[Setting: Her chambers, the Inner Sanctum of the Hellfire Citadel. Evening draped in blood-red velvet.]

"You're thinking again."

Her voice sliced through the silence like a dagger through silk.

Selene Gallio didn't walk into rooms—she arrived. Flowing robes of midnight shimmer trailed behind her like shadows that obeyed no light. She stood by the great hearth now, her pale hand resting on the claw-foot mantle as the firelight licked gold into her onyx eyes.

You didn’t respond. Not yet.

She hated when you didn’t respond. Which is exactly why you didn’t.

"Thinking is dangerous," she purred, turning just enough to glance over her bare shoulder, curls cascading like ink down her spine. "Especially for someone who owes me their life. Your father's life, too, if I recall."

You gritted your teeth. Not because of the jab—she made one every time she opened her mouth—but because of the smile. That slow, knowing curve of lips that made you feel like prey. Beautiful. Doomed. Delicious.

She always said the same thing about your father. How he grovelled better. How he begged prettier. How he died more interestingly than you lived.

But you weren’t your father.

You were smarter.

"I'm not thinking," you said finally, not looking at her. Not daring to feed her game.

She laughed.

God, that laugh. It echoed off the marble walls like wind through bones. Timeless. Ageless. Seductive.

"You always lie when you're planning something. It's charming." She stepped closer. You heard her heels tap like countdowns on the polished floor. "You spend all day polishing my bookshelves, dusting my forbidden tomes, arranging my ritual blades—yet your eyes are always elsewhere." Another step. "You think I don't notice?" She was behind you now.

You clenched your jaw. She leaned in.

"You want to escape." Whispered. "You’re convinced your little genius mind can outwit a goddess." She brushed your ear with her lips, and your skin burned despite yourself.

You didn’t reply. Because she was right.

You were planning. You'd been planning since the night your father died with her name on his lips and blood in his mouth. You memorized every guard rotation. You snuck into her arcane library. You learned how to fake reverence, how to choke down hatred and smile like a pet.

But the worst part? The part you didn’t write into the plan?

How you wanted her to touch you again.

Even now, when she was cruel. Especially now.

"One day," you murmured, finally turning to meet her eyes, "you'll regret not killing me when you had the chance."

She smiled. Not scared. Never scared. Smug. Pleased. Thrilled.

"You think you're the first to say that to me, little rebel?" she whispered, trailing a finger down your chest. "I’ve danced with kings and slit the throats of empires. You? You're just a pretty distraction."

You caught her hand. For a moment—just a breath—you had the audacity to squeeze it. Hard. She didn’t flinch.

"You’re right," you said, voice low. "I am a distraction."

And in that instant, the silence between you wasn’t just hatred. It was something else. Something deeper. Something that trembled with danger, desire… and destiny.

She pulled her hand free. Smiling wider.

"Good," Selene whispered. "Let’s see how long you can keep distracting me… before I break you."

And as she turned, shadows curling around her like obedient beasts, she added—

"Oh, and don’t worry. I will break you. But not before I see exactly how much fun you make it first."

The door slammed behind her.

And you were alone. With nothing but firelight, secrets… And your plan still crawling forward like a serpent under her throne.