[02]

The party was thinning out.

Half the guests were drunk, the other half were pretending not to be.

Selene sat back at the bar beside Layla, swirling the last of her champagne. "You know," she said, "this place feels like a high-end zoo. Everyone's trying too hard to impress."

Layla giggled. "Maybe because they all know Damien's back. You saw the way half those girls were drooling when he walked in?"

Selene smirked. "Please. I was not drooling."

"You stared."

"Observing," she corrected.

"Uh-huh." Layla downed her drink. "If you're observing that hard, at least get his number."

Selene rolled her eyes. "He's Damien Cross, not some guy from Tinder."

Layla shrugged. "Rich, handsome, mysterious - you're basically describing your type."

"Wrong," Selene said with a grin. "My type doesn't come with emotional damage and generational wealth."

Layla laughed so loud the bartender shot her a look. "You're hopeless."

"Thanks."

They both chuckled, but Selene's mind wasn't really there.

She kept thinking about that brief conversation - the way Damien's voice sounded like calm before a storm, how he left right when it was getting interesting.

She sighed. "Anyway, where's your next victim?"

Layla perked up, eyes lighting on a tall guy across the room. "Right there. Black suit, stupidly handsome. Wish me luck."

Selene watched her friend strut away and shook her head. "She's going to embarrass herself again," she muttered, finishing her drink.

As she turned back toward the bar, she caught a familiar face at the far end of the room - Lucian Virel.

He stood near the balcony, glass of whiskey in hand, pretending not to look her way.

But he was. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked toward her - cold, curious, calculating.

Selene didn't flinch. Instead, she raised her chin slightly, meeting his eyes head-on.

Lucian's lips twitched - not quite a smile, more like amusement. Then he looked away.

She hated the way that tiny exchange made her pulse quicken.

Turning around, she ordered another drink. She wasn't leaving yet - not with him watching like that.

/ / /

Across the room, Lucian leaned against the railing, pretending to scroll through his phone. But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Selene Hart.

He'd seen her name in a few fashion magazines, heard of her brand, even noticed her once at a corporate gala - but she'd never stood out like this before.

There was something annoyingly magnetic about her.

The kind of woman who didn't try to impress anyone, yet somehow did.

He told himself it was curiosity, nothing more.

Just curiosity.

Then he saw Damien's car pull away through the glass doors - and for some reason, that made his jaw tighten.

/ / /

"Enjoying yourself?"

Lucian looked up - Sergio Vance, Damien's old acquaintance, had appeared beside him.

Lucian gave a low hum. "Define enjoying."

Sergio followed his gaze and smirked. "Ah. That kind of enjoying."

Lucian shot him a warning look.

"Relax," Sergio said, raising his hands. "You're staring like she owes you money."

"She doesn't," Lucian muttered, sipping his drink. "Just... interesting face."

"Sure. You only use that tone when you're lying."

Lucian ignored him.

But Sergio didn't stop. "You thinking of making a move?"

"No."

"Then why are you still here?"

Lucian didn't answer. He just watched Selene laugh at something the bartender said, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

He could leave. He should leave.

But instead, he ordered another drink.

/ / /

Layla eventually returned, tipsy and smiling like she'd just won the lottery. "He's Italian," she whispered dramatically. "And he asked for my number."

Selene groaned. "Of course he did."

Layla sat down beside her. "You should have fun too, you know? You've been sitting here looking like a bored goddess."

"I'm fine."

"Fine," Layla said, narrowing her eyes. "Or thinking about Damien fine?"

Selene smirked. "You're imagining things."

"Uh-huh." Layla wobbled to her feet. "I'm getting another drink. Try not to fall in love while I'm gone."

Selene laughed. "No promises."

She watched her friend disappear into the crowd again. The air felt heavier suddenly - or maybe that was just her imagination.

When she turned around, Lucian was gone.

She frowned, scanning the hall, but he'd vanished completely. Good, she told herself. He was unsettling.

She grabbed her purse and started heading for the exit.

The night air outside was cool, sharp against her skin. She took a deep breath and smiled faintly to herself - at least she survived the evening.

Then, just as she reached her car, a voice came from behind her.

"Leaving so soon?"

She froze. That voice - low, smooth, unmistakably smug.

Lucian.

Turning slowly, she found him standing a few feet away, jacket unbuttoned, hands in his pockets. The streetlight caught the edge of his smirk.

"Do you always follow women out of parties?" she asked flatly.

"Only the interesting ones," he said.

"I'm not interested."

"Didn't say you were."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

Lucian tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting. "Nothing. Just making conversation."

"Well, conversation's over." She stepped closer, chin raised. "Next time, try less stalking."

His smile widened - sharp, dangerous. "Feisty. No wonder Cross looked so taken."

Her expression flickered. "Excuse me?"

He stepped closer, just enough to make her breath hitch. "You really think he wasn't watching you too?"

For a moment, silence. Just the faint sound of city traffic.

Then Selene scoffed, turning away. "You're insane."

"Maybe," Lucian murmured, voice low. "But I'm right."

She opened her car door without looking back. "You're wasting your time, Mr. Virel."

Lucian smirked. "We'll see about that."

As the car drove off, he pulled out his phone.

"Do a background check," he said coldly. "Selene Hart. I want everything."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

For a second, he stared at the fading taillights - that same stubborn confidence replaying in his mind.

He told himself it was strategy. Curiosity.

But deep down, he already knew better.

.

.

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