The Heart of the Mad Duke

The bitter wind howled through the stone corridors of Blackthorn Manor, slipping through the cracks and biting at Selene’s skin. She gripped the hem of her thin maid’s dress, steadying herself as she balanced the silver tray in her trembling hands. Laughter echoed from the grand hall—hollow, arrogant, and laced with the scent of wine and deceit.

Selene kept her eyes lowered, blending into the shadows like the furniture, invisible to the nobles draped in silk and jewels. That’s how she survived. Unseen. Unheard.

"Clumsy girl."

The sharp sting of wine splashing against her face snapped her back. Lucien Blackthorn leaned lazily in his chair, the rim of his glass tilting toward her. His golden hair fell into his smug eyes, glittering with cruel amusement.

"A maid should know her place."

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. But she said nothing. She couldn’t.

Victor's words echoed in her mind, dark and venomous.

"A single mistake, little bird, and I’ll take more than your money."

Her father’s debts shackled her, dragging her down like iron chains. Her grandmother’s fragile health anchored her heart. There was no room for pride. No space for mistakes.

So she swallowed the burn of humiliation and wiped the wine from her cheek.

But fate has a cruel sense of irony.

The great oak doors groaned open, silencing the hall.

Boots echoed, slow and deliberate, on the marble floor.

A man entered—draped in black, cold as a winter storm. His dark cloak trailed behind him like a shadow come alive. Steel-blue eyes swept over the room, and every noble spine stiffened.

The air thickened, brittle and sharp.

The Mad Duke.

Selene didn’t need to look up to know. The suffocating silence was enough.

But she did.

And in that brief moment, their eyes met.

Cold met fire.

And the world tilted.

She didn’t bow. Didn’t flinch.

And Cassian Valemont’s lips curved—just slightly.

Dangerously.

It was the beginning of everything.

And the end of everything she thought she knew.