Chapter 22: Which Hand Did She Use to Hold…?
A Storm Beneath the Surface
Caspian had taken a short break from his military duties, and the time had come for him to return. Before leaving, he decided to meet up with his old friend, Cassius Renwick, for a drink.
Cassius, known for his blunt honesty, never wasted words.
“You know, Caspian, I think you’ve really spoiled Lyra,” he remarked, swirling his whiskey glass lazily. “It’s clear she’s been in love with you from the beginning. You’re the only one blind to it. You came back this time because of her baby, right? Now that everything’s taken care of, you can head back to the army.”
While Lyra’s situation seemed settled, Cassius could tell something else weighed on Caspian’s mind.
After studying his friend for a moment, he ventured, “It’s Selene, isn’t it? Something’s up with her?”
Caspian exhaled slowly, his voice a whisper burdened with resignation.
“She wants a divorce.”
Cassius’s brows shot up. Selene? Divorce?
The woman who spent five years chasing Caspian, refusing to give up, had suddenly decided to end their marriage? Something wasn’t adding up.
“Selene?” Cassius repeated incredulously.
“That’s right,” Caspian confirmed.
Cassius was still trying to process the shock when, suddenly, his gaze drifted across the bar. He stiffened, nudging Caspian’s arm.
“No… isn’t that Selene over there?”
A Scene to Remember
Through the wide-open doorway leading to a private VIP room, Caspian’s gaze locked onto Selene.
She was lounging on a plush sofa, her figure draped in a sultry slip dress, her posture lazy yet alluring. A wine bottle dangled from her fingertips, and she was smiling—entertaining a man with a gleam in her eyes.
Caspian’s jaw clenched.
The dim lighting cast provocative shadows across her form, and the murmurs in the room created an air of intimacy.
Cassius sucked in a breath.
Stealing a quick glance at Caspian, he could practically feel the tension radiating from him.
Caspian’s fists were balled so tightly his knuckles cracked, his gaze dark and unreadable.
Cassius tried to defuse the situation, though his voice was notably uneasy. “That guy… isn’t he from the Doyle family? I’ve heard whispers about Selene… They say she’s been funding a wave of rising young celebs, making them stars one after another…”
A sharp snap echoed in the air.
Caspian had cracked his knuckles again—this time louder, his control wearing dangerously thin.
A Queen Without Fear
Inside the room, Selene’s movements were graceful yet deliberate.
She lifted Lucian Wolfe’s chin, her eyes dancing with a mischievous glint.
“Mr. Doyle, do you recognize me?” she asked, her voice soft yet carrying an unmistakable edge.
Lucian blinked, slowly sobering up as recognition dawned on him.
His throat bobbed as he muttered her name in shock. “Selene?”
“Exactly.”
Selene’s smile widened, but her eyes remained cold.
A beat of silence passed before Lucian’s fear twisted into arrogance.
“What? Are you working as an escort here now?” he sneered, attempting to reclaim dominance.
Selene’s expression didn’t waver.
“Look,” she said coolly, “I’m overlooking your nonsense solely out of respect for your brother Thorne, just like everyone else here. But do you honestly think you’re some kind of big shot?”
Her tone sharpened. “This club belongs to a friend of mine. Keep causing trouble, and I promise, you’ll deeply regret it. Got it?”
Lucian’s confidence wavered. He had assumed Selene was powerless without Lazarus, but now, face-to-face with her, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Trying to mask his nervousness, he blustered, “How dare you talk to me like that?”
In response, Selene tilted the bottle—letting the rich crimson wine spill all over Lucian’s designer suit.
A stunned gasp rippled through the room.
Before Lucian could react, a glint of steel flashed under the dim lights.
Selene had drawn a sleek military knife from her dress and pressed its cold, gleaming blade against Lucian’s throat.
Her eyes burned with unyielding fire, unwavering.
“What the hell?!” Lucian stammered, suddenly sober and scared.
Selene’s chuckle was soft—eerily calm.
“If you have any sense left, I suggest you disappear now.” Her voice lowered, dangerously smooth. “Otherwise, not even your brother will be able to save you from the consequences.”
Lucian remained frozen, his mind scrambling for an escape. The sharp blade against his pulse made sure of that.
A Knife’s Worth of Memories
Outside, Cassius observed with genuine intrigue.
He turned to Caspian and casually remarked, “That’s your knife, isn’t it?”
Caspian didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze remained fixed on Selene, watching as she handled the situation effortlessly.
He gave a slow nod, realization dawning that she had kept the knife on her all this time.
Inside, Selene finally stepped back, her hand extending outward without looking back.
Soren, ever the silent observer, immediately stepped forward and handed her a packet of tissues.
She wiped her fingers meticulously, as if Lucian’s presence had tainted them, then discarded the tissue in a bin with a flick of her wrist.
“Goodbye, Mr. Doyle.”
Her dismissal was absolute.
Lucian stumbled backward, his pride shattered beyond repair.
As he left, the weight of Thorne’s name loomed over him—a stark reminder that Selene was not someone to cross.
Cassius, still watching, gave a low whistle.
“She certainly hasn’t lost her touch.”
Then, noticing the tension brewing in Caspian’s expression, he prodded, “What’s troubling you?”
Caspian’s voice was quiet, unreadable.
“Which hand did she use to hold Lucian’s chin?”
Cassius blinked, baffled by the question. “What does that even matter?”
But to Caspian—it mattered a lot.
His gaze sharpened, dark and possessive.
As Selene turned to leave, her eyes clashed with Caspian’s icy stare.
A silent war erupted between them, invisible to everyone else.
Her heartbeat stuttered, and for a fleeting second, an unspoken tension crackled in the air between them.
And in that moment, Selene knew—Caspian wasn’t done with her yet.
