Elowen's Poison and Selene's Fire

Selene's room was shrouded in twilight.

Heavy curtains filtered the daylight, making the air dense and stifling. She paced slowly from one side to the other, like a caged beast. The silence was broken only by the sound of her steps on the stone floor.

Since the Feast of Shadows, something had been eating her from the inside.

Elowen. The name echoed in her mind like poison. That stunning redhead, with her provocative dresses and laughter laced with malice, wouldn't leave Selene's thoughts. Nor the way she touched Dante, as if he already belonged to her.

Selene clenched her fists, the white glove smudging with soot from the fireplace. She said nothing. She couldn't. She shouldn't. The feelings inside her were too confusing, too dangerous. Showing any weakness would be the same as surrendering.

Her gaze stopped in front of the mirror. There was dried blood at the corner of her mouth—not hers, but from someone who had dared provoke her. The crimson dress from the feast still lay on the floor, torn. She couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

In a silent outburst, Selene grabbed a crystal vase and hurled it against the wall. The crash was loud. The shards caught the dim light like tiny silver blades. Still, it wasn't enough to ease the weight in her chest.

The door burst open, revealing Ayla, the only friend she had left. She rushed to Selene and gripped her shoulders tightly.

—Selene! What happened? — Ayla looked at her with concern. — Are you hurt?

—No. — Selene's voice was cold, dry, cutting.

—Then why…?

—I needed to break something, — she said simply, pulling away.

Ayla hesitated, glancing at the scattered shards. — This is about her, isn't it?

Selene arched an eyebrow. — About who?

—Elowen. The redhead. The smiling shadow. She won't stop circling Dante like he already belongs to her…

—That doesn't matter to me. — The response came immediately, but the venom in her tone betrayed what Selene wouldn't admit.

Ayla let out a soft sigh, watching her friend. — Selene… I know you.

—Then respect me. — Selene met her gaze intensely, her voice low and firm. — Never mention this again.

A heavy silence settled between them.

Before Ayla could answer, the door opened again. Cassios Valtieri entered, imposing as ever. His eyes scanned the shards, the chaos, and finally landed on his daughter with severity.

—You're losing control, Selene.

—I didn't ask for your opinion, — she shot back without hesitation.

Cassios stepped forward, his voice dripping with authority. — You are a Valtieri. Your role is to lead with coldness. Allowing yourself to feel is signing your own death sentence.

Selene didn't reply. She simply stared at him with defiance.

Then his hand came without warning. A sharp, powerful slap. Her skin burned, but she didn't move. She held his gaze with a mix of hatred and silent disdain.

—Remember this, daughter, — Cassios said before walking out. — Emotions are weaknesses enemies will always know how to exploit.

As he disappeared through the door, Selene brought her hand to her face. The sting hurt less than her wounded pride. She turned her back to Ayla.

—You can leave too. I need to be alone.

—Selene…

—Go.

Ayla hesitated but obeyed.

Alone once more, Selene allowed a single tear to fall. She wiped it away in anger. It wasn't pain. It was something deeper. More tangled.

Minutes later, the door opened quietly.

Dante.

He entered without announcing himself, without asking permission—as always. His amber eyes landed on her like a silent blade.

—He hit you, — he murmured, voice low and contained, though something boiled beneath the surface.

Selene turned her face away. —That's none of your business.

—Everything about you is my business, — he said, approaching slowly. — Even when you pretend not to feel a thing.

She clenched her fists, but said nothing.

Dante came closer, stopping just inches from her. His presence burned. His eyes scanned every inch of her face. There was fury there, but something darker too. Obsessive.

—I saw what Elowen tried to do, — he said, provoking. — You didn't like it, did you?

—I don't care who you get involved with, Dante.

He smirked, sardonic. —Of course you don't.

—I'm tired of your games. Leave. — She turned away.

Dante grabbed her wrist, firmly, pulling her back. His amber eyes burned like embers. — You can lie to everyone, Selene. To your father, to Ayla… even to yourself. But I see. I always see.

—You don't know anything.

—I know everything. — He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to hers. — I know what eats you alive. And one day… you'll give in.

Selene shoved him back hard. —Never.

—Then why is your hand trembling?

She glared at him, but said nothing. Her eyes were filled with pain. And Dante, feeding off it, stepped back with a satisfied expression.

—You're beautiful when you break, Selene, — he whispered, before leaving.

She remained there, motionless, her chest heaving. The ruined room mirrored her heart.

But she would never admit it. Not to the world. Not to him.