7:40 PM. Selene’s Apartment.

The knock came once.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Authoritative.

Selene froze mid-step, her phone slipping from her fingers as it vibrated across the marble floor. She already knew. She just hadn’t expected it to be tonight.

She opened the door.

Damian Cross stood there, dressed in black, hands in his pockets. Two men in plain clothes flanked him, badges visible but discreet.

His expression wasn’t angry.

It was finished.

“Damian—” Selene started, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “If this is about the blogs, I already said I didn’t—”

“Stop,” Damian said quietly.

One word. Enough to shut the room down.

He stepped inside...