Kieran stepped out of his house—though calling it a house was an understatement. The estate loomed like a grand hotel, an architectural masterpiece with towering columns, intricate glass windows, and sprawling balconies.
The dark stone exterior gave it an imposing presence, a fortress for the powerful. The massive wrought-iron gates, lined with security cameras, only reinforced the fact that this was no ordinary residence—it was a domain.
Parked outside, gleaming under the morning sun, was his red Bentley flying spur. Its sleek, aggressive design was a stark contrast to the refined elegance of the estate behind it. The driver stood by, patiently waiting, while Charles, Kieran's closest friend, leaned casually against the car, spinning a key around his finger.
Inside the vehicle, Kieran's Beta sat with his hand out the window, tapping on the door, nodding along to a song playing on the speakers, fingers tapping against the car door.
Kieran strode forward, his presence demanding attention. His sharp gaze landed on Charles.
"Open the door for me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Charles scoffed, barely sparing him a glance. "C'mon, man. Just jump in, or drive yourself."
Kieran exhaled through his nose, letting the argument slide. Instead of dignifying Charles with a response, he reached for the handle and pulled open the door himself, sliding into the car.
The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the tense atmosphere.
Charles, never one to handle silence well, decided to start a conversation. "Have you seen your bride-to-be?" he asked, taking a second to glance at Kieran before focusing back on the road.
Kieran's expression remained unreadable. "Not yet," he said subtly, his voice carrying a weight of disinterest.
Charles wasn't done yet. "Do you have plans? A honeymoon, maybe? A welcoming gift?" His voice dripped with amusement, testing Kieran's patience.
Kieran's reply was devoid of warmth. "Nope. I just wish to make her life miserable as hell." His tone was deadly serious, a quiet promise of destruction.
Charles swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Oh… okay." He cleared his throat, deciding against pushing further. The rest of the drive continued in silence.
---
They arrived at the Devour's Estate, a place just as extravagant as Kieran's own. Charles stepped out first, his movements relaxed and easy, while Kieran followed, his gait slow and deliberate, a predator assessing his surroundings.
A long line of maids awaited them in neat rows, standing at attention. At the center, the Devour's gamma stood, exuding quiet authority. She was dressed in professional trousers and an office blouse, her hair neatly pulled back, a serious expression settled on her face.
As soon as she saw them, she walked forward, giving a slight bow. "Welcome, sir," she said, her voice smooth but distant. "Please allow me to show you to the venue." A fake smile stretched across her lips, but it never reached her eyes.
Kieran barely acknowledged her, only offering a slight nod. She turned briskly, leading the way toward the garden.
The garden was breathtaking—an oasis of controlled perfection. A long white table stretched across the center, adorned with fine china and elegant silverware, eight high-backed chairs carefully arranged around it. To the side, a marble fountain stood, water cascading gracefully, the soft sound adding an almost deceptive tranquility to the scene.
The scent of freshly cut roses lingered in the air, mingling with the distant melody of birds chirping in the surrounding trees.
But for Kieran, none of it mattered. He wasn't here for beauty.
He was here to ensure someone else's nightmare began.
---
The sound of water trickling from the grand marble fountain echoed softly across the polished stone platform.
The garden was immaculate—trimmed hedges, vibrant flower arrangements, and the crisp scent of fresh roses in the air.
At the long white table, George and Flora were already seated, their postures poised, their expressions unreadable.
George lifted his glass, offering a polite but hollow smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kieran," he said as Kieran settled into his chair.
Kieran didn't respond, his face devoid of expression. Instead, Charles, sensing the tension, jumped in to lighten the mood.
"Nice house you got here, George," he remarked casually, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a loud bite. "Must've cost a fortune to keep up with a place like this."
George let out a small chuckle, though his eyes flickered with unease. He poured himself more wine before responding. "Thank you."
Flora, ever the composed hostess, smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in her dress before addressing Kieran with a sweet yet calculated voice. "Our daughter, Selene Devroux, will be here soon."
Kieran leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "I don't have all day," he replied, his voice as cold as ice.
Flora barely reacted, instead motioning to a maid to fetch Selene.
---
Selene sat at her dressing table, staring into the mirror—but she wasn't looking at herself.
Instead, her mind drifted, the reflection in the glass shifting from her present self to a memory—a younger version of her, a girl barely past childhood, standing in awe at the entrance of the Delarose estate for the first time.
She had been so young back then, so naive.
The mansion had seemed like a dream, its halls endless, its chandeliers glittering like stars. Her mother had knelt before her, straightening the hem of her dress with gentle hands.
"You'll be happy here," she had promised, pressing a kiss to Selene's forehead.
Selene had smiled brightly, clutching her mother's hands. "I love this house! It's huge!"
Her mother had chuckled softly, standing to her feet.
Then one day,
Selene had been out in the garden that afternoon, marveling at the flowers, when Cynthia—a nineteen-year-old with striking features and cruel eyes—walked up to her with a knowing smirk.
"So, you're the new girl," Cynthia had said, tilting her head in mock curiosity. "I heard your mother made quite the impression… on my father."
Selene, confused, had simply blinked. "What do you mean?"
Cynthia's smile had widened, dripping with fake sympathy. "Oh, sweet child," she sighed dramatically. "You'll learn soon enough. Women like your mother? They don't belong here. But I suppose when you're willing to spread your legs for the right people, even rats can find shelter in a golden cage."
The words had stung. Even at that young age, Selene had understood the insult buried within them.
"Don't talk about my mother like that," she had snapped, her small hands balling into fists.
Cynthia had laughed—a high, amused sound. "You're feisty. But don't get any ideas, little girl. You'll never be anything more than a charity case. This house? This family? They own you now. Never forget your place."
Before Selene could react, Cynthia had shoved her—hard.
She had stumbled back, her feet slipping against the wet grass, and then—she was falling.
The cold shock of the pond water had hit her like a slap, stealing her breath as she sank beneath the surface. Muffled laughter rang in her ears as Cynthia stood above her, watching with satisfaction.
Selene had scrambled to the surface, gasping, coughing, shivering.
"Welcome home," Cynthia had said before turning away, her footsteps retreating as Selene sat there, drenched, humiliated, and burning with a silent, unspoken rage.
The memory shattered as a knock at the door pulled her back to the present.
"Miss, the guest has arrived," a maid announced from the doorway. "You're being awaited outside."
Selene's breath hitched. They're here.
She clenched her fists, forcing herself to stand despite the storm brewing inside her.
Across the room, Blaze lay sprawled across the sofa, one arm flung over her eyes, half-asleep.
"Blaze!" she hissed, shaking her shoulder urgently. "He's here!"
Blaze groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before cracking a slow, mischievous smirk.
"Yeah?" she stretched lazily. "Then let's go ruin this wedding."
She pushed herself up, grinning as if this was all just another game.
But for Selene—this was anything but.
---