Chapter 2
The bright, natural sunlight pouring into the pavilion seemed to sharpen, illuminating the devastating heartbreak on the three-year-old's face. The secret of Bennett's adoption was known only to Selene’s most trusted inner circle; it was a closely guarded truth, protected with the same lethal ferocity as the family’s syndicate ledgers. To hear it weaponized against a toddler by the very people she was preparing to marry into sent a wave of absolute, apocalyptic fury through Selene’s veins.
"No, my beautiful boy," Selene whispered softly, her American accent soothing and warm as she kissed his temple. "You were chosen. You are my heart. Do not listen to the monsters."
She held him tight for a moment longer, stabilizing his panicked breathing, before turning to the adult nanny standing a few feet away. The nanny, a professional white American woman whose face had gone pale with shock, stepped forward quickly.
"Take him," Selene instructed, her voice maintaining its low, controlled volume. She placed Bennett securely into the nanny’s arms. "Take him to the east wing. Lock the doors."
As the nanny hurried away with the weeping child, Selene turned her attention back to the Drake family. Her expression was completely devoid of emotion—a terrifying, blank canvas that her enemies knew meant absolute destruction.
Troy Drake, Selene’s thirty-eight-year-old fiancé, stepped forward from the edge of the carousel. He wore a tailored suit, an expensive wristwatch, and loafers, exuding the arrogant confidence of a man who believed he had secured a golden ticket. He glanced quickly at his sister, Keira, before stepping squarely between Selene and the two women, attempting to assert his patriarchal dominance in front of the surrounding bodyguards.
"Calm down, Selene," Troy said, his tone dismissive and entirely unapologetic. "Someone had to tell him eventually. It’s better he knows the truth before he gets old enough to think he actually belongs at the head of this table."
Selene did not blink. The sheer, breathtaking audacity of his statement hung in the bright, cinematic air.
"He is my son," Selene said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "He is the heir to the Caruso family."
"He's a charity case," Troy shot back, his fair skin flushing with sudden, aggressive irritation. He reached out and forcefully gripped Selene’s upper arm, his fingers digging into the fabric of her tailored suit. "And you need to stop making a scene in front of my family. I am going to be your husband. You will show them respect."
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The silence in the pavilion was deafening. The armed bodyguards stationed around the room instinctively shifted their weight, their hands hovering near their concealed weapons. They did not move to intervene, but they waited for the command from the woman who paid their salaries.
Selene looked down at Troy’s hand gripping her arm. She didn't struggle. She simply stared at it for a long, agonizing second, calculating the exact trajectory of her next move. The elegant, powerful head of the family was about to show the Drake family exactly why she, and not a man, ruled the city.
