Victor Harrow's penthouse was a palace in glass—walls of steel and skyline, ceilings that vanished into the stars. It wasn't a home; it was a throne room, built for a man who believed in immortality through wealth.
Selene had been here before.
Not this exact one, but versions of it. Power always had a blueprint—sleek surfaces, rare wine, a woman-shaped shadow waiting to be conquered. She walked the space like she'd designed it.
Victor poured two glasses of bourbon and handed her one. She let it warm her palm, but didn't drink.
"Tell me something true," he said, eyes hungry for intimacy. "Something real."
Selene gave him a soft laugh. "I hate elevators."
Victor blinked. "That's your truth?"
She stepped closer, voice velvet. "You didn't say it had to be deep."
His hand brushed her hip. "Fine. My truth? I don't trust people who don't drink."
She tilted her head. "Then I'm exactly who I say I am."
They clinked glasses, and he drank. She did not.
As he turned to admire the cityscape, she reached into her clutch and slipped out a tiny dropper. One drop of clear liquid fell into her untouched drink—undetectable, flavorless, a neuroinhibitor designed to mimic intoxication and mild confusion. She wouldn't drink it. But he might later.
Selene needed time. Time to extract what Victor knew. Time to find out if he was just another arrogant businessman—or if he was part of the rot that killed Liliana.
She watched his reflection in the window. He smiled as if he owned the skyline. He didn't even notice she wasn't smiling back.
"Tell me about the blue orchids in your foyer," she said casually, swirling her glass.
He turned. "Ah. Rare. Colombian. I had them flown in after a deal with one of our South American partners. Why?"
Selene's voice didn't waver. "My sister loved them."
His expression shifted. "You have a sister?"
"Had."
A pause.
Victor stepped closer, placing a hand on her back. "I'm sorry."
Selene turned to face him, eyes shadowed with grief she didn't fake. "She died alone. In a place men like you build."
Victor blinked. "Excuse me?"
The moment tightened.
Then she smiled—too quickly—and the tension dissolved. "I mean the world. This world. Fast money. Cold nights. Empty promises."
Victor relaxed again. "She sounds like she deserved better."
Selene looked out the window. "She did."
As Victor walked to the bar to pour himself a second drink, Selene slowly pulled out a flash drive from a hidden pocket in her clutch. She slipped it into the back of a digital frame sitting on the mantle—one Victor had carelessly connected to his office network.
The drive would copy everything by morning—emails, passwords, bank logs. All she had to do now was stay close. Close enough to see what he was hiding.
Victor turned back, smiling like a wolf.
"Stay the night," he said.
Selene's voice was silk and sorrow. "I'll stay long enough to be unforgettable."