Mother, Monsters, And Mirror.
Seline Point Of View.
I watched Ronan storm out of the penthouse like a man possessed, grabbing his keys, slamming the door behind him, not even sparing me a glance.
My jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
The air left behind in the room felt scorched, like the kind that follows a goddamn explosion. His cologne still hung in the air, and the broken tension buzzed like static in my ears.
I stood in the middle of his bedroom wearing nothing but a silk robe and fury.
Zyrah.
The name pulsed through my skull like a migraine.
That bitch, that lying, backstabbing, manipulative, too-pretty-to-trust piece of trash was supposed to be gone. She was supposed to rot in that cold cell like the naïve idiot she was, like we planned.
But no.
No, she’s back, alive and f**king free.
I stormed to the dresser and snatched my phone like it owed me answers. My fingers moved fast, scrolling through the articles. That headline was still there, burning through my screen like acid.
Zyrah Lancaster Released, All Charges Dropped Overnight.
My grip tightened on the phone.
“How the f**k did she get out?!”
I screamed it to the empty room, my voice cracking.
One night.
One goddamn night and suddenly she’s out like she owns the world again?
Who bailed her?
Who cleaned her name?
Who the hell is backing her?
I spun around, pacing in circles, my heels clicking against the hardwood even though I wasn’t even dressed yet.
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didn’t have shit.
And now?
She had the f**king spotlight. S
he had Ronan losing his goddamn mind, and every time I thought about her face being plastered all over the news like some tragic heroine.
I wanted to rip something apart.
I marched across the room, ripping open Ronan’s closet like I had a right to it, and I did. I’d been here while she rot- ted. I’d been the one keeping Ronan sane, keeping the company in check, making sure he didn’t fall off the edge while her name turned to dust.
I threw on a black fitted dress, tight, cold, and sharp as my anger, pulled my hair up into a sleek tail, and applied my lipstick like war paint. Then the heels, my favorite stilettos, the ones that made men nervous.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, eyes wild, lips red, heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“Fuck this,” I spat. “Fuck her!”
I wasn’t going to sit here and watch this bitch come crawling back into the world like some risen angel.
No!
She was no angel, infact, she is nothing but a snake, and I knew her.
I knew how she smiled when she was scared, I knew how she begged Ronan to stay, how she faked being friends with me, acting like I didn’t see her clench her fists every time I touched him.
Guess what, sweetheart?
I touched him plenty.
She played meek and mild while I was everything she wasn’t, ruthless, sharp, irreplaceable.
And now?
Now, she was threatening everything I built.
I grabbed my car keys, slammed the door behind me, and stalked my Mercedes like a woman on fire. I drove fast, lights blurring past me, mind racing even faster.
Ronan was pissed, rightfully so.
But me?
I was ready to explode because this wasn’t just a glitch.
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It was a f**king war, and if Zyrah wanted to come back from the dead, then I’d gladly bury her for real this time.
The front door clicked behind me as I stepped into my apartment, heels clicking against marble, keys dropped on the console with a frustrated slap. I was already halfway through untying my coat when I stopped cold.
Someone was here.
The scent of jasmine and expensive perfume hit me first, thick and intrusive.
Then I saw her, Valentina Rousseau, my mother.
Perched on the velvet sofa like she was inspecting a throne, legs crossed, fingers cradling a half-finished glass of champagne she didn’t bother to ask for. Her posture screamed poise, but her eyes were hard and calculating, the kind of stare that peeled you apart layer by layer just to see what rotted underneath.
Perfectly pressed blouse, diamonds at her throat, heels still on like she hadn’t planned to stay long, only long enough to say what needed to be said and leave me broken in its wake.
God, I was already too tired for this.
“You should call before you show up,” I muttered, voice flat as I slipped off my coat and tossed it on the rack.
She didn’t even blink.
“I own this apartment,” she said, her tone as sharp as her manicure. “Just because you live in it doesn’t mean you run it, don’t forget that.”
There it was.
The always-ticking time bomb that was my mother, the reminder that I was only ever a tenant in her empire, even when I was the one bleeding in it.
I clenched my jaw, walking toward the kitchen.
“You’re coming from Ronan’s place, I assume?”
I halted.
The question hit me like cold water, and I turned slightly, eyes narrowed.
“Don’t pretend you care.”
“I care about the headlines,” she replied. “They’re quite dramatic this morning.”
She took another sip of my champagne, and just like that, I cracked.
“She wasn’t supposed to be out!” I hissed, spinning around. “She was supposed to stay in that goddamn cell where she belonged!”
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My voice came out sharper than I expected, I didn’t care because I felt sharp.
Mother didn’t flinch, she just looked amused.
“Who released her?”
“I don’t know!” I shouted. “No one knows! The detective said it was sealed, anonymous access, high clearance, all wiped, and no fucking trail!”
Her smile curved slowly, like a knife sliding free from its sheath.
“And you believe that?”
My heart thudded. “What do you mean?”
She stood, slow, poised, terrifying. Her heels clicked as she walked closer, every step controlled like she was walking into a courtroom, not my living room.
“You’ve always believed him, Seline. That’s your fatal flaw, you’ve spent eight years hanging onto the words of a man who married another woman six months after meeting her.”
“That’s not fair… ”
“It’s not fair,” she cut in. “It’s about power, and right now, you don’t have any.”
My face furrowed into an ugly frown.
I hated her.
I hated how calm she was, how right she sounded.
I gritted my teeth. “Zyrah and Ronan are over, they’re divorced in papers, I saw the papers and their signature on it with my very eyes, and now that she’s out, it doesn’t mean anything. I’m the one he wants, I’m the one who’s stayed.”
Valentina laughed coldly. “Stayed? Darling, you were never chosen, you were convenient, and now that she’s back, you think that won’t make him reconsider?”
“No,” I snapped. “Ronan hates her, he’s furious. You didn’t see him, he was losing his mind this morning, smashed his phone, pacing like a madman.”
She smirked. “Or performing.”
I faltered. “What?”
“Men like Ronan don’t show their real feelings unless they’re calculated. You think smashing a phone proves inno- cence, Please, he’s a CEO, not a teenager, he knew what he was doing.”
“He didn’t help her get out,” I whispered, more to myself.
She narrowed her eyes. “Then explain this to me, darling, how does a broke, low-class little girl with no family, no
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assets, and no f**king leverage suddenly walks out of jail like she’s a boss?”
I couldn’t answer because I didn’t want to answer.
My chest felt tight.
“He wouldn’t,” I murmured, staring at the floor.
Valentina’s voice snapped again, cold and final. “And this is why he’ll keep using you because you want to believe him so badly, you’ll let him play you blind, again.”
I couldn’t speak.
“You want to stay relevant?” she said, leaning in, her perfume suffocating. “Then trap him, get that ring, start plan- ning that wedding, and secure your position as his lawfully wedded wife because if you don’t, that ex-con wife of his will snatch him right out from under you, and she’ll win again.”
I stepped back.
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“You think I don’t know that?” I whispered. “You think I don’t feel that pressure every goddamn day?”
“Then stop acting like a child,” she snapped. “And start acting like a woman who knows how to keep what’s hers.”
I didn’t respond, I watched my mother straighten her collar, walked to the bar, and poured herself another glass.
She didn’t ask, she never did, and as I stood there numb, breathless, unraveling, I realized she’d won again, because mother was right.
Zyrah was out, and if I didn’t move fast?
She’d come for everything.
I stared down at my phone like it might give me different news if I blinked long enough.
It didn’t.
My hand trembled as I press it.
enched the device tighter, thumb hovering over Ronan’s name like I needed permission to
I didn’t, I was his person, wasn’t I?
The one who stayed through the fire, the lies, the scandals. I deserved to call him.
Across the room, my mother sipped champagne like she hadn’t just gutted me with her words.
“You
wasting time,” she said coolly, eyes flicking to me over the rim of her glass. “Every minute you hesitate, she gets closer.”
“I know,” I muttered.
No, I didn’t.
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I just needed to hear his voice.
I needed Ronan to tell me that I was overthinking it, that this wasn’t slipping, that she didn’t matter.
Finally, I dialed his line.
Each ring carved deeper into my chest, by the fourth, my heart was crawling up my throat.
Then, he picked.
“Yeah?” Ronan’s voice hit like a slap, harsh, cold, distracted.
I hesitated, caught off guard. “Hey, it’s me.”
There was silence at the other end.
Then a frustrated exhale. “Seline, I’m slammed. Can this wait?”
I blinked. “I, no, I just wanted to check in. Have you… heard anything news about Zyrah?”
There was another pause at the other side.
All I could hear was background noises on his end, doors opening, keyboards tapping, voices murmuring. He wasn’t alone, he wasn’t mine at this moment, not even close.
“No,” he snapped. “Still the same shitstorm, no answers, and I don’t have time to babysit questions right now.”
I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t, I just meant if you’d found anything out.”
“I’m neck-deep in fire,” he barked. “The press is crawling up my ass, shareholders are breathing down my neck, and I’ve got my own team whispering like high school kids in the break room.”
I tried to steady my voice. “Okay, well… are we still good for tonight? I thought I’d come over.” are we still good for tonight? I thought I’d come oven.”
Another pause from his end and then his answer came cold and fast.
“No, don’t come by tonight. I need space, we both know that I have too
much to deal with.”
My mouth opened, but before I could utter a word, the line had already gone dead.
He’d hung up on me, just like that.
There was no goodbye, no explanation, neither was there a room for me.
I lowered the phone slowly, pulse thudding in my ears.
Behind me,
I heard the soft clink of glass hitting glass. My mother’s quiet laugh followed, delicate and devastating.
“There it is,” she said.
I turned slowly.
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She was already standing, walking toward me in her expensive heels like a woman closing in on her prey. Her silk blouse shimmered under the chandelier, and her eyes locked on mine with a look I knew all too well.
Triumph.
“I told you,” she said. “He didn’t even let you finish a sentence, he couldn’t be bothered.”
“He’s just overwhelmed…”
“He doesn’t want you there, Seline,” she cut in sharply. “He doesn’t want you, not right now, and maybe not ever.”
I shook my head, arms crossed, voice cracking. “He’s under pressure, he’s just not thinking clearly…”
“He’s thinking perfectly clearly,” she snapped. “You just don’t want to see it.”
“I’ve been with him for eight f**king years!”
“And he married someone else in six months,” she said, voice smooth as venom. “Remind me again how that turned out for you?”
I stood silent, fists clenched.
“You’ve wasted years playing the patient mistress, hoping he’d wake up and see what’s in front of him. And now that she’s back, and you think he’s not going to spiral back into her orbit?”
“I won’t let that happen,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Then do something about it,” she hissed. “Convince him to marry you now, while he’s vulnerable, while he’s grasp- ing at control. You need to corner him emotionally before that little ex-con slips her claws back in.”
I stared at her, hating how she made it all sound like strategy, like love was war and I was losing it by being sentimen- tal.
“Why do I always feel like you care more about the outcome than my heart?” I whispered.
She smiled coldly. “Because I know that your heart doesn’t matter in this game, only power does. Do you want to be his wife or his footnote?”
I didn’t answer because I already knew that she was right, again, and I hated her for it.
I sat down slowly on the edge of the armchair, my phone resting like dead weight in my palm. The silence after Ro- nan’s abrupt hang-up was louder than any fight we’d ever had. My chest burned, not from heartbreak, but from the fa- miliar sting of rejection, humiliation, and that gnawing voice in the back of my head whispering:
You’re losing him.
Across from me, my mother sipped the last of her champagne and placed the glass down with calm, deliberate ele- gance. Everything she did was controlled and calculated.
Unlike me, trembling under the weight of a relationship I’d never fully held.
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“You need to stop reacting,” she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Start anticipating.”
I looked up, tense. “Anticipating what? More distance? Another night alone while he ‘sorts out’ his life without me?”
She leaned forward slightly. “I mean his next move. Where he’s going, who he’s seeing, and what he’s really doing behind those office doors. You need eyes on him, now.”
I blinked. “You’re suggesting I spy on Ronan?”
She smiled faintly. “I’m suggesting you act like a woman who doesn’t intend to lose.”
I stood, arms crossed tightly over my chest. “You want me to hire someone to follow him?”
“It’s the only way to know what he’s not telling you.”
I shook my head. “That’s dangerous. If Ronan finds out I’m tailing him, things could blow up. You know how he is, paranoid, possessive, volatile. I’m not risking what’s left of this.”
She raised one perfectly sculpted brow. “Then don’t get caught. It’s only a risk if you choose the wrong man.”
I hesitated, doubt tugging at me. “I don’t know anyone who could do it without blabbing, not when it comes to Ronan Lancaster. Everyone in this city either fears him, wants something from him, or ends up in his bed, there are no se-
crets when it comes to him.”
She reached for her phone, smirking like the answer had been obvious the whole time. “That’s why I know the right man.”
I watched her with cautious curiosity as she dialed a number, her nails clicking against the glass screen like a ticking clock.
The call rang twice, then connected.
“Good evening, Vincent,” she said smoothly, voice honeyed but firm. “It’s Valentina Rousseau.”
There was a pause, then a warm male voice answered, muffled but respectful.
“Valentina, it’s always a pleasure, I assume this isn’t a social call.”
“You assume correctly,” she said. “I have a job, a very sensitive one, discreet, and I want it done quietly.”
“I’ve never failed you before,” he said confidently. “You can trust me.”
“Good,” she replied. “We’ll meet in person in an hour, I’m sending the location now.”
“Understood.”
She hung up, not another word wasted.
Then she typed something quickly into her phone, probably a restaurant address, the text whooshed out.
She turned to me, expression unreadable but voice cool and clear.
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“Get dressed, wear something elegant but neutral, we’ll meet him in an hour.”
I stared at her, heart thudding. “You really want to do this?”
She stood, smoothing her blouse, reaching for her clutch. “I want to win, and I want you to win, but the difference be- tween you and Zyrah?” She paused. “She knows how to strike, you’re still waiting to be chosen.”
I didn’t respond.
I just walked to my room and opened the closet, because no matter how much I hated her for saying it, I knew that my mother was right.
“Ronan is mine and mine alone, I won’t lose right damn years of my life never!”
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