The Navarro estate was everything Selene had imagined—and worse.
Marble floors gleamed beneath chandeliers shaped like falling stars. The air was perfumed, cool, suffocating in its silence. Servants glided through the halls with downcast eyes, and everywhere she turned there were reminders of wealth she could never touch: gilded frames, priceless vases, rugs softer than clouds.
Selene felt like a stain on it all, her secondhand shoes leaving invisible dirt across their perfection.
Cyrus led her through the grand foyer, his hand hovering near her back as though guiding her into a world she didn’t belong to. “You’ll get used to it,” he said casually. “This is where you should have always been.”
Her lips tightened. “I’m only here to talk.”
His smile was maddening. “Then let’s talk.”
But before he could say more, another voice drifted from the staircase above—light, lilting, sweet as sugar with a sharp edge beneath.
“Cyrus?”
Selene’s chest tightened at the sound. She turned just as the woman appeared at the landing, descending with practiced grace in a flowing silk dress. Her hair fell in perfect curls, her lips painted the shade of ripe cherries.
Selene knew that face.
Ivy Roque.
Her heart lurched. Childhood memories struck like blows—two girls running barefoot through alleys, whispering secrets under broken streetlamps, swearing they’d be sisters forever.
And then, years later, Ivy had vanished without a word. No letters. No visits. Just gone.
Rumors had trickled back—whispers that a merchant patron had taken her in, that she’d been sent to finishing schools across the sea. Selene never knew what was true. Only that Ivy had returned polished, perfected, and untouchable.
Now she stood here, draped in wealth, wearing a diamond on her finger.
“Selene?” Ivy’s voice rose in mock surprise, her eyes widening with rehearsed delight. “Oh my goodness—it is you!”
Selene forced a smile. “Hello, Ivy.”
Ivy swept down the stairs and wrapped her in an embrace that was all perfume and poison. “I can’t believe it! After all these years—here you are, in our home!”
Our home.
The words pierced. Selene pulled back, studying her. Ivy’s smile was dazzling, but her eyes—green and sharp as glass—glittered with something darker.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Selene said, glancing at Cyrus.
“Oh, we go way back,” Ivy purred, slipping her arm through his with possessive ease. “Cyrus and I are engaged. Isn’t it wonderful?”
The diamond on her hand caught the chandelier’s light, scattering shards of brilliance across the marble floor. Selene’s stomach knotted.
Cyrus’s gaze never left her. “Yes. Wonderful.”
The tension wrapped tighter, like wire pulling skin.
Later, in the garden, Selene tried to breathe. Roses climbed trellises like fire frozen mid-bloom, their sweetness overwhelming. She needed space, distance, air.
But Ivy found her, heels clicking softly on the stone path.
“Selene,” she said warmly, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “What a surprise to see you again after so long. I didn’t know Cyrus had… old friends in the slums.”
Selene met her gaze evenly. “We met as children.”
“Oh, how charming.” Ivy’s laugh was like glass breaking. “And now you’re here, in his world. Isn’t fate curious?”
Her words dripped with sweetness, but Selene could hear the blade beneath.
“Ivy—” Selene began, but Ivy leaned closer, her perfume cloying.
“Tell me, did you come here on your own? Or did Cyrus summon you?” She tilted her head, lips curving. “You always had that… effect on people. Even when we were girls, everyone adored you. Teachers, neighbors, even the boys. Do you remember?”
Selene’s jaw clenched.
Ivy’s smile sharpened. “I remember. And I remember how much it used to bother me. But now…” She spread her manicured hands, diamonds glittering. “Now the tables have turned.”
“Ivy,” Selene said quietly, her voice steady, “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Of course not.” Ivy’s laugh rang again, too sweet. “You wouldn’t dare. You see, Selene, this is my world now. And Cyrus is mine. Whatever little bond you think you had with him—it’s over.”
Selene’s chest tightened, fury sparking, but before she could reply, footsteps echoed on the path. Cyrus appeared, his eyes flicking between them.
“Is everything alright?”
Ivy’s smile softened instantly, her hand slipping into his. “Perfectly fine. Just catching up with an old friend.”
Selene forced herself to nod, swallowing the words clawing at her throat.
But as Cyrus led Ivy away, Ivy looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes glittered with envy and triumph. And Selene understood.
This wasn’t just about Cyrus.
Ivy wanted to destroy her.
The next days blurred into a game of masks.
Whenever Cyrus was near, Ivy was sweetness itself, praising Selene for her bravery, laughing about their childhood, insisting they spend more time together. But when his back was turned, the knife came out.
Servants whispered about Selene being a mistress. Guests at Navarro dinners eyed her with disdain. Rumors sprouted like weeds—whispers of her chasing Cyrus for wealth, of sneaking into his bed.
Selene recognized Ivy’s fingerprints all over them.
The worst came one evening at a lavish banquet. Selene had been cornered by two wives of senators, their smiles thin, their voices sharp.
“So,” one of them said, tilting her glass, “you’re the poor girl Cyrus is helping. How… generous of him.”
The other smirked. “And brave of his fiancée, don’t you think? To welcome you so warmly, despite everything people are saying.”
Laughter followed, low and cutting. Selene’s face burned, but she refused to lower her head.
From across the room, Ivy watched, sipping her wine. When their eyes met, she raised her glass in a mocking toast.
That night, Selene stood by her bedroom window, staring out at the glittering city. The High District gleamed like a jewel, untouchable, indifferent. Somewhere far below, the slums stretched in endless shadow.
She pressed her palms to the glass, rage and fear tangled in her chest. Cyrus wanted to claim her. Ivy wanted to ruin her. And Selene was trapped between them, her every step twisted into someone else’s game.
But beneath the fear, something else began to stir—a quiet resolve.
She had survived fire once. She could survive this.
Only this time, she would not wait to be rescued.
