Selene’s lips trembled as she reread her mother’s message, thumb pressed hard to the phone. Don’t forget why you’re there. The words clung to her every move as she floated through Linvale’s halls, her pale linen dress brushing her knees, her hair drawn back in a loose, hopeful knot that suggested someone waiting for magic. She tucked the phone away and, for a moment, let herself imagine a summer where she wasn’t a spy.

She found Jorell in the north gallery, alone, sleeves rolled to the elbow, eyes narrowed in concentration over a series of delicate tiles fanned across the velveted table. His black curls fell over his brow, and his jaw worked in silent frustration, mouth tugged down as he cataloged imperfections only he could see. Selene hovered at the threshold, hesitant, something in his obsessive intensity both frightening and magnetic.

He glanced up. His gaze landed on her, awakened and aching, a half-second too long before his mask clicked on. “Selene. You’re early.” He straightened, smoothing invisible creases from his charcoal vest, but his hands shook—and she saw it.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, her voice almost shy, eyes catching on the constellation of freckles at his collarbone, exposed by the loose top button. “I wanted to see the mosaics before the meeting.” Their words were flimsy veils, the air heavy with the thing neither dared address—the hunger, the dangerous recognition, the secret Selene stitched behind every smile.

Before she could breathe, Vyra swept in—heels striking sharp, silk blouse immaculate, lips painted the color of fresh bruises. She set her hands on Jorell’s shoulders, possessive, her manicured nails barely grazing him. “You were meant to review the donor’s proposal,” Vyra reminded, voice edged in ice. Her stare flicked over Selene, cool appraisal slicing deeper than any insult. “Or were you distracted?”

Jorell’s composure frayed for an instant, a muscle flickering along his jaw. He pulled free from Vyra’s touch, but not entirely. “We’ll review it after the meeting,” he said, forced calm. Selene squeezed her hands behind her back, willing herself invisible, heat crawling up her throat. Vyra lingered, eyes hard, then stalked away, heels echoing menace.

Later, in the rooftop garden, dusk painted Selene gold as she leaned against the balustrade, twisting the hem of her dress. Jorell found her there, breathless from running steps, his tie abandoned, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The ache between them was a living thing. She could see it in the way his gaze lingered at her lips, in the tension knotting his shoulders.

“She doesn’t own you,” Selene whispered, surprising herself. Her fingers brushed his, tentative, hesitant—then daring, lacing together. Jorell’s hand was callused, trembling. He drew her closer, eyes searching hers for something real, something that could save them both.

He bent, inch by inch, giving her time to flee, but Selene stood her ground. Their mouths collided—urgent, aching, desperate. Her back met the stone ledge, hands fisting in Jorell’s shirt. His palm traced the line of her waist, thumb circling at the hollow of her back, gasping her name into her skin.

Their kisses tumbled frantic, teeth scraping, every touch a confession. Jorell’s breath was ragged, his need almost violent, but his gentleness won out—he broke the kiss only to press his forehead against hers, and she felt the shiver that ran through him. “You make it impossible to stay the same,” he whispered, voice raw.

Selene smiled, tears stinging, wanting this to last, to mean something beyond her family’s threats. Her hands swept up to cup his jaw, savoring the roughness of stubble, the heat beneath his skin. The world fell away—until a shadow moved at the far end of the terrace.

Vyra stood, arms folded, face tight and pale with fury. She watched them, stone still, anguish flickering before her lips twisted in a smirk. Selene’s heart dropped, guilt flooding every nerve. In the silence, Vyra pulled out her phone, fingers poised.

She typed a message. Sent.

Somewhere, Selene’s own phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t dare look, but the truth waited for her—unraveling, unstoppable.

To be continued...