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She sacrificed her career, her power, and her future so her husband could sit in the highest seat in the country-with her standing beside him as the perfect First Lady.
Until he humiliated her. Publicly.
His affair with a younger woman was a spectacle. The headlines mocked her. The whispers picked her apart. And when his mistress got pregnant, Alexander barely looked at Selene as he told her, "This doesn't change anything. You'll always be my wife."
No, Alexander. This changes everything.
Because Selene doesn't cry. She doesn't beg. She retaliates.
And when she's done, he won't just lose his presidency.
He'll lose everything.
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"Do you know what you do to me?" His voice was rough, his fingers sliding beneath lace, teasing, torturing.
She pulled his belt loose, the metallic clink drowning beneath her heavy breathing. "Show me."
And he did.
He pressed into her, swallowed the gasp she let out. The sharp edge of the bookshelf dug into her shoulders, but she barely felt it. All she felt was him-his heat, his weight, the way he owned her completely in that moment.
Footsteps echoed faintly outside the door. A voice-muffled, passing.
Damian's hand covered her mouth as he moved harder, deeper. The thrill of being caught sent fire through her veins.
"Quiet, mon trésor," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Unless you want them to hear how good I'm bedding you."
Selene bit his palm as she came undone, her entire body trembling around him.
________________
Alexander stumbled through the front doors of the White House, his tie loosened, his collar askew.
The scent hit Selene first—jasmine and vanilla, cloying and unmistakably feminine. Not hers.
She stood at the top of the grand staircase, arms crossed. "You're late."
He scoffed, not even looking at her as he tossed his jacket onto a chair. "I don't answer to you."
Selene descended, slow, deliberate. "And yet, you reek of another woman."
That got his attention. His head snapped up, eyes flashing with something dark—annoyance, perhaps. Not guilt. Never guilt.
"Watch your tone, Selene."
"Or what?" She stepped closer, chin lifted. "You'll lie to me again? Pretend the entire city doesn't know what you've been doing?"
He laughed, a low, condescending chuckle. "I don't need to pretend. I'm the President of the United States. I do what I want. If I want to f another woman, I will. And you?" He grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer. "You'll be a good little trophy wife and smile for the cameras."
His grip was tight, just shy of bruising. Testing her. Daring her to break.
Selene kept her face blank, even as pain curled through her wrist like a warning. Instead of pulling away, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his ear.
"You think you're untouchable." Her voice was barely a whisper, just for him. "But I've already found the cracks in your throne."
She felt his fingers twitch—just for a fraction of a second—before he shoved her back. Not hard enough to send her to the floor, but enough to steal her breath.
"You forget your place," he said coldly.
Her throat tightened. My place?
She smoothed her blouse with steady hands, her pulse no longer quick with anger, but something sharper. Colder.
"You should be careful, Alexander." She let her eyes drag over him, unimpressed. "You think power makes you untouchable, but you've never been more vulnerable."
He smirked, turning toward the bar. "That a threat?"
Selene tilted her head, watching as he poured himself a drink with all the arrogance of a man who believed himself invincible. "No," she said smoothly. "It's a promise."
He barked out another laugh, tipping his glass at her before walking off. "I'd love to see you try."
Selene followed Alexander up the grand staircase, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. He didn't glance back, shoulders squared as he stalked toward their bedroom.
"Alexander, stop," she said, keeping her tone measured. "You're making a spectacle of yourself." She paused. "Of me."
He scoffed but didn't slow down. "A spectacle? In my own home?"
She caught up just as he pushed open the bedroom doors. The scent of expensive whiskey mixed with the perfume of the other woman made Selene's stomach twist. He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair.
Selene shut the door behind her. Locked it.
"You can't keep doing this."
He yanked his tie loose, eyes flicking to her in the mirror's reflection. "And what exactly am I doing, Selene?"
"You know well what." Her fingers curled into her palms. "You're embarrassing me. You're embarrassing yourself. The rumors—"
"Are just that," he cut in, unbuttoning his shirt. "Besides, I don't answer to you." He turned to face her fully, irritation flashing in his gaze. "Know your place. Let that sink in."
There it was again. That smug confidence. That belief that she was nothing but a beautiful fixture in his perfect, curated life.
"My place?" she echoed, incredulous. "You must be joking, Alexander. Everything you have, everything you are, is because of me. And this is how you repay me?"
He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Repay you? Selene, don't fool yourself. You're a trophy. A good one. Beautiful, poised, the perfect First Lady." He took a step closer, towering over her. "But that's all you are. So quit this delusion that you have any power over me."
Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with something dark and scheming. Let him underestimate her.
"You're spiraling, Alexander." She shook her head, feigning pity. "If you don't rein this in, you will fall."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. She'd hit a nerve.
"Enough."
"You need to—"
His hand shot out.
The crack echoed.
Pain erupted across her cheek, sharp and burning. The force of it made her stumble, her breath catching. Not from fear. Not from hurt. But from fury.
The silence between them stretched like a blade, gleaming, waiting.
Selene didn't touch the sting blooming across her skin. She just lifted her chin, steady as ever.
Alexander exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I warned you." He turned and strode toward the en-suite bathroom. "Quit challenging me, Selene. I won't tell you again."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Selene stood frozen. Not in shock. Not in fear. In quiet, measured calculation.
He had never laid a hand on her before. Never. Her eyes landed on the bed, where his phone lay abandoned. The screen lit up with an incoming call.
Camille Durand.
Selene's stomach tightened, the name burning itself into her vision.
Without thinking, she snatched the phone off the bed and answered, bringing it to her ear.
"Alex, darling," Camille's sultry tone oozed through the speaker. "I was hoping you'd still be awake. I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Selene said nothing, gripping the device so hard her nails dug into her palm.
Camille hummed. "You were incredible tonight, you know that? The way you—" She stopped abruptly. "Wait. Who is this?"
Selene's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "His wife."
There was a pause, then a soft laugh. "Oh. How disappointing."
Selene's grip tightened. "Likewise."
Camille didn't bother with pleasantries. "I assume he's in the shower, then?" She sighed dramatically. "God, that man is insatiable. I can barely keep up."
Selene stayed silent, letting Camille's words slither between them, every syllable stoking the fire in her chest.
"You must know by now," Camille continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "He doesn't love you. He never did. You were just convenient. A stepping stone."
Selene's nails pressed into her palm, but her expression remained unreadable.
"Are you done?"
Camille chuckled. "For now. He calls me by your name sometimes. Almost makes me feel bad for you. But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure he thinks of me while he's with you."
Selene ended the call before Camille could say another word.
She stood there, breathing heavily, the phone still clutched in her fist.
Then, slowly, she placed it back on the bed, smoothing out the covers as if nothing had happened.
Alexander thought he could humiliate her. That he could treat her like a disposable ornament and get away with it.
He had no idea who he was dealing with.
Selene Moreau didn't get mad.
She got even.
Selene dabbed another layer of concealer over her cheek, blending it carefully. The bruise was faint now, just a shadow beneath the powder, but she could still feel it. A phantom ache. A quiet, burning reminder.
Alexander had never hit her before. But now he had. And that changed everything.
She snapped the compact shut, set her shoulders, and stepped into the dining room.
Damian Wolfe was already there, whiskey in hand, standing beside Alexander. He turned at the sound of her heels against the marble.
And he stared.
Not like other men did—like she was something to be admired, possessed. Damian's stare was different. Knowing. His dark eyes swept over her, missing nothing. And when it landed on her cheek, her breath caught for half a second. Did he see through the makeup?
She didn't let her expression falter. She would not.
"Darling," Alexander drawled, swirling his drink. "I was just telling Damian about the press tour next month. Seems they can't get enough of us."
Us.
Selene reached for her wine glass, her fingers feather-light on the stem. "Us?" she echoed, taking a sip. "Funny. I thought they only wanted you."
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the ghost of a smirk on Damian's lips. Amused. Almost like he was enjoying the cracks in Alexander's carefully curated illusion.
Alexander laughed, that easy, arrogant sound. "Come now, we are a team, aren't we?"
Selene didn't answer. Just sipped her wine.
Damian's voice cut through the charged silence. "Rough day, Selene?"
A simple question. But the way he said it smoothly made her pulse spike. And then his eyes flicked, just for a fraction of a second, to her cheek. Like he knew exactly what was beneath the concealer.
She felt her grip tighten around the glass, but she kept her face unreadable. Instead, she tilted her head, lips curving slightly. "Nothing I can't handle."
A beat. A flicker of something in Damian's expression.
He knew.
But why did he care?
Selene had never been able to figure him out completely. He was sharp, almost too sharp, with a quiet kind of power that didn't need to be flaunted. Where Alexander was loud in his dominance, Damian was restrained, careful. Dangerous in a different way.
She wasn't sure if she trusted him. But she also wasn't sure she didn't.
Alexander had been ignoring the exchange at first, too absorbed in his own ego, but now she felt the shift. His body stiffened, his fingers curling tighter around his glass.
Selene stood slowly, reaching for the wine bottle. And she felt it again—Damian's eyes tracking her. Lingering. Like he was daring her to react.
Alexander noticed this time.
Before she could pour, his hand covered hers. Tight. A fraction too hard. A touch meant to remind.
"Let me," Alexander said, voice light, but there was a tension coiled beneath it.
Selene met his eyes, an unreadable smile curving her lips, before withdrawing her hand. Letting him feel like he'd won.
Damian watched it all. His smirk deepened, but his eyes... they were sharper now. Assessing.
"Something on your mind, Damian?" Alexander asked, his voice threaded with something new. Territorial.
Damian raised his glass. "Just admiring your taste."
Selene's fingers pressed into the stem of her glass.
Did he mean her? Or something else?
The air in the room tightened. Alexander let out a slow breath, masking his irritation with a smirk of his own.
"Not every man is lucky enough to have a wife as... captivating as mine," he said, his tone veiled with smug satisfaction.
Selene lifted her glass to her lips, watching Damian over the rim.
Damian's eyes held hers as he took a slow sip of his whiskey. "No," he murmured. "They're not."
The silence that followed was deafening.
When Damian finally left, Alexander was still stewing, his fingers tapping against the table.
Selene saw him off with nothing more than a nod. No words. No expression.
Outside, as the heavy doors clicked shut behind him, a guard stepped forward, slipping something into her palm.
A folded note.
"You deserved better than that. Let me know when you're ready."
No name.
But she didn't need one. She already knew.
The moment the front doors shut behind Damian, Selene felt it coming.
The shift.
Like a storm rolling in, the pressure in the room changed. The air grew thicker, heavier with something volatile. She didn't turn around immediately. Instead, she carefully smoothed the note between her fingers, then slipped it into the pocket of her dress. Unhurried. Collected.
A predator's instinct told her: Don't let him see you flinch first.
Alexander's voice cut through the silence. Low. Dangerous.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
Selene finally turned. Alexander stood near the bar, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. His smirk was lazy, forced, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
She tipped her head. "Should I have?"
His smile stretched, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Damian, of all people?"
Ah. There it was.
Jealousy.
Alexander hated being ignored. Even more, he hated the idea of someone else seeing what was his.
Selene stepped closer. "Damian's been your right-hand man for years. Why the sudden concern?"
Alexander let out a dark chuckle, pacing. "Don't insult me, Selene." He turned to her, eyes blazing now. "I saw the way you looked at him."
She arched a brow, lips curving slightly. "And how, exactly, was that?"
He closed the distance in two strides. "Like you wanted him to see you."
A shiver danced down her spine, but she held her ground.
His voice dropped to a taunting whisper. "Is that your revenge, then? You want to get back at me with my own ally?" He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Pathetic."
Selene's fingers curled at her sides.
Pathetic.
The word slithered under her skin, lodging deep. She exhaled slowly, forcing her expression into something smooth. Indifferent. Then, with careful precision, she lifted her hand and traced a single finger along the lapel of his jacket. A calculated move. One he wouldn't expect.
Alexander stilled.
"Do you really think I need Damian to get back at you?" she murmured, meeting his eyes.
His jaw ticked.
Her smile deepened.
"If I wanted to ruin you, Alexander," she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his, "I wouldn't need another man to do it."
The moment stretched, electric. Then, just as slowly, she stepped back, plucking the glass of wine from the table.
Alexander's nostrils flared, his control cracking. She could feel it—the unraveling. The moment where he couldn't decide if he wanted to punish her or prove something to her.
Let him wonder. Let him seethe.
She took a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving his, and then, just as smooth, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Selene barely made it three steps before he was on her.
A hand snatched her wrist, jerking her back so hard she gasped. The sharp crack of shattering glass ricocheted through the room, an echo of the war already waging between them. Before she could react, his mouth was on hers.
Bruising. Punishing.
His fingers dug into her waist, pulling her flush against him as his teeth scraped her bottom lip, a silent warning, a twisted claim.
Mine.
The word wasn't spoken, but she felt it in every harsh pull, every breath stolen from her lungs. Her nails bit into his arms, but he didn't let go. Didn't ease up. He wanted her to fight. To struggle. To remind her who was stronger.
When he finally pulled back, his grip still ironclad, his breath came ragged. His pupils were blown wide, fury and something uglier, needier, swirling in the depths of his gaze.
His voice was low, shaking with barely restrained rage. "You think you can play games with me?"
Selene's lips burned. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she refused to show it.
Instead, she lifted a hand and wiped her mouth.
Slow. Unbothered.
Mocking.
Alexander's fingers tightened at her waist. "Look at me when I speak to you."
She did. But not the way he wanted. Her visage was ice.
He yanked her closer, his lips grazing her ear this time, his voice almost gentle.
"No one else touches what's mine, Selene. No one."
A shiver rippled down her spine. Not from fear. From the sheer audacity of him. She exhaled a slow, controlled breath. Then, with perfect poise, she pressed her palm against his chest.
Not hard. Just enough. Alexander's breath hitched.
Then, she shoved.
Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a statement. A dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes, but she spoke before he could move again.
"You may be the President, Alexander," she murmured, smoothing the front of her dress where his hands had been, "but you forget something."
His jaw ticked. "What?"
Her lips curled, a quiet, knowing smile. "Presidents are replaceable."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Alexander's entire body went still. His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths, but she could see the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
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