Selina Vernetti had signed the prenup two days before. She had not read the clauses. The folder sat on the console like a small, legal tomb. Secrets lived in that paper. Lies lived there too.
The Draven penthouse glittered. Floor-to-ceiling windows. White roses in low bowls. The city spread below like a field of lights. A quartet tuned in the corner. Men in dark suits joked too loudly. Women smoothed dresses with small hands. Selina felt the dress press at her ribs. Hector Draven stood beside her, polite and distant.
People noticed. They tilted their heads and watched. Selina and Hector moved with the stiffness of people playing parts. Their smiles were forced. The wedding felt like an obligation. Guests stirred their drinks. Some glanced away as if they were being polite to a lie.
Logan, Hector's best friend, came first. He crossed the room quickly and grabbed Hector in a hug that was half friend, half anchor.
"Man of the hour," Logan said, voice high with something he would not show. He held Hector a beat too long. Later, when the crowd thinned, he mouthed, "Everything will be okay". He kept checking the stairwell, phone in his hand.
Caleb, Selina's lover, the man she always dreamed to spend the rest of her life with, arrived with that easy step Selina had memorized. His eyes found her from across the room. Her throat clenched. A tear slid cold from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away quickly, hiding the salt with the heel of her hand. No one must see.
"You look beautiful," Caleb said, close enough for her alone.
"Thank you," she breathed. The word felt hollow in her mouth.
Ruby, Sellina's best friend, was a bright thing at her side. She hugged Selina hard. "Happy marriage," Ruby said. "You deserve joy." Ruby smelled like jasmine and grit. Her grip steadied Selina.
Amanda, Hector's lover and also Sellina's worst enemy, moved in after with her ring of smiling friends. Pale silk. Perfect hair. She walked like someone used to being the center. She came close and laid a hand on Selina's arm in a show of welcome. Her smile was a blade.
She leaned in, all soft words for Selina's ear.
"You are ugly, husband snatcher," Amanda whispered. "I deserve Hector more than you. Now the real game will start. Very soon you will know my true color."
Amanda stepped back and offered a wide, innocent smile. The guests saw only kindness. Selina felt the jab of the whisper under her skin. She wanted to answer with acid. She forced a smile and let the moment pass.
Nicholas, Selina's father, reached her then. He wrapped her in arms that shook, and she let herself be small against him. He smelled of tobacco and old paper. His voice broke a little when he spoke. They held each other and let a private grief sit between them like a small warm shield.
Leo, Hector's adoptive father, came to Hector with the slow, solid touch of a man who kept accounts of loyalty. Owen, Selina's uncle, stood with his hands restless, watching everything like a man waiting to move. Her cousin, Lila waved from the cousins' cluster, bright and a little frightened. Others drifted in with the usual syrup of congratulations. "Much joy." "So happy for you." The phrases fell like polite rain.
Food moved on silver trays. The band eased into a current song. People ate and smiled. Selina sat on the edge, glass in hand, and practiced smiling. Inside, she kept a ledger of small things: how Hector favored Amanda in conversation, the way a server angled a tray away.
The gift table built into a small hill under a chandelier. Cards, boxes, clever wrappings. Guests stepped forward with faces that said careful support. Logan laid down a slim leather case. His card read: For your first board meeting. Caleb set down a watch. Ruby tucked in two old concert tickets with a note—for when you need to laugh.
Toasts rose and fell. Glasses chimed. Selina lifted her champagne because it was expected. Her fingers brushed Hector's hand and stayed, practiced and cool. His palm was brief where hers wanted warmth.
Then the far doors opened like a trap.
They did not look like guests. Black boots. Masks. They came in fast. A candelabrum toppled with a hard crash and the music stopped like someone had thrown a stone. For a breath the room held its shock.
The men moved with purpose. Weapons flashed under the warm lights. They swept toward the Vernetti table first. Chairs hit backs. A waiter's tray tipped and champagne spattered white across the carpet.
Someone screamed. Then chaos swallowed the room. The attackers were precise. They shoved people aside with a practiced cruelty. They struck the Vernetti members not with blind frenzy but with specific blows meant to wound and scatter.
Pain hit Selina at the side. Something sharp opened skin beneath her sleeve. It stung hot and red and ridiculous. She tasted iron. For a second she felt like she watched from outside herself. The cut was small but sharp. Her shirt dampened under her hand.
Her father, Nicholas, moved like he carried years of scraped elbows and small wars. He shoved a man away and a blade kissed his cheek. Blood dotted his temple. He swore and kept standing. Owen lunged and threw a punch that landed against a masked shoulder. The attackers flowed, violent and quick. They did not hesitate.
Lila screamed and clapped a hand to her mouth. A server ran for the back and collided with a figure in the dark. The server hit the floor and groaned. Logan shouted, quick and loud, and pushed through the crush toward the service area. "Keep the exits clear!" he barked. He pulled a phone free and moved like a man who would not be stopped.
People made a tangle trying to help. Chairs toppled and ribbon torn. Glass broke. Someone yelled for the police. The cry split the air.
Then the attackers ran. They left as fast as they had come, sliding through the room and out into the night. No one chased. No one grabbed them. In the space of a heartbeat they were gone. The penthouse lay messed with paper and overturned chairs. Smoke of spilled drinks hung in the air.
Amanda stood by the flowers with a smear of cake on her glove. Her face was perfect and calm. Guests moved toward her like she was a lighthouse. "Oh my God," she said, bright and loud. "What a dreadful thing—are you all right?"
She smoothed Selina's hair with a hand that trembled not at all. "You poor thing," she said, the voice all sugar.
A guest pressed a napkin to Selina's arm. Caleb knelt and hissed when he touched the wound. Ruby did not move from her side. Amos, the house manager, barked orders. Hector watched Selina with a look that hit harder than any blade. She wanted to spill everything in one wild breath—the prenup, Nicholas's voice the night before—but the noises swallowed her words.
Someone called an ambulance. A few guests clustered, trying to gather themselves. Logan stood by the service stairwell and watched the street below like he could see into it. He kept saying, "They're gone. There's nothing. We saw nothing." His voice was raw.
Outside, the city went on like it always did. Inside, the penthouse looked small and torn. People clung in shaking groups. The band packed away instruments. Wrapping paper lay in wet shreds on the floor.
Amanda smiled then, very small and private, when no one watched. Selina pressed her fingers to the cloth at her arm. The cut throbbed, an honest, burning note. It would heal. She could feel something hardening inside her, like metal laid in a mold.
I have not yet gone deep, Selina thought. They have already welcomed me to the war. If they want war, I am already on the battlefield.