SELENE
Tate stood near the fireplace, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, the flickering glow making his features sharper, darker. His jacket was draped over a chair, his drink held loosely in one hand, the picture of a man who thought he had everything under control.
“You’re overreaching.” Her voice was measured, steady, but only just. “Rolling back marriage was enough to turn heads. But forcing divorces? The council does not need to do this right now.”
Tate didn’t react right away. He took a slow sip of his drink like he had all the time in the world. When he finally looked at her, his smirk was infuriatingly calm.
She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “It’s a goddamn purge.”
His expression didn’t shift, but she caught the flicker in his eyes—just a second, just enough. He stepped toward her. “It’s the next step.”
Selene didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He was taller, broader, a man who learned long ago that presence was power. But she spent her entire life around men like him.
She would never cower.
“You don’t understand what you’re walking into,” she said, voice smooth but edged with warning. “The people whose marriages you’re dissolving? You’re not just erasing paperwork. You’re taking something they built their entire lives around.”
She tilted her head slightly. “They’re not going to let that go, Garrison.”
“The dissolutions are happening, Selene.”
“I think,” she said, tilting her chin slightly, “you’re lighting a match in a room full of gas. And when it ignites, you’ll be the one left standing in the fire.”
His eyes flashed, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Selene took another step around him, circling him the way he always tried to circle her. “You don’t need the dissolutions. The repeal alone is enough to turn heads.”
Tate raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that your expert opinion?”
“It’s common sense,” she said coolly. “Just let it go. Push it further, and you won’t get support—you’ll get backlash. And you’ll pay for it.”
She paused just behind him, letting the silence stretch like a threat.
“The people have limits. I’d suggest you learn where they are, assuming you’re capable.”
Tate smirked, taking another sip before murmuring, “You should be careful, Selene. You’re starting to sound like you’re on the wrong side.”
“Don’t be stupid, Garrison,” she sneered. “There are no sides. There’s power. And if you keep playing dress-up in big boy shoes, you’ll lose what little of it you had to begin with.”
Tate hummed, studying her for a beat. Then, slowly, he set his glass down and stepped closer. Too close. His presence was heavy, suffocating. And it caught her off guard. He’d never had the balls to get in her face before.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a jolt of pain up her arm.
“Don’t speak to me like a child.” His voice was low, threaded with something dark. “I don’t care who your father is.”
Her pulse pounded, not from fear, but from the slow-burning, unforgiving rage that always simmered beneath the surface when she was forced to tolerate idiots in power.
His grip tightened, bruising now, and his smirk unfurled slowly and venomously. His eyes dragged down the length of her, measuring and claiming, like she was a possession he intended to remind her of.
He stepped close, chest brushing hers, his breath hot against her cheek. The air between them thinned. It was suffocating.
“You are my wife,” he said, voice low, curling with quiet authority. “Maybe it’s time you learn what that means.”
Selene didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. And then, with precise, deadly control, she pulled free.
But it rattled her.
Not the pain. Not even the words.
It was the shift.
Tate had never dared to threaten her like this before. He never bothered with it. He had other women to screw, other people to haunt. She was always the untouchable one, the exception, the wife with power behind her name and a father too dangerous to provoke.
But now?
Now, he looked at her like he owned her. Like the game changed, and he finally believed he could win.
That, more than anything, made her blood go cold.
She pushed him back to reclaim her space.
Tate’s eyes darkened. A twitch of irritation. A miscalculation.
“For now,” she murmured.
His jaw ticked. “What was that?”
She leaned in just slightly, her lips brushing his jaw as she whispered, “I am your wife for now.”
Then she turned, walking away without a glance back. Leaving him standing there, breathing just a little too hard, fingers curling into fists.
Tate always wanted power, but more than that, he wanted to be revered. He was eager to listen, serve, and impress, and she allowed herself to be positioned beside him, confident she could control him.
But power went to his head. The more he had, the less he listened. His decisions were no longer calculated but reckless, driven by arrogance instead of strategy.
Selene rubbed her wrist absently, still feeling the weight of his grip. The heat curling in her stomach wasn’t fear. It wasn’t pain.
It was rage.
She married a man she thought she could manipulate.
Instead, she created something far more dangerous—a fool who thought he was untouchable.
The storm rattled the windows as she walked down the hall, heels clicking against the marble.
If she let him go unchecked, he would destroy them both.
?