Selene’s POV

No wedding with Alaric.

Just how I wanted it. Just how it should’ve been from the very beginning.

And yet, even with the chaos behind me, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Uncle Cass.

Ugh. I hate to admit it… but his words from earlier? The way he grabbed me, the whisper in my ear, that low, warning tone that shouldn’t have sounded as s*xy as it did? Yeah, it did something to me. My cheeks heated up just thinking about it again.

I mean, I know he’s gay—at least, that’s what everyone keeps saying like it’s scripture—but gods, that didn’t feel like a friendly uncle move. That was raw. That was fire. That was—

I caught myself, exhaling a dramatic breath and plopping onto my bed like I was in some old romantic drama. Did I go too far back there? The kiss, the shirt lift, the tattoo reveal in front of everyone? Yeah, okay, maybe I did the absolute most. Maybe I broke the d*mn wedding, the guests’ dignity, and Cassian’s soul all in one shot. Was he mad about it?

…Or was he intrigued?

A slow smile tugged at my lips. I know he felt that kiss. He didn’t move, but his eyes—those stormy, confused, gorgeous eyes—had a fire in them. And deep down, he knows that chaos was fun. Even if he’s trying to pretend it wasn’t.

It had only been a few hours since I blew up what was supposed to be my fairy tale wedding. Hours since the crowd gasped, the whispers spread like wildfire, and Alaric shouted to the entire world that he rejected me. Not that I cared. If anything, he did me a favor.

As for Marla? Oh, that snake had the audacity to sit in the crowd, fake-smiling like she hadn’t been screwing my fiancé for goddess-knows-how-long. I didn’t waste a single heartbeat—blocked and deleted her the moment I stepped foot back into my apartment. My chest burned with betrayal, but I didn’t let myself cry.

Not for her.

Not for him.

I rolled my eyes at the memory, dragging my gaze back to the mirror in front of me. My black satin dress clung to every curve like a second skin, the sl*t high enough to say “I’m healing” and low enough to say “Try me.” I looked too d*mn fine to be heartbroken. My lipstick was bold red, my heels sharp enough to stab feelings, and my hair curled to perfection.

You’re probably wondering where I’m off to.

A club.

Yup. I needed loud music, cheap shots, and dim lights. I needed to forget Alaric’s stupid face and Marla’s smug smile. I needed to dance until my feet hurt and flirt until I forgot everything that led to this night.

And hey, maybe—just maybe—I’d find my real Prince Charming there. Or at least someone who knows how to kiss without a hidden agenda and a pack of lies.

I smirked to myself as I spritzed my perfume one last time, the sweet-spicy scent settling around me like armor. Tonight wasn’t about running. It was about reclaiming my power.

I grabbed my purse, locked the door behind me, and tucked the keys safely inside.

“Let’s make a little mess,” I whispered to myself as I walked out and waved down a cab, hips swaying and heart still a little bruised—but not broken.

Not anymore.

                        Few minutes later,

The sign above the entrance glowed like a neon invitation to trouble: "Velvet Howl."Yeah. The name screamed drama, desire, and exactly what I needed tonight.

The bass from inside hit me in the chest before I even stepped through the door. As I pushed past the velvet ropes, I didn’t need to show ID. The bouncer’s eyes flicked over my dress, and he simply nodded me in. My heels tapped against the glossy black floors, my dress swaying like it owned the rhythm. The second I walked in, the heat of the room wrapped around me, alive with red lights, gold accents, and enough sweat and sin to drown in.

And just like that… eyes turned.

Men noticed me before the scent of my perfume had even settled in the air. Some stood straighter, some whispered to their friends, others just stared—blatant and thirsty. One tried to slide in beside me near the bar, leaning just a little too close with a grin that said, “I think I have a chance.”

I didn’t even glance at him. Not tonight.

“I’ll take a Black Widow,” I told the bartender, tossing a couple bills on the counter. He slid the dark, slick cocktail toward me, and I brought it to my lips, the mix of blackberry, tequila, and betrayal burning its way down my throat.

God, it was perfect.

Drink in hand, I made my way to the dance floor where the music pulsed through every vein. Lights flickered red and purple over the crowd. Bodies moved in unison, sweat and perfume mingling in the air. And me?

I let go.

The beat dropped, and I moved like the chaos in my chest had found its rhythm. Girls danced beside me—close, confident, electric. One slid behind me, hands on my waist. Another pressed against my front, her lips brushing my neck in a playful kiss as she swayed. Laughter bubbled in my throat, not because it was funny, but because I felt free. Free to be wild. Free to forget.

The feel of their hands, their hips, their giggles and teasing touches—it wasn’t about attraction. It was about rebellion. It was about burning down the image of the perfect, betrayed bride in white and replacing her with a goddess in black who didn’t give a d*mn anymore.

A tall, dark-haired man slipped into the crowd, his eyes locked on me. His smile was charming—wolfish, confident. He reached out, resting a hand lightly on my lower back as he leaned in.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” he asked, voice smooth as honey.

I rolled my eyes with a scoff. Really?

Should I tell him the whole story? That I left a wedding at the altar, blew up my engagement, kissed my ex-fiancé’s uncle in front of everyone, and ruined the most prestigious mating ceremony of the year?

Mmh… Too dramatic.

I turned my head away, letting the music carry me further from his voice—until my gaze slid across the club, over the heads of the dancing crowd, and landed on—

Him.

Cassian.

Again?!

He was in the VIP lounge, slightly elevated above the main floor, sitting with three men around a glossy black table. The lighting kissed the edges of his jaw, that mysterious, unreadable face of his still as ever. One leg crossed lazily over the other, he looked so relaxed. A drink in hand, his arm resting over the velvet couch back… and one of the men leaned in close. Too close. His hand was resting right on Cassian’s thigh, casually, intimately.

I let out a very loud, very theatrical gagging sound and turned away with a muttered, “So he is really gay.”

But I couldn’t help it. Curiosity dragged my eyes back again, just in time to see it.

Cassian looked away—toward the dance floor, toward me, I think—but his distraction gave the man beside him the perfect opportunity.

A tiny vial. A shimmer of pale powder.

And just like that, the guy poured it into Cassian’s drink with a smile still fixed on his face.

My blood ran cold.

No…

My drink slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor with a sound I didn’t even register. I pushed past the bodies on the dance floor, ignoring the music, the lights, the hands that tried to reach for me. My heels clicked hard and fast as I made a straight path for the VIP lounge.

What the hell are they trying to do to him?

And just like that, everything inside me snapped into sharp focus.

Cassian’s POV

The music throbbed beneath my skin, muted here in the VIP lounge where the air was cooler and the lights less frantic. Still, the beat echoed faintly through the velvet seats and smoked glass, like a reminder that life kept spinning no matter how still I sat.

One of the men beside me—a business associate of sorts—lifted the crystal decanter and poured me another glass. Red. Rich. Expensive. Just like everything else in this d*mn club.

“Relax, Cass,” he said with an oily grin. “You’ve been tense all night.”

I didn’t answer. My fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass, bringing it halfway to my lips.

Then—

“Don’t drink that!”

I froze.

That voice.

No. It couldn’t be—

My head jerked up. And there she was.

Selene.

Charging up the stairs, her black dress clinging to every curve, her hair a wild, chaotic crown around her flushed face.

“Selene?” I blinked. “What the hell—”

“I saw them,” she snapped, pointing toward the men like she was accusing criminals in a courtroom. “I saw them pour something into your drink.”

The men straightened, exchanging quick glances. One laughed.

“We didn’t do anything,” he said smoothly, that same smile still plastered across his face. “Who even is she?”

I turned to her, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you stalking me now?”

She scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh please. Don’t flatter yourself. I came here to dance, not babysit your brooding *ss. But when I saw what they did—”

“I don’t need your concern.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “You need to stop this obsession with me. Whatever that kiss was back at the wedding—it was a mistake. Move on, Selene.”

Her face twitched—hurt flickered in her eyes, then hardened into something more defiant.

“This isn’t about the kiss,” she said lowly. “I’m telling you, something’s wrong with that drink. Don’t take it. Please.”

I stared at her for a beat, jaw tight. Then without breaking eye contact, I lifted the glass and tipped it back.

Every. Last. Drop.

“See?” I set the empty glass down with a clink. “Still breathing.”

One of the men leaned forward. “Shall we go over the papers now?”

“Bring them,” I said, waving him on. “Let’s get this over with.”

But then… something shifted.

The room tilted slightly.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

A slow pressure began building in my skull, and the lights blurred into long smears of color. My chest tightened. My hand moved to my forehead on instinct.

“What the hell…” I muttered.

“Cassian?” Selene’s voice sounded closer now, too close, like she was leaning in. “Are you okay?”

“I can help,” one of the men said, standing halfway.

“No—leave!” I shouted, shoving the table back with a sudden crash, the noise slicing through the air.

Everyone froze.

The word echoed again.

Leave.

But no one moved.

And in that moment, I wasn’t sure who I’d said it to—them, or her.