Silence lingered after the question, thick enough to press against Selene's ears.
Then she stood.
The chair scraped softly against the floor, drawing every eye in the room to her. Selene folded her hands in front of her, posture straight, expression composed—too composed for someone being inspected.
"At a burial," she said calmly. "A close friend of mine died. We met there. That's how we met."
A pause.
Zenon didn't look at her.
His gaze remained fixed on the man who had asked—the intruder now shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
The man nodded slowly, lips curling. "Hmm. Perfect place for someone like Mr. Vander," he said with a laugh.
The sound lingered for half a second too long—then died when no one joined him.
Another board member cleared his throat, forcing a smile.
"Mrs. Vander, we'd like to speak with you for a moment."
The request was polite. Too polite.
He leaned slightly toward the man beside him, whispering just loud enough, "Something's fishy."
Selene felt it immediately—the shift in the air. She glanced at Zenon, unease flickering across her face, then back at the men waiting for her answer.
Before she could respond—
"Don't take too long, darling."
Zenon's voice cut in lazily.
He spun the pen between his fingers, eyes lowered to the table as though the entire exchange bored him. One ankle rested casually over his knee.
"We have dinner by eight."
The room stilled.
The men exchanged looks. The grin on the board member's face tightened—not quite reaching his eyes.
Selene swallowed, then nodded.
"Of course."
As she stepped away from Zenon's side, she felt it—the weight of his presence behind her, unmoved, unbothered.
Or so it seemed.
Zenon continued to stare at the table, pen still spinning, expression unreadable.
But his attention?
Locked.
——
Selene walked with the men in silence until the glass doors slid shut behind them and the cool night air washed over her.
The balcony stretched wide, overlooking the city far below. Lights blinked like distant stars. Too open. Too exposed.
"Mrs. Vander—"
"Selene Vander," she corrected immediately, stopping in her tracks. "My husband likes it that way."
The man paused, then nodded slowly, his polite smile never quite reaching his eyes.
"Do you know the man you got married to?"
Selene smiled.
"Of course," she said lightly. "My scary-face husband."
One of the men frowned.
"He's actually a cutie," she continued, unfazed. "He calls me his flower. And when I disturb him during work, he calls me thorns." She chuckled softly. "Depends on my mood, really."
The men exchanged glances.
Surprise flickered first—then irritation.
The leader's face tightened, jaw clenching as though her tone had scraped against something he didn't like. His fingers curled, then—
He clapped once.
Sharp. Commanding.
Two men stepped forward from the shadows, each holding a thick black book. The covers were unmarked. Heavy. Official.
The air shifted.
The leader cleared his throat, all humor gone.
"Please listen attentively."
Selene's smile faded.
She looked from the books to their faces, finally understanding—this wasn't curiosity. This was interrogation.
"Okay," she said quietly, swallowing as her pulse picked up.
And somewhere behind the glass, far inside the building—
Zenon Vander waited.
—
He cleared his throat again.
"The CEO of the Vander Corporation. Vice head of the Top-Tier Association. A multi-trillionaire."
Selene sighed. Loudly.
"I already know that," she said, rolling her eyes with deliberate drama.
A few brows twitched.
"And most of all," the man continued, voice hardening, "cunning."
Selene tilted her head, lips pursing as she made an exaggerated face of pity.
"Oh," she said lightly. "How tragic."
The man's jaw tightened.
Her tone—too casual, too unafraid—wasn't what they expected.
They hadn't brought her out here to joke.
They'd brought her out here to measure her.
And Selene Vander was failing every test they thought they were giving her.
—or perhaps, passing one they didn't understand yet.
The man glanced to the sides, then behind him.
In one sudden move, he grabbed Selene by the shoulders and pulled her closer.
"Listen to me," he said under his breath. "You have to stay away from Zenon. Do you know he's allergic to flowers?"
Selene struggled slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"But… he calls me flower."
The man leaned in, his voice colder.
"That doesn't mean anything."
The others closed in.
A half-circle. Too tight. Too close.
"Zenon is dangerous," one of them said quietly. "He uses women for illegal work. You have to believe us."
Another voice followed, low and threatening.
"If she complains of aches," he said, eyes narrowing, "you'll be paying with your life."
Selene's breath caught.
Then—
A shadow fell over them.
"Zenon."
The men stiffened.
He stood a few steps away, tall and slim, hands tucked calmly into his pockets. His face was serious. Unreadable.
"Ze—Zenon," the man stammered, forcing a laugh. "We were just trying to teach her the way."
He nodded toward Selene, urging her to agree.
Selene swallowed, then smiled sheepishly, nodding as if unsure.
"Yes… the way."
Zenon's eyes dropped to her.
To the way her shoulders were tense.
To the uncertainty in her gaze.
To the fear she was trying—and failing—to hide.
His jaw tightened.
He walked forward.
One hand slid to her waist, firm, possessive. Protective.
"I'm here now," he said quietly. "You don't have to be afraid."
He pulled her gently against his side and turned away without another word, leading her off the balcony.
Behind them, the men stood frozen.
And for the first time that night, they understood—
They hadn't been interrogating Zenon Vander's wife.
They'd just crossed a line.
——
Selene walked beside Zenon in silence.
Her fingers tightened at her sides, heart pressing hard against her chest. She glanced at him once… then again.
He walked forward with measured steps, composed, majestic—never once looking at her.
"A—aren't you going to ask me questions?" she blurted.
He didn't slow down.
"I don't ask," he said calmly. "You tell me. So what's causing the delay?"
His voice was even. Controlled.
Selene swallowed.
"I'm sorry… it's nothing."
She kept walking, shoulders stiff, feeling like a prisoner on her last day.
Oh gosh, what is this? Are they lying? Should I ask him? No—I can't. What if he is? No, he's not—argh, gosh—
She walked straight into him.
Zenon had stopped.
Both his arms were stretched out, palms resting against the wall, blocking her path. She almost crashed into his chest, too lost in her thoughts to notice.
"Get those junks out of your head," he said quietly. "None of those are true."
Selene looked up, startled.
"Geez—wizard," she said aloud, jolting back slightly, frowning.
Zenon chuckled, a low sound, the corner of his lips lifting.
"Now that's the Selene I know."
"Yes…" she murmured, gaze dropping again, worry creeping back in.
Zenon glanced at her from the side but said nothing.
---
When they reached the car, Zenon leaned against it casually, one shoulder resting on the door, watching her.
Calm, she thought. Unusual. Should I be glad… or afraid?
She lifted her head.
"Are you a criminal?" she asked.
"A killer?"
"A kidnapper?"
She kept going, counting off every word she could think of.
Zenon waited.
Then he chuckled.
"I'm not a criminal," he said lightly. "I'm too rich for that."
"I don't kidnap. That's too much stress."
He straightened slightly, leaning closer, tilting his head forward as he studied her.
"And I don't kill little flowers," he added. "I weed the thorns so the flowers can grow."
Selene leaned back against the car, watching him.
"But you hate flowers."
"I did. I do," he replied calmly. "But I'm curious what kind of flower this one is."
He paused.
"A thorn… or a bloom."
She chuckled softly, meeting his gaze.
"What if I'm a thorn?"
"I'll water the thorn," he said, unbothered, "until it bears flowers."
Her smile grew, warmth slipping through her chest.
"And if I'm a flower?"
Zenon's chuckle came slower this time, eyes dark as they lingered on her.
"Find out yourself, Selene," he said quietly. "Not many get the chance."
She straightened, nodding once, a small confident smile forming.
Zenon pushed off the car.
"If you'll excuse me," he said calmly, "I have some thorns to weed out."
A faint side-smile crossed his lips.
"Someone tried to hurt my flower."
Selene felt her face heat up.
"Okay," she said softly. "I'll be waiting in the car."
Zenon looked at her one last time.
Then he turned and walked away.