The room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in just before a storm breaks.
Cassian stood by the grand window, his posture as precise as ever — one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a crystal glass. His eyes, pale steel, locked onto her like a sniper sighting a target.
Lisa — trapped in this fictional world and mistaken for Selène Montclair — should've been terrified. Instead, she leaned back slightly, arms crossed.
"Tell me, Cassian," she said coolly, "do you always speak to your fiancées like you're reading them a corporate memo?"
The maid beside her stiffened. A servant across the hall blinked twice as if he hadn't heard right.
Cassian didn't move. His jaw clenched faintly.
"This engagement is not emotional, Selène," he said, voice low, deliberate. "It's structured. Calculated. And beneficial to both families."
"Sounds romantic," Lisa muttered, glancing at a nearby vase like it might be a more engaging conversational partner.
"What's next? A bullet-point list of approved facial expressions?"
That did it.
His gaze narrowed.
He stepped forward, slow and precise, until he stood just a foot away. He looked at her like a puzzle piece that didn't fit anymore.
"You're different."
Lisa tilted her head, offering a half-smile.
"Or maybe… you just never really looked."
A long silence. Then:
"The engagement dinner is tonight. Don't embarrass yourself