"As for Chef Henri," Selene said casually, "his cooking is passable at best. His mentor, Master Elias—that man understands flavour."
She stretched languidly after finishing her meal, posture loose, utterly at ease.
Nothing beat that pleasant heaviness after a good meal.
Marcus's face flushed crimson.
How could a girl from the countryside possibly know names like that? Chef Henri? Let alone his mentor? Master Elias—he had never even heard of him.
Chef Henri was a renowned figure in France, a top-tier culinary master. In the entire country, only Lord Hartman of the Hartman family had ever succeeded in inviting him for a private dinner.
Rumour had it that Henri had publicly declared he would only cook again for one person—someone known only as Orion. Even the French royal family had failed to entice him out of retirement.
As for Orion's true identity?
No one knew.
Helena and the others were equally stunned.
From Selene's tone alone, a dangerous thought crept into their minds.
Had she really tasted Chef Henri's food before?
Had she actually eaten a dish prepared by him?
Impossible… right?
And yet, they couldn't bring themselves to fully dismiss it.
Helena forced a testing smile.
"You seem very knowledgeable," she said lightly. "Did you… happen to try it once?"
Selene yawned, utterly unconcerned.
"Mm. No."
Had she eaten Chef Henri's food before?
Yes—twice.
But she had eaten Master Elias's cooking for three full years.
Back in Country M, during her worst bout of anorexia, Vincent had practically dragged Chef Henri back from Europe.
Calling it an invitation was generous.
It had been closer to a kidnapping.
If that temperamental chef hadn't possessed even a shred of professional ethics, Selene suspected he might have poisoned her out of spite.
Hearing her indifferent denial, the tension at the table eased—just slightly.
Helena pressed again, smile still fixed in place.
"Then why criticize Henri's cooking? You really enjoy joking, Selene. And Master Elias… I've never even heard of him."
Selene lifted her eyes.
"Your ignorance is my responsibility?"
Helena's smile finally cracked.
Vivian snapped, unable to hold back.
"You're clearly making things up!"
Julian, who had sat through the entire meal in silence, finally spoke.
"That's enough. It's just black truffle. If you want it, tell the kitchen. There's no need to argue over nonsense."
And just like that, Selene's first dinner at the Voss household ended—wrapped in suspicion and an awkward quiet.
Nearby, Butler Harlan stood with his head lowered.
For the first time, he questioned the intelligence they had gathered.
Maybe… Selene really had eaten it.
Later that evening, upstairs, a small incident unfolded.
Vivian attempted to trip Selene—only to slip herself, scraping her knee.
Just as Vivian was about to recover, Selene turned her head and shot her a cool, knowing glance.
She'd seen through everything.
Panicking, Vivian lost her footing entirely and crashed down onto the marble steps.
Unluckily for her, she landed on her knees—directly behind Selene.
Vivian stared at the bruises forming, her face crumpling.
She had a dance performance the next day.
How was she supposed to dance like this?
Selene offered only a faint, mocking smile before continuing upstairs, ignoring the sobs echoing behind her.
Julian and Helena occupied the third floor.
Selene was placed in a room on the second floor, with Vivian's room three doors down on the left. Marcus's room sat diagonally across from hers.
Selene's bedroom looked like a teenager's tacky fantasy—cheap pink curtains, stuffed animals piled everywhere, and not a single item of real value.
The wardrobe was worse.
Outdated pieces. Poor knockoffs. Clothes that would turn anyone into an over-decorated peacock.
Selene had zero interest.
Helena clearly thought she was being clever.
If Selene had truly come straight from the mountains, perhaps she would've been dazzled.
Too bad she hadn't.
The sleek black phone in Selene's hand flipped open, unfolding into a compact computer. She typed in a secure address.
Obsidian Exchange.
The interface loaded instantly.
At the top of the bounty leaderboard sat a single name:
Noctis.
The reward had climbed to two billion.
Wasn't it only 1.5 billion last week?
Who had raised the price again?
She scanned the rankings.
Second place: Adrian.
Third place: Mira.
Both active. Both dangerous.
Obsidian Exchange was the largest mercenary network on the dark web.
With enough money, anything was possible.
Presidents. Billionaires. Entire bloodlines.
Everything—except one thing.
No one had ever caught Noctis.
No identity. No trail. Every mission ended in absolute success.
That was why people either tried to kill him—or begged him to work for them.
But Noctis chose only what amused him.
Selene folded the device shut, returning it to phone mode.
The room fell into silence.
Then her phone rang—far too loud in the dark.
A familiar voice purred through the line.
"Sweet Selene… did you miss me?"