“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

Selene didn't sleep.

Not truly.

Even after Dante had carried her to bed—his grip possessive, his silence louder than thunder—her thoughts refused to settle. Her body lay still under the silk sheets, but her soul paced like a hunted thing.

His words curled in the dark like a spell she couldn't shake.

"I'm here to remind you who you belong to."

Not what.

Who.

A storm had raged through the city that night, but it was nothing compared to the one inside her.

Now, as the morning light bled into the room, pale and indifferent, Selene stood in front of the full-length mirror. Her dress—an elegant cream sheath—hugged her body like armor. Her makeup was soft, but precise. Measured. Just like her expression.

Today, she would meet the woman who made Dante Blackwell. The legend. The matriarch.

Lady Vivienne.

And Selene knew something deep in her bones—

This wouldn't just be a breakfast.

It would be war.

---

The Blackwell ancestral estate stood far from the chaos of the city. Perched on a cliffside like a forgotten relic, it was carved from old gray stone, its towering arches cloaked in ivy and ghost stories. Wind lashed the iron gates as the car approached, howling like the past hadn't finished speaking.

Selene's breath caught.

This wasn't a home.

It was a stronghold.

The doors swung open under the hands of two stoic guards. The scent of aged wood and white gardenias drifted through the air, clashing with the cold elegance of marble floors and oil portraits.

Each face on the wall watched her like a test she was already failing.

"You brought her here?"

The voice sliced through the silence.

Crisp. Regal. Drenched in disdain.

Lady Vivienne stood poised on the staircase landing, clad in a silk robe the color of smoke and sin. Her silver hair was swept into a chignon so tight it looked like a crown of thorns. Her features were sculpted in frost.

Her eyes—Dante's eyes—sliced into Selene like a blade.

Selene stepped forward.

"Selene Hart," she said evenly, extending a hand.

Vivienne's stare didn't waver. She didn't take it.

Dante spoke next, his voice lower. "Grandmother."

Vivienne's eyes narrowed. "You brought her here. To this house?"

"She's my wife."

"For now," Vivienne said coldly. Her gaze returned to Selene, who still hadn't dropped her hand.

The jab burned. But Selene didn't flinch.

She lowered her arm with grace and lifted her chin a notch.

"Breakfast," Vivienne snapped. "Let's see if the bird can eat."

---

The dining hall was a masterpiece of power. Long, echoing ceilings. Gilded moldings. A crystal chandelier that looked like it weighed more than Selene.

The table was set like a battlefield. Silver cutlery, bone china, and silence.

Selene sat across from Vivienne. Dante took the seat beside her, though he said nothing.

Smoked salmon. Fresh figs. Black coffee. Every dish felt like a test.

Selene chose modestly.

Vivienne sipped her tea. "What do your parents do, Miss Hart?"

Selene didn't look away. "My mother passed. My father left when I was nine."

Vivienne arched a brow. "So no proper family. No guidance. No name."

Dante's jaw clenched. "Vivienne—"

But Selene reached out and placed her fingers gently over his wrist. Stilling him.

She turned back to Vivienne.

"I raised my sister. Worked two jobs. Put her through school. I've earned every breath I take. And I'm not afraid of being looked down on."

A breath.

Then a chuckle.

Short. Sharp. Not warm, but not dismissive either.

"At least you have teeth," Vivienne muttered. "That's something."

---

After the meal, Vivienne rose. "Walk with me."

Selene hesitated, glancing at Dante.

Vivienne laughed under her breath. "Relax. I won't kill you. He might."

---

The garden was impossibly pristine. Rows of lavender marched beside white roses. A marble fountain trickled like a secret waiting to be spilled.

Vivienne led the way with a grace that defied age. Selene followed, her heels silent on the stone.

"I didn't like you," Vivienne said without ceremony. "Still don't."

Selene didn't blink. "You don't know me."

"I don't need to. I saw your wedding photo. You looked afraid. Like a lamb walking into the slaughter."

Selene's throat tightened, but she met the accusation head-on.

"And if I was?"

Vivienne stopped.

Their eyes locked.

Selene continued. "I did it to save someone I love. That doesn't make me weak."

"You're doing this for your sister," Vivienne said. "Yes. I know."

A pause.

Selene's voice softened. "Not everyone is born powerful. Some of us have to bleed for it."

Vivienne stared at her for a long, silent moment.

Then… a rare, slivered smile.

"I underestimated you."

She turned away, but her words lingered like thunder.

"Be careful, girl. My grandson was raised with fire in his blood. He only knows how to claim or destroy. If you let him—he'll burn you too."

---

That evening, the storm returned.

Lightning cracked behind the windows of Dante's office, casting sharp shadows across the walls.

Selene stood by the hearth, a glass of wine untouched in her hand. Dante poured himself bourbon at the bar, his posture unreadable.

"What did she say?" he asked finally.

Selene turned, her eyes catching the flicker of flame behind him.

"She said I have more strength than you think."

Dante's expression shifted—barely.

"And?"

"She warned me," Selene said. "That you'll regret breaking me."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He downed the drink in one slow pull, then walked past her without another word.

But Selene stayed.

And later—when Dante was gone and the house quiet—something pulled her toward his desk.

His world.

His secrets.

She opened a drawer.

And stopped.

Inside was a photograph. Old. Worn at the edges.

Her breath caught.

It was her.

Younger. Maybe seventeen. Her arms wrapped around a child.

But it wasn't Lila.

Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

"What... is this?"

Behind her, the voice came—low. Dangerous. Familiar.

"You really don't remember, d

o you?"

Selene turned.

Dante stood in the doorway.

And this time, his expression wasn't cold.

It was haunted.

The past isn't done with Selene. And the truth? It's already buried inside her.