The elevator panel blinked once before the floor number changed.
Basement level 3.
Maxwell stepped out before the doors fully parted, his strides unhurried. The underground level wasn't a part of the original estate, it was something he had commissioned after his mother's death. Reinforced walls, no cameras, no digital logs.
Only ghosts lived down there.
The kind no one could trace.
He entered the vault room and keyed in a second override on the far wall. A thick steel door hissed and split open to reveal the containment chamber inside.
Everything important lived in doubles.
One locked drawer upstairs.
One true archive down here.
Selene had seen the decoy file.
He let her.
Let her dig, let her think she had teeth, let her build confidence just enough to step close to the line.
He flipped on the light. The bulbs above buzzed with sterile fluorescence. On the table in the center sat a thicker folder, one labeled Selene Thorne.
His eyes scanned the pages again, slowly.
He leaned over the folder and tapped the image inside.
His fingers paused on the photograph.
He studied the image longer than necessary. Not because he didn't recognize the face, but because he did and something about it refused to settle right.
The same tilt of the head, the same eyes. But the rest…
A whisper of wrongness. Like a song slightly off-key. Most people wouldn't hear it, but he did.
His phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He answered it without looking.
"Bring in Kiara."
There was a pause at the other end. "Are you sure?"
"I'm done waiting. Let's see what little Miss Thorne will do when someone else enters the game."
He hung up before his assistant could ask more questions.
The real game was only just beginning.
And Maxwell Hale.
He never played fair.
The gown arrived without warning.
Delivered in a flat, nondescript box.
A deep emerald green, the kind of color that devoured light, satin, backless. A neckline sharp enough to threaten.
Selene let her fingers trail over the fabric. It was expensive. It wasn't just a gift, it was a costume.
He was dressing her for a debut.
Her role:The perfect wife.
She would wear it like armor.
When she walked out of her bedroom, Maxwell was waiting in the grand entry hall, dressed in black on black.
His gaze drifted over her slowly, not in hunger but in assessment.
Her hair was swept into a smooth knot, exposing her neck. Pale skin against emerald. Her lips were a cool red, not soft or romantic. Her gray-blue glass-like eyes revealed nothing.
"Acceptable," he said at last, and offered his arm.
She took it.
The ballroom was a honeycomb of whispers and wealth. Glass chandeliers like spiderwebs of light. Every gaze turned as they entered. The Hales were not a couple. It was an event.
Selene didn't shrink from it.
She walked beside Maxwell like she belonged in the noise. Her expression was soft enough to pass for warmth.
She didn't speak unless prompted, she didn't falter in her role.
And yet the tension was there beneath her skin. Behind her posture, she felt his hand on her back, a constant reminder of who controlled the moment.
Halfway through the evening, a group gathered near the champagne fountain. A woman turned, dripping in diamonds, the kind of smile sharpened by money and not enough grace.
"I see you've finally found the one that keeps quiet," she said with a smirk, sipping her champagne. "Let's hope this one lasts longer than the others."
Selene turned slightly towards her, keeping her smile. "Quiet women tend to notice more."
Maxwell moved before the woman could respond.
He stepped into the space between them, not protectively but possessively. The way one might shield a weapon, not a lover.
"She's not here to amuse you," he said coldly. "And you'll find I don't recycle my mistakes."
The woman faltered. "I only meant..."
"Don't."
His voice didn't rise but it carried. A few heads turned.
Silence spider-webbed through the circle.
Selene didn't flinch. She kept her gaze lowered like the perfect wife.
But beneath her calm was a quiet thrill.
He hadn't defended her like a husband.
He'd defended her like property.
And that meant she was in.
That meant she was useful.
That meant she was dangerous.
In the car, neither of them spoke.
The silence sat between them like something hot and sharp.
Finally, Maxwell glanced over. "You didn't react."
Selene folded her hands in her lap. "It wasn't necessary."
He studied her for a long time. "You're different tonight."
She smiled, small. "I thought you'd prefer it."
Maxwell didn't respond, but his knuckles tensed on the wheel.
He wanted control, and she'd just handed it to him easily.
Which meant she was planning something.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure if he was the hunter or the hunted.
The car pulled into the estate's long driveway in silence.
Maxwell was unsettled and she knew it.
She didn't press him; she'd played her role tonight, and she played it perfectly.
The door opened, and the chilled night air kissed her skin as she stepped out. The Hale estate stood like a shadowed sentinel in the dark, beautiful and brutal in its symmetry.
"Inside," Maxwell said simply.
She followed.
The front doors closed with a hush behind them.
Selene stepped out of her heels at the threshold and padded across the marble wordlessly.
She expected him to disappear into his office.
Instead. He turned on the hallway light and said
"Follow me."
She didn't flinch, she just adjusted the strap of her gown and walked with him.
They went past the formal sitting room through a hallway she hadn't explored well yet. They went past two locked doors, and at the third, Maxwell paused. He produced a key and unlocked it.
"You don't trust me," she said coolly, but her pulse quickened.
Maxwell gave her a sideways glance. "I don't trust anyone."
He flicked on the light.
In the far corner of the room was a steel cabinet which was half open. He walked up to it, removed something, and tossed it onto the table in the center of the room.
A red velvet box.
Selene's brow lifted just slightly. "A gift?"
Maxwell nodded, "Open it."
She did.
Inside lay a choker. Obsidian black, thin and delicate, with a single emerald teardrop stone at the center.
A matching piece to her dress but unmistakably expensive and most especially unmistakably possessive.
"You want me to wear this."
Maxwell's voice was low. "Every time we're in public."
"And in private?"
He said nothing.
Selene lifted the necklace from the box, letting it dangle from one hand like a snake. "Is this a reward for good behavior?"
Maxwell stepped too close. "It's a reminder."
"Of what?"
His jaw flexed. "Obedience keeps you safe."
The words sat between them like smoke.
She held his gaze before slowly clasping the choker around her throat.
"There," she said softly, "perfect."
Maxwell didn't move, but he felt something shift, not in the room, in him.
A crack, a pause.
Something he didn't expect to feel.
Then BANG.
The sounds of the front door slamming.
Followed by the sounds of heels, confident and familiar.
Maxwell turned sharply, every muscle sharpening.
Selene followed him out of the room, and when they got out, the figure had already gotten past the butler.
And there she was.
Kiara.
Wearing winter white, snow clinging to her hair like diamonds, a duffel slung
Over one shoulder like she hasn't been gone a day.
She dropped the bag.
"I'm home," she tilted her head at Selene, then smiled too, knowing to be polite.
"And I see someone's been keeping my side of the bed warm."