Selene's POV

As the car drove into the familiar gates of home, a strange, heavy feeling crept over me, that old, suffocating sensation I knew too well. The closer we got to the mansion, the tighter it wrapped around me. It was the same every time. That invisible weight pressing down on my chest, the reminder that here, I wasn't free.

For the past few days, while I was away, I'd felt different, lighter. I could breathe without thinking twice, laugh without feeling like I was being watched, and speak without fear of being corrected. But now, now that the gates had closed behind us, that freedom seemed to fade with every second.

I turned my head slightly, staring out the window. The garden was just as perfect as ever, the trimmed hedges, the roses in neat rows, the marble fountain glistening under the sun. Everything was too perfect, like it was all pretending to be something it wasn't.

My hands tightened in my lap as the car rolled to a stop in front of the house. A guard opened the door for me, but I didn't move right away.

"Miss Selene?" the guard said softly.

I nodded and stepped out, forcing a polite smile. The breeze brushed against my hair, carrying that familiar scent of home: lavender, stone, and control. I hated it.

As I walked toward the front doors, I could already feel their eyes—the maids, the guards, everyone pretending not to stare but doing it anyway. The front doors swung open before I reached for the handle. Two sentries dipped their heads. I didn't slow down. If I hesitated, the walls would close in, and I'd forget how to breathe.

The sitting room waited like a courtroom. Heavy curtains. Dark wood. Portraits of stern men who stared like they were still judging the living. My father sat in his usual chair, back straight, hands steepled, while my brother stood at the window, shoulders squared, face blank. Alpha posture. Puppet eyes.

I stopped at the edge of the rug and bowed my head out of habit. "Father. Brother."

My father stood up without saying a word and walked quickly across the room. Before I could understand what was happening, he slapped me. The sound was so loud that the maid standing nearby jumped. My head turned to the side, and I could taste blood in my mouth.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing, no sound, no breath, just the echo of his palm and the quiet shame of the rug under my feet.

Then his voice, low and venomous. "I gave you a simple task."

I lifted my gaze to him slowly. My cheek throbbed in time with my pulse. "It wasn't—"

"A simple task," he repeated, eyes cold. "Kill Lord Frederick. The vampire who butchered your mother. The only thing this family has asked of you since the day you could hold a blade. And what did you do?"

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice not to shake.

He leaned closer. I could smell the mint on his breath, the old steel of his temper. "You failed. Not only did you fail, you dragged them into it. Olivia. Lennox. You put their lives in danger for nothing."

His words landed like stones.

My father straightened, disgust twisting his mouth. "You are a useless daughter."

Something burned behind my ribs. I glanced toward my brother, searching for the smallest sign of spine, of loyalty, of anything human. He kept his face turned to the window, jaw clenched, hands folded behind his back like a perfect statue.

My father let out a humorless breath. "I wish Olivia were my daughter. She would have done a great job."

Heat rushed up my throat. "Would she have?" I asked softly.

He ignored the question, turning away like I'd already been dismissed. "You'll be confined to the estate until I decide what to do with you. No visitors. No correspondence. No more embarrassments."

The old Selene would have lowered her head and swallowed the order until it cut her from the inside. The Selene who had felt free for a few days refused.

"Fuck off," I said.

The room snapped to attention. My brother flinched; my father went very still.

I didn't wait for the consequences. I pushed past him, past the portraits and the perfectly polished table and the door that had always felt like a cage, and I didn't stop until I reached the stairs. No one followed. Maybe they were too shocked. Maybe they were deciding what punishment would look like this time. I didn't care.

My room greeted me with the same familiar lie: soft blue drapes, a bed too neat to sleep in, shelves of books I'd read and re-read to distract myself from the way my life had been arranged for me. The windows were open. The garden's scent drifted in.

I went straight for the cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey. It sloshed against the sides of the crystal like a heartbeat. I took a swallow so large it burned all the way down and dared the tears to fall.

One slipped free anyway.

I wiped it away with the back of my hand, angry at myself for bleeding where he'd see it later. I stared at my reflection in the dark window: a woman with a reddening cheek and eyes that refused to break. All my life I'd been groomed for one thing, sharp voice, silent feet, clean kill. I could disassemble a rifle in thirty seconds. I could map a patrol route from a single night's walk. I could lie without blinking.

But I couldn't kill the man I'd been promised to hate, because the first time his scent hit me, I knew. The bond slid into place like it had been waiting since before I was born.

Lord Frederick. Enemy. Mate.

I took another swallow and let the truth sit heavy on my tongue: if I were given the chance again, I still didn't know if I could do it. Not because I was weak. Because I was stupidly, dangerously in love with him.

The worst part? That love hadn't made me softer. It had made me cruel—to myself, to the oath I'd swallowed as a child, to the memory of my mother's blood on cold tile.

The phone on my nightstand vibrated.

I ignored it. Let it rattle against wood until it stopped.

It started again. More insistent this time, like a fly I couldn't swat. I crossed the room, snatched it up, and stared at the screen.

Unknown number.

My thumb hovered over decline. I let it ring until it nearly died, then, on some impulse I couldn't name, I dragged the slider.

"Hello?"

Static, then a breath. A voice I knew like the shape of my own name.

"Selene," he said quietly. "It's Frederick."

Everything in me went very still. I pressed the glass against the table too hard and the ice clicked. "How did you get this number?"

"Please don't hang up." No command in his tone. Just the kind of urgency that made my pulse stutter. "I have information about your mother's death."

The room tilted a fraction. My free hand closed into a fist at my side.

"I know what you were told," he said. "I know what they made you believe. But what happened that night wasn't what it seemed."

"You murdered her." The words came out steadily. I was proud of that. "That's all that matters."

A beat of silence. "No," he said softly. "That's not the truth."

I laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe you?"

"I don't expect anything," he said. "Except that you deserve to know what I know. If you still hate me after that, I won't fight you." Then he paused. "Meet me. One hour. The old conservatory at the edge of your family's southern grounds. No guards. Just you."