Victor Harrow didn't notice the shift at first.
The scent of Selene still lingered on his pillow, faintly floral, a touch of vetiver. The kind of scent designed to haunt. He awoke with a lazy grin, believing her absence beside him was an invitation, not a warning.
But when he reached for his phone, a new message blinked across the lock screen.
Unknown Number:
"I left before sunrise. Some men look better in moonlight."
Victor chuckled. His ego translated that as a challenge. Not a threat.
He responded.
"When can I see you again?"
The answer came almost instantly.
"Tonight. Same time. New rules."
Attached was an address—not a restaurant, not a hotel. An old theater downtown, once a vaudeville stage, now restored into a private venue. Victor narrowed his eyes. This wasn't a date.
This was a stage.
And he was being summoned.
—
That night, Selene stood beneath the ghost lights of the abandoned theater, wrapped in a black coat with red silk gloves. She looked like tragedy in velvet, and Victor arrived dressed in arrogance and cologne.
"No audience?" he asked, walking down the aisle toward her.
"We're the only ones worth watching," she replied.
He smirked. "What are these… 'new rules'?"
Selene turned, slow and deliberate. "Tonight, we play questions. One for one. Truth only. No lies, no touching. Break the rules, and the game ends."
"And what do I win?"
Her eyes flicked to his. "Me."
Victor stepped closer. "And if I win?"
"You won't."
He laughed. "Go on, then. Ask."
Selene's first question was simple.
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
Victor faltered.
"No," he said.
Selene watched him a moment too long.
"Your turn," she said.
Victor cleared his throat. "Who taught you how to seduce powerful men?"
Her answer was flat.
"My sister taught me how to survive. The seduction came after."
Victor smiled, pleased.
Selene's turn.
"Why did you fund the Orchid Project?"
Victor tilted his head. "That's old news."
"Answer the question."
He gave a slow, rehearsed response. "It was a biotech venture. Promising research. Mismanaged by third parties. Nothing more."
Selene's eyes darkened. "You're not very good at this game."
Victor smiled wider, as if she were flirting.
"You're not very good at hiding your anger."
Their eyes locked. For a moment, the distance between them felt charged—not with attraction, but with recognition. As if both had finally seen the other clearly.
"Your turn," she said.
Victor's voice softened. "What do you want from me, Selene?"
The answer came cold.
"A confession."
He blinked. "Of what?"
Selene stepped into the light, the red of her gloves catching the dusty glow like blood against satin.
"You killed someone I loved," she said. "And I want you to admit it before I bury you."
Victor laughed—nervously this time. "This is a joke, right?"
She didn't smile.
The lights of the theater flickered, then went dark.
And Victor realized he wasn't watching a performance.
He was inside it.
And Selene Virelli had just taken the stage.