Selene stood frozen, her breath caught as Zenon's gaze darkened, glowing with something between lust and warning. Her whispered words—*"Ruin me"*—still echoed in the silence between them.
He bit his lower lip slowly, eyes dragging over her figure with a cruel smirk.
"Don't blame me," he said, his voice low, dangerous.
He took a step forward. She instinctively stepped back, her bare feet brushing against the edge of the bed. He followed. Another step back. Her knees met the mattress and she sat, trapped.
"I like it," he murmured, towering over her, "when flowers argue with their branches... wondering if it's time to fall or keep holding on."
Selene's chest rose and fell quickly. Her fingers clutched the edge of the sheets. Still, she tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes.
"Do you know what pain looks like?" he asked, bending down so close she could feel his breath.
She nodded, slowly.
He chuckled. "Not the kind you felt on your first night with a man... if there ever was one."
Her eyes flickered.
"I'm talking about pain that breaks you. That claws inside your chest and eats you alive." He laid her gently back on the bed, palms pressing down on her shoulders.
"I'll make you cry, Selene. Beg. And when I'm done, you'll wish no man ever touched you again."
She wanted to scream for him to stop talking and *just* do something, but her mind battled her body's submission. Her hand reached up, brushing his lips.
His smirk returned. "Selene."
He whispered her name like a secret, leaning in—when his phone buzzed.
The tension cracked.
He straightened, staring at the phone as it rang once… then twice… then he turned it off without a word.
Selene blinked. *He ignored it?*
Before she could speak, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Warm. Careful. She closed her eyes, waiting…
But he didn't kiss her back.
Instead, his voice was laced with mocking amusement: "What was that?"
"A warming kiss," she said softly.
He closed his eyes. The kiss *was* warm. Not innocent—no, nothing about her was—but practiced fire, laced with desperation and challenge.
He grabbed her chin and kissed her—rough, tasting of alcohol and mint. Her breath hitched. Their teeth bumped in haste. Her hands trembled as she tried to match him, but he pulled away suddenly.
"Are you teasing me?" he asked.
She stayed quiet.
"Selene," he said sharply, "stop pretending to be experienced."
He stood up. She sat frozen.
"I wouldn't have signed the papers if I knew…" He turned his head, his expression unreadable.
"You're a virgin"
She blinked. "I'm—I'm not—"
"Shh."
He walked to the window, staring out into the moonlit night.
"Don't make this more complicated than it already is."
A long silence.
"Tomorrow," he said coldly, "I'm taking you home."
Her body jolted. "Why?"
He didn't turn around.
"We're getting a divorce."
---
*"But I'm your wife,"* she said, voice trembling as she clenched her fists.
Zenon didn't look at her. *"That's changing tomorrow."* His eyes remained on the moonlight spilling across the windowpane.
Her breath caught. *"Because I'm inexperienced?"* she whispered, struggling to keep her voice steady.
He said nothing.
She blinked away the sting in her eyes, lifting her chin. *"Then I'll get experienced. I'll go out there—anyhow, any style—and come back and show you just how *inexperienced* I can be."* Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, defiant and shaking.
Zenon turned slightly, watching this small, stubborn thing trying so hard not to break.
Selene stormed to the door, fingers gripping the knob, but paused—her voice lower, cracked.
*"And when I come back... I'll be better than you."*
Then she flung the door open and ran, her steps echoing down the passage, the tears finally winning.
---
Selene slammed the door shut behind her, her chest rising and falling fast. She didn't even bother turning on the lights. The moonlight was enough—just enough to watch her shadow stumble across the floor and crash into the bed.
She buried her face in the pillow, letting out a broken cry she had been holding in since Zenon turned his back on her.
*"I'm your wife..."* she whispered again, as if the bed would answer her. As if her words had weight in a house where power ruled over promises.
She turned to the side, hugging the sheets to her chest, her eyes swollen from tears. Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly as she repeated to herself like a mantra:
*"I'll be okay. I'll be okay. I'll be okay."*
She blinked up at the ceiling. Cold. Silent. Cruel. Just like him.
But her voice hardened in the quiet.
*"One day, I'll make him regret this."*
Not with revenge—but with the strength he couldn't see in her yet.
Her eyes slowly shut, exhaustion pulling her under. And for the first time since stepping into the Vander mansion, Selene slept without fearing the next knock on her door.
A cold, venom-laced voice snapped Selene out of her sleep.
*"I want him dead. Rotting. Imprisoned."*
Her eyes shot open. Zenon.
She winced, blinking against the dim morning light slipping through the curtains. His voice echoed again, low and dangerous—coming from downstairs.
She tossed the covers aside and climbed out of bed, annoyance burning in her chest.
*"Arrogance..."* she muttered, slipping on a loose brown teddy shirt and black pants. No slippers. No care.
The tile was cold under her bare feet as she walked down the hallway.
The moment she entered the hall, she froze.
Two older men in pristine black suits sat tensely, while four younger men in black casuals stood like shadows lining the wall. Every single one of them armed. Dangerous.
And at the head of the long table—*Zenon*.
Leg crossed like royalty, fingers drumming the armrest. A storm brewing behind his silver eyes.
Selene's presence was like a record scratch in the room.
The four men turned their heads almost in sync. Stunned. Curious. There had never been a woman in the Vander estate.
Their eyes scanned her from head to toe.
*"Sweetheart,"* Zenon spoke, voice laced with a polished threat. *"I've told you to always wear slippers on these cold tiles."*
He gave a smile so fake, it chilled her more than the floor.
Selene nearly rolled her eyes but held the expression.
*"I… was in a hurry to check on you, darling."*
She forced a bright smile, her insides twisting.
*"Darling?"* she thought bitterly. *Jesus. Should've said tyrant.*
Still, she walked past the men toward the kitchen, trying not to show the tremble in her hands.
Behind her, she felt their eyes, like needles on her back.
*"Watch where those eyes are,"* Zenon said darkly, not even looking up. *"Before I take them out."*
Immediate silence.
The older men exchanged glances, then one leaned toward the other and whispered.
*"Who is she?"*
Zenon's voice cut clean through the tension.
*"She's my wife."*
Selene stopped. Mid-step. Breath caught. Spine stiff.
She didn't turn. She couldn't.
The men blinked, stunned. Then burst into murmurs and surprised chuckles.
*"Wife?"*
*"You never mentioned a wife, Zenon..."*
One leaned forward, amused.
*"How did you two meet?"*
Zenon's lips curved, but his eyes remained cold.
*"It's a very long story..."* he said smoothly, lifting his glass of water. *"Involving blood, a contract, and the threat of extinction."*
The laughter stopped.
Selene swallowed hard in the kitchen, heart hammering.
She was no longer a stranger.
She was now the *wife of a man no one dared to question.*
---
Let me know if you want to continue with what happens after they leave… or if Selene confronts Zenon privately next.