The black smoke billowing from the top of the Grand Tower still lingered in my mind as I stepped into Selena Vance's private dining room a few days later. That night, the smell of burnt wires had been replaced by the aroma of black truffles and vintage wine worth thousands of dollars per bottle. The dim light from crystal candles reflected on the long mahogany table, creating an intimate atmosphere yet laden with the weight of power.
Selena sat at the end of the table, wearing a navy-blue silk dress that hugged her body perfectly. She didn't wear flashy jewelry, but her presence alone was enough to intimidate anyone without strong mental resolve.
"You look much better than the last time you fainted in my lap, Henry," Selena said, her voice calm but possessing a very subtle teasing tone.
