She walked in like she owned the air itself  hips swaying with practiced grace, each stride echoing self-assurance.

A black sequin dress hugged her like a whispered secret, shimmering under the crystal chandelier. Her golden heels clicked against the marble floor, sharp and deliberate like a countdown.

Her hair fell in dark, glossy waves over one shoulder, and her lips gleamed in a bold, unapologetic red.

The audacity was breathtaking.

Selene smiled , that perfectly rehearsed, media-polished smile , he kind that could charm reporters and stab rivals in the same breath.

Grandma Eleanor, sitting on the couch, blinked twice in disbelief as Damian led the woman forward.

“Good afternoon,...