The Seductress

Rain slicked the city streets, making the pavement gleam like black glass beneath Selena Cruz’s heels. The clack of her stilettos echoed with a calculated rhythm as she moved through the private lobby of the Renaissance Hotel. In her hand, she held a clutch no larger than her palm—inside, a burner phone, lipstick, and a folded photo of her latest target: Philip Reyes. Selena was a phantom in silk and scent. She always arrived polished, composed, untouchable. The kind of woman men dreamed of having and women wished they'd never trusted around their husbands. She didn't seduce for pleasure. She seduced for justice. A different kind of vengeance, one that ended not with bruises but shattered egos and lonely nights for arrogant men. Philip Reyes had been easy. He was predictable, entitled, and bored. A successful investment banker married to a woman who had once been his equal, now reduced to dinner parties and empty smiles. Elena Reyes had approached Selena through her usual channels, desperate to end her husband's affair with his twenty-four-year-old assistant. "He needs to be reminded of what he gave up," she'd said, her eyes glistening. "He needs to hurt the way I have." Selena delivered exactly that. In six weeks, Philip had gone from flirtation to obsession. Tonight, he thought he would claim her. He had booked a penthouse suite, arranged champagne, and texted her over a dozen times. She arrived fashionably late. The suite door swung open to reveal Philip—loosened tie, flushed cheeks, and the unmistakable gleam of a man who thought he was winning. "You came," he said, voice rough with anticipation. Selena smiled, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "You sounded eager." Inside, the suite reeked of expensive cologne and desperation. Philip led her to the sitting area, pouring two glasses of champagne with trembling hands. He talked fast, about how miserable he was, how much he hated pretending with Elena, how being with Selena made him feel alive. "I told her I'm filing for divorce, this time I am sure," he said, gripping her hand like a lifeline. "Next week. I'm done pretending. I want you. All of you." Selena's smile faltered for just a second. Then she stood. "Philip," she said softly, walking toward the window overlooking the rain-soaked skyline. "Do you know why I came here tonight?" He rose, confused, hopeful. "Because you want me too. That you know what's the score between us, you're the love of my life! my queen! my one and only. And I am your King, right?" She turned to face him. "No. I came to say goodbye. We're done." Silence fell like a slap. His jaw worked, words caught in his throat. "What? No, no—you said—I thought you said—" "I never promised you anything," Selena said gently. "You did all the promising. And you broke the one that mattered the most the day you touched your assistant." Philip's face crumpled. "No!" "Oh, come Philip, I know that you went to see her the other day." "Yes! but that is because I ended things with her.. to be with you! nothing happened between us that day. I promise." "I don't believe you, I can't trust a man who got two mistresses." "But I love you. I need you!" Selena stepped forward, placed a hand on his cheek. "No, Philip. You loved the fantasy of me. You need to remember your vows. Go home to your wife. Try to be better. Or don’t. But this? Us? Was never real." "No! this can't be real! no... no.. tell me this isn't real." "But it is, and we're done. So please, do not bother me anymore." She pulled her hand away. Philip didn’t follow. Selena turned and walked to the door. Her heels clicked with finality. "Wait," he whispered, voice breaking. She paused but didn’t turn. "Goodbye, Philip." Then she left, disappearing into the night, the rain hiding the tears she didn’t allow herself to cry. The game was always about control. And she had just taken his away. --- She stepped into the back seat of a waiting black town car, the driver giving her a subtle nod. "Home, Ms. Cruz?" he asked. "No," she said. "The lounge. I need a drink." It was nearly midnight when Selena entered The Ember Lounge—dimly lit, low music, a place where secrets settled into the leather booths and expensive scotch soothed quiet regrets. She slid into her usual corner seat, far from prying eyes. Maya Torres was already waiting, stirring a cocktail with practiced boredom. "That was fast." Selena raised a brow. "He was too easy. It bored me." "Didn't sound bored in your text. 'He told me he loves me' is usually followed by a full recap." "He said he'd leave his wife." Maya's eyes lit up with dark amusement. "Oof. Classic." "I shut it down. He won't call again." "Elena will be thrilled." Selena nodded but said nothing. Her gaze drifted to the bar. For a flicker of a moment, doubt slithered into her chest—a dull ache she pushed away with her drink. Maya noticed. "You're getting soft." "I'm getting tired." "You always say that before the next job." Selena smiled bitterly. "Maybe I need a harder one. Something that actually challenges me." As if on cue, her phone buzzed. A private message from her fixer. "Next job," she murmured, reading. Then she frowned. Maya leaned in. "What is it?" Selena's voice was quiet, wary. "Client says it's a cheating fiance. They recently got engaged but the guy is physically abusing her." Maya blinked. "And she wants revenge?" "She wants him to suffer." "And the man's name?" Selena hesitated. Then she read it aloud. "Adrian Valez." The name rang unfamiliar. But something about it—the bitterness in the message, the hidden edge beneath the request—felt different. Dangerous. Selena stared into her drink. A challenge. Just what she asked for. She never knew how much that one decision would change everything.