The west salon of the Montclair estate was designed to intimidate.
Velvet-lined walls, polished oak shelves, and a fireplace older than most companies — it was elegance turned into a power move.
Selène sat with perfect posture, legs crossed, teacup steady in her hand. Not a strand of hair out of place. Not a hint of emotion on her face.
Across from her, Mr. Antoine Filmont — a man whose smile never reached his eyes — tapped his fingers against a crystal tumbler.
"Delaroche Financial was a bold acquisition," he said. "But bold doesn't always mean wise."
Ms. Montclair didn't flinch.
"We prefer strategic."
"The markets aren't convinced," Antoine added. "And neither are some of your shareholders."
The air thinned. Selène kept her gaze trained on the man like a predator pretending to be prey.
Then, Ms. Montclair's voice — smooth, but steel underneath:
"Which is why this engagement is vital. Two empires. One united front."
Cassian sat silently beside her, his expression as neutral as polished stone. But there was a flicker — barely there — when the word engagement came up.
Antoine glanced at his son.
"Cassian. You agree?"
"I do," he replied without hesitation.
But Selène heard it. The exact tone one might use when agreeing to a quarterly audit.
Ms. Montclair continued.
"We plan to hold the formal announcement next Friday. Media presence will be controlled. Global coverage. Favorable headlines."
"With all due respect," Selène said suddenly, voice light but unmistakably clear,
"Are we absolutely sure announcing a merger-of-hearts during an economic tailspin is… wise?"
A pause.
Antoine's fingers stopped tapping.
Ms. Montclair blinked once, slow.
Cassian turned his head toward her.
"You're concerned," he said, not asking.
"Just observant," she replied. "Unrest in the Eastern Bloc, volatility in tech markets, a generational shift in consumer trust—"
She gave a soft shrug.
"Hard to toast champagne when the ground's shaking."
Silence.
Then, Cassian — calm as ever:
"Postponement might grant both families space. To reframe the narrative."
No protest. No resistance. Just an unexpected shift.
Selène let her words hang like crystal on the edge of a chandelier:
"And if it breaks… at least we won't be beneath it."
For the first time, the room didn't just fall silent.
It listened.