. Amara descended the grand staircase. She wore a pale blue silk dress—Zane's favorite color on her—and her hair fell over her shoulder in soft, deliberate waves. Every step she took, every breath she inhaled, was calculated.
She wasn't walking through her home—she was walking through a battlefield.
Zane was already seated at the long dining table, buried in a financial report, his suit jacket hung neatly on the chair beside him. His eyes flicked upward when she entered, and for the first time in months—perhaps years—he held her gaze.
"Good morning," she said softly, as though nothing between them had ever been broken.
He hesitated. "Morning."
Amara smiled and moved to pour herself tea. "Did you sleep well?"
Zane seemed surprised by the question. "I... did. Thank you."
He was guarded. Confused. She could see it in the way he clutched the report tighter than necessary. And why wouldn't he be? She had been cold for years. Distant. She had curled herself into Darian's arms while her husband, loyal and loving, had slept alone.
She stirred honey into her tea with careful elegance, then turned to face him. "Would you like me to join you at the board meeting today?"
Zane blinked. "You haven't come to one in over a year."
"I know." She lifted her cup and met his eyes. "But I want to now. I want to understand more of what you do. What matters to you."
There it was—a flicker. A shift in his expression. Suspicion? Or hope?
He nodded slowly. "If you want."
"I do."
Amara sat beside him—not across the table like usual. Close enough to brush his arm. She let the silence settle, warm and unexpected, then turned to look out at the garden beyond the glass doors. It looked peaceful, untouched. But in her mind, it was already crawling with hidden snakes.
---
Selene's Point of View
From the terrace above, Selene watched them.
Amara. And Zane.
Sitting close. Talking.
Something about it sent a sour heat rolling through her stomach.
She turned on her heel, her heels clicking sharply across the polished floor as she made her way toward the east wing. Darian was there, pretending to review invoices, lounging on the velvet couch with a glass of whiskey in hand though it wasn't even noon.
"She's getting close to him again," Selene snapped, her voice low and sharp.
Darian didn't look up. "Who?"
Selene shot him a deadly glare. "Don't play dumb. Your beloved Amara. The one you couldn't keep your hands off."
That got his attention. He set the glass down and stood, brushing a hand through his tousled dark hair. "What are you talking about?"
"She's been acting... different. Sweet. Attentive. Zane's eating it up."
Darian's jaw clenched. "She's playing him?"
"She's playing us," Selene said bitterly. "Don't you feel it? She's not the same. Something's wrong."
"Maybe she's just bored of you."
Selene slapped him. The sound echoed across the room.
"You forget who helped you get where you are," she hissed. "You forget who's been protecting your dirty little secrets. Don't turn on me now."
Darian stared at her, then smiled slowly. "Relax, Selene. We'll handle her."
"She needs to be reminded of her place."
Darian stepped closer. "Then let's remind her."
Selene forced herself to calm, to breathe, but deep inside, something curdled. Amara was not the same woman she'd once towered over. There was steel behind her smile now. Purpose.
And Selene hated not knowing what came next.