The hotel room was dimly lit, but her heart wasn't. It was loud. Beating like it knew something was about to break.
"Say it," Selene whispered, standing at the window in nothing but his shirt. The city lights painted her skin gold, but her voice was small. Scared.
Jaxon stood behind her, buttoning his shirt slowly, eyes cold. Too cold for the man who once kissed her like she was air.
"I don't want this anymore," he said.
She flinched. "You're lying."
He didn't answer. Just picked up his watch, avoiding her eyes like a coward. Or worse — like someone who meant it.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Selene stood frozen, watching his ghost disappear in the reflection of the glass. She didn't cry. Not then.
She just broke… quietly.
----------------------------------------
"Champagne?" Selene asked with a soft smile, holding the silver tray herself.
The client — a fashion editor for Mode Essence — raised an impressed brow. "You serve your guests yourself?"
"For the ones worth impressing," Selene replied, graceful in her tailored cream pantsuit and signature nude heels. Her hair was pinned sleekly at the back, her perfume light but commanding — vanilla and warm spice.
Her boutique showroom wasn't just high-end. It was art. Cream walls, golden accents, soft jazz humming in the background. Every stitch, every mannequin, every angle of the lighting was designed to make people fall in love with her brand — and maybe envy the woman behind it.
Selene didn't need to play small. She was the moment.
"You're nothing like I expected," the editor said, sipping slowly.
Selene tilted her head. "Neither was he."
The editor blinked. "Sorry?"
"Nothing," she replied, smiling. "Let
's talk fabric."