The Moonlight Council Gala.
In Selena's past life, it had been the event where everything began to unravel her image, her status, her relationship. All because she had walked in like a hopeful bride-to-be and walked out a public embarrassment.
This time, she would walk in as a warning.
Selena stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a black velvet gown that shimmered under candlelight like moonlit ink. It was sleeveless, with a deep slit on one side, daring but elegant the kind of dress that said she didn't need permission to exist in the room. Maia zipped her up in silence, eyes wide.
"My lady… you look dangerous."
"Good," Selena said, applying her lipstick. "Let them look."
She placed a single crimson rose behind her ear not for beauty, but for symbolism. The same kind her sister had worn the night she sabotaged her. Tonight, she wore it as a reminder: I remember everything.
Elira entered her room without knocking, as always.
"You're taking me to the Gala?" she asked, already dressed in her soft pink gown, hair curled into perfection. "Mother says it's highly improper."
Selena turned slowly.
"That's why you're coming. So I don't forget what improper looks like."
Elira smiled tightly. "Don't be childish, sister."
"I'm not being childish," Selena said coolly. "I'm being observant."
She grabbed her gloves and walked past her sister without another word.
Let the snakes slither, She was bringing fire.
The Gala was held in Blackthorn Tower, a massive silver-glass building that loomed over the city like a modern palace. The bottom floors buzzed with camera flashes and nobles murmuring behind crystal champagne glasses, Selena descended from the car like she owned the place Elira trailed behind her, sugar-sweet and wide-eyed, pretending not to be nervous.
As they entered, whispers rippled.
"That's Selena D'Archer"
"The one Damien's marrying?"
"I thought Elira was the prettier one..."
"But look at her. She's… terrifying."
Selena let them talk. She wasn't here to win hearts, She was here to play the game.
Inside the ballroom, light poured down from massive moonstone chandeliers. Silver and white dominated the décor, with giant banners bearing the Blackthorn crest a wolf circling a crescent moon. And there he was, Damien Blackthorn, standing at the far end of the ballroom, dressed in a midnight black suit with no tie, no smile, and a glass of wine he wasn't drinking, their eyes met Selena smiled a polite, fake little curve of the lips.
Damien raised an eyebrow. And walked toward her.
"Elira," he said stiffly, glancing at her sister. "Didn't expect you."
"Just here to support Selena," Elira said sweetly. "As always."
Selena didn't flinch.
Damien's gaze returned to her. "You came."
"I was invited."
"I wasn't sure you'd accept."
"Why wouldn't I? This is the perfect place to display the illusion of unity."
Damien's jaw tightened. He liked control she kept denying it to him.
He leaned in just slightly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She tilted her head. "What, the power shift? A little."
A voice interrupted them high-pitched, smug.
"Lady Selena! I didn't know you wore such bold colors."
Countess Virelle glided over, dressed in glittering emeralds, her nose held high.
Selena smiled without warmth. "And you still wear envy so well."
The Countess blinked. "Pardon?"
"Your dress. It's practically vibrating with it."
Gasps nearby. Elira's eyes widened.
Countess Virelle's smile twitched. "You were always a little too proud, dear. Confidence is dangerous in a woman."
"Only to those who fear her," Selena replied smoothly.
As the music started, Damien extended a hand toward her.
"Dance with me."
Selena stared at it, her expression unreadable.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she took it.
The crowd parted as the two stepped onto the ballroom floor.
He led, of course. His grip was firm, but not painful. His body warm. His scent cedar and ash felt like a memory.
"You've changed," he said quietly.
"I've evolved," she corrected. "Growth tends to come after death."
He stopped for half a step. "What?"
Selena smiled. "Nothing."
She let him turn her, spin her, lead her. But every step was calculated. Every glance, every movement a chess piece being moved into place, He may not remember their past but she was already writing their future.
As the music faded, applause followed. Some loud. Some forced. Some confused. And all eyes were on them, Exactly how she wanted it. Later that night, back in her estate, Selena unpinned the rose from her hair and placed it on her desk beside her journal.
A line was added under Damien's name:
Still watching. Not yet trusted. But no longer feared.
And under Elira's name, she scribbled: She knows I remember. That gives me time. Because the real game hadn't even started yet, But when it did… I planned to win.