Chapter 20: Eyes Like Glass
The screen blinked to life in front of her—twelve feeds, all seamless. Clean visuals. Clear audio. It hadn't even taken her a full five minutes to get in.
The Fenix estate had terrible security.
No, not terrible. Just...human. Predictable. Breakable.
The room around her was dim. One side of the villa's living room glowed with amber light from the fire. The rest was lit only by the wall of screens. Seraphine sat cross-legged on the floor, silk robe loose over her shoulders, eyes like ice beneath the dark fall of her hair.
She didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
Just watched.
The camera angle switched. A man came into view—older, broad-shouldered, the kind of face that money and arrogance had aged badly. Victor Fenix. Sixth most powerful man in the world.
To her, he looked like a rotting peach in a tailored suit.
Kian entered behind him. Still in the black shirt she'd made. Still carrying the aftermath of her—even if no one could see it.
He looked...
Untouched. Still. The chaos she'd inflicted on him didn't show in his posture, but she could see it. The looseness of his spine. The way his hands didn't clench when Victor spoke. He had been calm before—but now?
He was centred.
Rooted in something he didn't understand yet.
Her.
The audio was crisp.
"You vanished," Victor said sharply. "At your own birthday celebration."
She exhaled slowly, gaze fixed.
Kian's voice was smooth. Dismissive.
"I had a last-minute meeting with some friends who wanted to celebrate. I thought it'd be easier to get it out of the way before anything else happened."
She didn't blink.
Liar.
He hadn't been with friends. He'd been with her. Touched her like no one ever had. Looked at her like he didn't want the night to end.
And then he left.
Without asking anything.
Without needing anything.
Interesting.
She sipped the tea on her left—no sugar, three degrees hotter than most could drink. Just the way she liked it.
"They didn't stay long," Victor continued. "Left without much ceremony."
She watched him refill his glass.
"She wasn't there, of course. Seraphine."
The sound of her name didn't register in her body. Not like it did in others.
No spike of tension. No ego. Just…an idle hum at the back of her mind. Like hearing a weather report.
"Cold as ice, that one. No appearances. No photographs. Nothing but stories. Even I don't know what she looks like."
Seraphine's head tilted slightly.
Of course he didn't.
He never would.
Her fingers danced over the tablet beside her, zooming the frame. Kian was still silent. Unmoved.
"They say she kills without a blink. Has entire firms destroyed in hours. One man said she once smiled while bankrupting five nations in a single deal."
Victor chuckled nervously.
Seraphine leaned back on one arm, amusement flickering faintly in her gaze.
Five nations? Try twelve.
"They say she's beautiful, but not like the women you see in magazines. Something else. Something… unnatural."
Seraphine's lip twitched.
Unnatural?
That's rich coming from a man with two face lifts and forty-eight lies stuffed into his last business report.
She focused on Kian again.
Still no reaction.
Not a twitch. Not a blink.
She leaned in closer, studying his profile. The way his eyes drifted—not at the mention of her name, but when Victor kept talking.
He wasn't thinking about Seraphine.
He was thinking about Eva.
And he didn't even know they were the same.
Perfect.
Victor kept rambling. About titles. Dmitri. Press. Expectations.
"I thought their daughter might show up for once. But of course, she didn't. She never does."
Seraphine reached lazily for the strawberry she'd sliced an hour ago. Placed it between her lips. Bit down.
"They say even their staff aren't allowed to speak her name. That she was trained to rule from birth. No feelings. No mercy. Only power."
She chewed slowly.
Swallowed.
And watched Kian look away—not because of Victor's fear, not because of the rumors.
Because he simply did not care.
She smiled now, slow and quiet, like a blade gliding through silk.
That was what made him beautiful.
He hadn't asked her to explain who she was. Hadn't searched for her beyond the edge of the night they shared. He didn't hunger for identity.
He remembered her hands.
Her voice.
Her eyes.
That was all.
He belonged to her now, even if he didn't know it. And when he reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the key she'd given him, Seraphine's smile widened just a breath.
He still carried it.
Good.