The charity gala was held in the penthouse ballroom of a city landmark. Dazzling crystal chandeliers illuminated the interior brighter than day, while beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a sea of city lights glittered like a sprawl of jewels. The air was thick with the clink of glasses and the murmur of perfumed, well-dressed crowds. Unlike the suppressed, predatory undercurrents of Lycan gatherings, the tension here was veiled beneath a glossy sheen of social nicety and corporate flattery. Yet Selene knew that beneath the placid surface swam predators of a different stripe.
When she entered on Lysander's arm, they still commanded the room's attention. She wore an Elie Saab gown of misty blue, fading into a starry sequined pattern, its ethereal beauty amplifying her cool, moon-kissed demeanor. Lysander was, as ever, a pillar of imposing authority in his bespoke black suit, his expression a mask of detached control.
"Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Thorne, a pleasure to have you," the event's head organizer greeted them, his deference bordering on obsequiousness.
Lysander gave a curt nod. His gaze swept the room with apparent idleness, but Selene felt the subtle tension coiling in the arm she held—the instinctive alertness of a predator on guard.
"See the man in the silver-grey suit, ten o'clock, speaking with the councilman? Bald?" Lysander's voice was a murmur for her alone. "Howard, APAC CEO of Drake Group. Their biotech division has recently shown… interest in 'unique physiological studies.'"
Selene's pulse quickened. The Drake Group was Thorne Enterprises' largest rival in biomedicine. The message was clear: this man, or the forces he represented, was the "test" to watch for tonight.
Her smile remained perfectly poised as she gave a slight, acknowledging nod.
The first half of the evening unfolded like another meticulously choreographed play. Lysander guided her through the throng of politicians and tycoons. She played her part—the beautiful, silent appendage, offering a perfectly timed, succinct comment only when his glance signaled it. Her performance was flawless; her serene composure even won subtle approval from several discerning society matrons.
Yet, the anticipated challenge arrived.
During the auction, when an ancient bronze casket, allegedly once owned by a reclusive alchemist from the Middle Ages, was presented, Selene sensed a minute shift in Lysander's energy. The casket was austere, covered in faded, forgotten runes that gleamed dully under the lights. Its description vaguely alluded to possible "energy containment."
"Like it?" Lysander asked, his voice low but carrying in the auction's relative hush.
Selene hesitated, processing. Was this a genuine query or part of the act? Following his gaze, she studied the casket. Her recent studies hinted that the runes bore a faint, unsettling resemblance to certain ancient Lycan sealing arts.
She offered a soft, curious "Mm," her tone gentle. "The patterns are… unique."
"Then we'll have it," he stated, as if deciding on a pastry. He raised his paddle.
The starting bid was high, but Lysander's entry sent the price soaring. Clearly, interest in the mysterious artifact extended beyond him. After several rounds, only two bidders remained: Lysander and Howard.
Howard countered each raise with unflappable calm, a shrewd merchant's smile on his face, occasionally raising his glass in a silent toast toward them, his eyes holding a glint of scrutiny.
The price had climbed to an astronomical figure, far exceeding the casket's artistic or historical worth. A buzz of whispered speculation filled the room. This was no longer mere bidding; it was a clash of titans on an invisible battlefield.
Selene's palms grew damp. Why was Lysander so intent on this object? A feint to mislead his rival, or did it hold genuine significance for him?
As the bids stalemated, Howard suddenly smiled, lowered his paddle, and made a gracious "after you" gesture to his companion. "It seems Mr. Thorne is determined to acquire this curio," he remarked, his voice just loud enough to carry. "We wouldn't dream of standing in his way." The words were light, but they effectively painted Lysander as either recklessly extravagant or dangerously obsessed.
Lysander's expression remained unreadable. He secured the bronze casket for a king's ransom.
The auctioneer's gavel fall drew another wave of attention—envious, jealous, but mostly deeply speculative.
For the remainder of the evening, the stream of well-wishers increased, their conversations invariably steering toward the bronze casket or probing Thorne Enterprises' new directions in antiquities or biotech. Lysander parried with masterful ambiguity, guarding secrets behind a wall of impeccable rhetoric.
Selene's vigilance sharpened. She noted Howard's men, and other sharp-eyed individuals who moved through the crowd with predatory grace, their gazes continually drifting toward her and Lysander.
On her way to the ladies' room, a server "accidentally" jostled her, splashing a dash of wine onto her skirt.
"My apologies, Madam! So sorry!" The server stammered, face pale.
"It's fine," Selene said, a frown forming. The bump had felt a little too… precise.
A smooth, male voice intervened. "May I be of assistance?"
Selene looked up to find a man with gold-rimmed glasses and a scholarly air standing nearby, offering a clean handkerchief. His concern seemed perfectly measured.
It was Gu Yanzhi. What was he doing here?
Her instincts flared. She declined the handkerchief with a polite, distant nod. "Thank you, that won't be necessary." She glanced quickly at the flustered server, who was already scurrying away.
Gu Yanzhi pocketed the handkerchief, unperturbed. His smile lingered on the wine stain. "A riveting auction. Mr. Thorne seems quite taken with that casket."
Selene had no desire to engage, especially now. "Excuse me, Mr. Gu." She inclined her head and moved toward the restroom.
She felt his gaze on her back until she turned the corner.
Alone before the restroom mirror, Selene stared at her slightly pale reflection, drawing a steadying breath. Howard's probes, the suspicious server, Gu Yanzhi's sudden appearance… The evening was far more complex than she'd anticipated. The bronze casket was bait, cast into the water, stirring hidden currents from the depths.
After composing herself, she exited to find Lysander waiting at the corridor's end. He leaned against the wall, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his dark eyes watching her.
"All right?" he asked.
She joined him, nodding, and quietly relayed the encounters with Gu Yanzhi and the server.
Lysander's eyes chilled at the mention. "The Gu family…" he muttered, letting the thought hang. He stowed the cigarette and offered his arm once more. "Let's go. Time to leave."
The car ride back was heavier with silence than the journey there. Lysander appeared to be resting, but a low pressure emanated from him. The bronze casket rested in a specialized safe within the vehicle.
"That casket," Selene finally ventured, her voice soft, "is it important?"
Lysander opened his eyes, the passing city lights playing across his face. He didn't answer directly. "What do you think?"
Selene considered, piecing together the night's events and her own intuition. "It felt like a marker. By winning it, you weren't just acquiring it. You were signaling your determination—to certain parties. And you made your position even more visible."
A ghost of a smile might have touched the corner of his mouth, there and gone. "Not entirely foolish." He closed his eyes again. "But it may have its uses. It might help verify some… theories regarding the Shackle."
Selene's heart jumped. It was connected to the curse!
"And Gu Yanzhi…?"
"A self-important collector, and… an overly curious spectator," Lysander's tone held a thread of cold mockery. "Ignore him."
The car glided through the night. Watching the streaking lights, Selene's mind churned. The auction was over, but the true ripples were just beginning. Lysander had drawn her deeper into his war, and she, now aware of the potential price on her head, would have to tread with even greater care.
She glanced at the man resting beside her, an immovable iceberg, the turmoil beneath its surface now slightly more perceptible to her.
Back at the mansion, Lysander took the bronze casket directly to the secured lab beneath his study, leaving Selene standing alone in the vast, empty hall.
Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. Shadows of adversaries were closing in on this fortress from all sides, and the intricate web binding her to its master—woven of contract, dependence, secrets, and a faint glimmer of possibility—had grown infinitely more complex.
She looked up through the window at the moon, veiled by thin clouds, its light blurred and ominous.
The storm was gathering.