The Underworld Queen's Second Contract

The silk under Selene's fingertips was all wrong. Instead of smooth and cool, it scraped her skin-almost stung. Not in that expensive, smug way high-end fabric sometimes does, but rough and jarring. She lay there stiff in the dark, heart beating too fast. Whatever happened just now, it wasn't a nightmare. Nightmares fade when you wake; they don't leave your chest pounding or your mouth tasting metallic and wrong, like you just chewed a handful of pennies.

Her hand pressed to her side. She braced for blood, but her skin was smooth. No wound, nothing aching. And the nightgown clinging to her wasn't even hers. Not just the wrong gown, either-this felt like slipping into someone else's life altogether.

Selene sat up, slow and careful. Even the air was thick, every move weighted down. The room pressed in around her-shadows too close, furniture shoved into the wrong spots, window on the wrong wall, ceiling uncomfortably low. She could walk the east wing of the Voss mansion with her eyes closed, still remember her old bedroom perfectly. But this place wasn't what she remembered.

Moonlight slid through drapes she'd never choose. Perfume hung in the air from crowded bottles on the vanity. An open wardrobe gaped across the room, letters stacked on the desk in neat, unfamiliar piles. When her feet finally found the floor, she shivered so hard she nearly toppled over.

She gripped the bedpost until her knuckles went white. Breathe, she told herself. In and out. Get a grip.

Then it hit her. My room. Not just any room-her old room, before marriage, before the Syndicate turned her life inside out, before Damian Voss became both her undoing and the silence she still fell into, even now.

Her eyes locked on the thick envelope beside the bed. Red Voss wax sealed it shut. She knew that wax. And then the memory crashed in: the contract. All those years ago, trapped with men calculating her price instead of seeing her worth.

She picked it up. Strangely, her hands didn't shake. The cold, trained part of her-the one used to deals and danger-clicked awake, already lining up the facts.

The seal stood unbroken. Contract unsigned. Somehow she'd landed here-maybe in her younger body, on this exact night-before any of it happened. Before the vows, before the ruin.

She walked to the vanity and met her own eyes in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Almost familiar, but not quite right. Softer, no dark circles, hair still untouched-long, uncut, not yet ruined by spite or time. Life hadn't had a chance to wear her down.

Nineteen. That was the face staring back-nineteen, just before Selene became Selene Voss.

Her fingers pressed into the wood until she thought it might splinter.

And suddenly, she saw them all again: Reginald Cross charming the room, Bianca looking away, Damian by her side as everything unraveled. When the dust settled, anger was all she had left-solid anger, strong enough to build a fortress on.

Grief? She never counted on grief. Grief took time, and she knew better than to dream about things she might be allowed to keep.

You've stood in front of worse, she reminded herself.

She'd survived monsters. Outlasted sharks like Aldric Voss. Every time she'd been knocked down, she'd crawled out again-even when victory returned just to bite her back. She wasn't letting go, not now.

Selene picked up the contract, fingertips tracing the wax. Three years sat between her and the ballroom, betrayal, the night someone slid a knife beneath her ribs.

Three years was enough, as long as she didn't mess up.

She called back their faces: Reginald with his sugar-fake smiles, Bianca selling out anyone for a chance, Nikolai lurking, Silas with his quiet promises. She'd already lost Silas once. Not again.

Now she knew their tricks, their masks. She'd wandered into traps blind before. Not this time.

The thought pulsed inside her. She'd put her faith in competence before-trusted herself right into disaster. Never again. Love and loyalty were easy to forge, easier to fake. Even Damian, as twisted as it got, had just stood there when she bled.

She wasn't looking for hope this time. She wanted something untouched, hers. She could play along-let them sleep easy, let them look past her, never see her coming.

She let the contract rest and turned back to her mirror image. Her face showed no scars yet, but she could see the anger, the edge-everything real, still just beneath the surface. They couldn't steal who she was.

Time. That's what she had now.

Light footsteps trailed outside her door. Selene's heart jumped. Lucia-her little sister, sixteen, still limping from that summer. Last time, Lucia wilted inside herself and tried to disappear.

Not this time.

She waited until the footsteps faded before letting herself breathe. She wasn't ready to see anyone yet. Not till she found her footing and stacked her deck.

She crossed the floor and cracked the curtain open. The garden shimmered in moonlight; the drive already twisted toward tomorrow and her wedding. Last time, that walk felt like surrender. Now she saw it differently-this was the beginning, not the end. The last moment she made her own choices.

She thought of Damian again-not the cold-eyed man who let her bleed out, but the boy he was right now. Sharp, amused, always watching. It wasn't respect he had for her-only curiosity. She wasn't confusing that again. He could look all he wanted. Her secrets stayed hers.

She let the curtain drop and faced the room. The contract waited. Tomorrow she'd sign it-and this time, her eyes would be wide open. Enemies would get perfect smiles, nothing real. No fear, no more mistakes, just her best mask.

She picked up the envelope and rolled it back and forth under the moonlight.

Read it closely, Damian, she thought, mouth twisting into something too sharp for hope. This time, I'm writing the rules.

The night pressed on outside her window. But Selene wasn't waiting for morning. For the first time in years, every heartbeat felt wild and ready.