn't help but admire the framed photographs lining the walls. Her fingers lightly grazed the edges of each frame.
"He really is handsome in a suit," she murmured to herself, rolling her eyes as if annoyed by the admission. Her damp hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, still trailing droplets from her bath.
Then she spotted the brown door at the end of the corridor. She hesitated, then pushed it open—the door creaked loudly, a drawn-out sound that made her wince.
"Could this door not announce me like a town crier?" she grumbled under her breath.
Inside, as expected, Zenon was already seated. Dressed in a black shirt slightly unbuttoned, revealing a hint of his chest, he rocked back and forth slowly in his chair, legs crossed with calculated ease. His gaze was already locked on her, unmoving, unreadable.
She paused, squinted at him. Then—without a word—she took a step back, slowly reversed out of the room, hand still on the doorknob. Two seconds later, she stepped back in with a nervous laugh and cleared her throat, waving awkwardly.
"Just making sure you're not blind… or frozen." She glanced at the desk—his glasses were lying there. "Well, maybe he should go blind. Would serve him right never seeing me again."
Zenon didn't react to her antics. Instead, he spoke with calm authority, his tone sharp enough to slice through the tension.
"Get me that file over there."
Her eyes drifted to the sea of papers spread across the desk. Which one?
"Which… one exactly?" she asked, voice quiet—almost as if afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter whatever strange energy lingered between them.
As she stepped further into the room, the scent of expensive cologne mixed with hot liquor burned the back of her throat.
"The one stating the useless deal with the TMF company," he said lazily, still rocking back and forth in his chair, one hand casually resting on the armrest, the other now subtly watching her wrist—like he was waiting for her to slip up.
"Mr. Evan… Halloween… something," she murmured, squinting as she lifted a file from the stack.
"Hallowick Thomas," he corrected coolly before she could finish embarrassing herself.
She rolled her eyes. "Anyhow, is this the book?"
"Do you have a problem pronouncing surnames?" he asked, still not taking the file from her. His gaze dropped to her fingers tightening around the folder.
"His name sounded like Halloween, so I thought it was," she muttered under her breath.
He shook his head, clearly unimpressed. "Sit."
As he leaned forward to open the file, he noticed her stepping closer.
"I never said sit beside me," he added, his chin now resting on his palm, expression unreadable.
Selene quickly stepped back, flustered. "It's not that, it's just that… whatever. Never mind." She dragged a chair across the room and sat down restlessly.
He thinks he can frustrate me? she smirked. Let's see how he handles informal.
She slid down into the chair, posture slouched, arms sprawled, and yawned—loudly—while glancing dramatically away.
His smirk darkened, eyes still fixed on the papers.
"Little flower," he said, voice calm but heavy.
Selene blinked, then glanced down at the edge of the table. Her eyes caught something shiny and black tucked into the side of Zenon's trousers.
Her breath hitched.
A gun?
---
She slid upright, slowly and cautiously, her back straightening as her gaze locked on him. Zenon flipped through the pages of the file, calm, focused — unreadable.
But Selene's mind was racing.
*A gun? Why would he have a gun?*
Then he looked up.
And in one calculated movement, he stood.
With that dark smirk curling his lips, silver hair catching the warm light of the room, he approached. Each step deliberate. His boots echoed softly against the wooden floor.
She froze.
He moved behind her, hands settling gently but firmly on her shoulders. Then he leaned down — his chin resting lightly on her hair.
"Little flower," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, his breath grazing her cheek, "do you want to get burned... or pollinated?"
Selene swallowed hard, unsure if it was fear or heat rushing through her.
He didn't wait for an answer. He opened the document in front of her, wrapped his hand around her wrist, and guided it to hold the pen.
"Sign." His voice now was firm. Final.
He stepped forward, leaning against the table with one palm, his tall frame casting a soft shadow over her.
Selene's eyes flicked to the page. Her brows furrowed.
*Business deal collaboration between Mr. and Mrs. Vander.*
Her grip on the pen tightened.
"Why should I sign this?" she asked, pressing the pen against the paper but not moving it.
Zenon nodded, twice.
"You shouldn't, Selene," he said as he turned slowly, walking away… then paused.
His voice cut through the silence again.
"Why should I give you a baby?" He glanced back at her over his shoulder.
"Should I?"
---