Pretty Rage In A Black Dress.
Seline ‘s Point Of View.
The air inside the car was suffocating, not hot but just heavy like I couldn’t breathe right with her sitting next to me.
My mother sat still and poised beside me, legs crossed, one manicured hand resting on her handbag, the other scrolling through her phone like we were on our way to a brunch and not about to commit to stalking one of the most powerful men in the city.
She hadn’t said a word the entire ride, not since she told me to get dressed an hour ago. Not since I tried to ask her one more time if this was a good idea.
She didn’t answer, she only gave me that look, the same look she gave me the night Ronan married Zyrah.
Cold and flat.
“You lost him. Now I want you to fix it.” These were her words to me on the night of Ronan’s wedding to Zyrah.
Now we were headed to fix it, with a man who specialized in digging through people’s lives like grave robbers in
thousand-dollar suits.
The driver pulled up to a quiet restaurant tucked between two boutique hotels downtown.
The Crimson Ledger, upscale, and discreet. All the rich bastards’ favorite place to conduct the kind of meetings that never made it to email.
I stepped out of the car first, my heels hitting the pavement like gunshots. My mother followed, adjusting her cream wool blazer, diamond earrings to catch the late sun.
Inside, the restaurant was dim and polished, mahogany wood everywhere, with gold fixtures, white tablecloths, and waiters in gloves.
As we walked further, not far away sat a man who was far away from the other tables.
“Vincent Drell.” I heard my mother’s voice and at once, I knew he was the one we came to see.
He was already seated in the far booth, back to the wall, eyes on the door like he’d been trained in combat. He looked just like I remembered, lean, clean-shaven, quiet menace in a slate-gray suit. There was no smile or warmth on his face, just mere calm calculation.
The kind of man who looked at everyone like a target.
We walked over, and he stood briefly to greet us. “Valentina. Ms. Rousseau.”
“Vincent,” my mother said with a crisp nod, sliding into the booth. “You remember my daughter.”
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Pretty Rage In A Black Dress.
“Of course.” His eyes moved to me. “Ms. Rousseau.”
I didn’t sit right away, I crossed my arms over my chest, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“I don’t want greetings, I want results.”
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My mother’s eyes flicked to me, mildly annoyed but not surprised. I finally slid into the booth beside her, stiff, my pulse already spiking.
Vincent didn’t react, he just folded his hands on the table, his eyes not leaving my mother.
“You’ve worked for us before,” my mother began smoothly. “And we’re confident in your ability to deliver quietly.”
“I always do.”
“You’ll be tailing a man you’ve likely heard of.”
Vincent tilted his head slightly. “Ronan Lancaster.”
My stomach twisted hearing his name out loud in this context.
My mother gave a faint, pleased smile. “You’re still sharp.”
“I know his security team is no joke,” he said. “Do you want full daily coverage?”
“We want everything,” I cut in. “Where he goes, who he sees, what time he leaves, and what time he comes home. I want to know if he blinks too long in the mirror.”
He looked at me, very calm. “I can do that.”
My mother pulled out a slim envelope from her handbag and slid it across the table. “An initial deposit, five figures. You’ll get ten times that if you keep this airtight.”
Vincent tucked it away without opening it.
“And you’ll message us every night with a full report,” she added.
“Encrypted line?” he asked.
My mother handed him a card. “Already prepared, use that number.”
He slipped the card into his jacket pocket, never breaking eye contact.
I hated how calm he was, like following a man like Ronan was just another day in his disgusting little life.
“Ronan is very unpredictable,” I let out, not hiding my disdain, trying to keep my voice steady. “If he finds out about this…”
“He won’t,” Vincent said flatly. “I’ve been doing this for sixteen years, and no one’s ever caught me, your mother can confirm that.”
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“She already has,” I snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Good,” he replied without a hint of offense. “People who trust me don’t hire me.”
“I mean it, Vincent,” I leaned forward, voice low, shaking slightly. “If he even gets a whiff of someone watching him, I’m dead. Do you understand? He will destroy me.”
He studied me for a beat. “Then I won’t get caught.”
My mother leaned back, finally satisfied. “See, darling? I told you, Vincent is precise.”
Precise like a f**king scalpel.
I rubbed my palms on my thighs under the table, trying to calm the heat in my skin.
This felt wrong, but my desperation made it necessary.
“I want the first report tomorrow night,” I said.
“You’ll have it,” he said.
He stood up and buttoned his jacket as he gave a single nod. Then without another word, he walked away like a shad- ow into the corner of the restaurant and disappeared without another word.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
My mother took a slow sip of tea and said casually, “Now we wait.”
I stared at the empty booth across from us, and all I could think was what if Ronan is already watching me too?
The moment Vincent vanished into the shadows of the restaurant, the pressure in my chest didn’t ease, it tightened, like a silk rope slowly drawing tighter around my ribs.
My mother turned toward me without missing a beat, her eyes gleaming like polished steel.
“You need to make Ronan move,” she said, folding her hands like we were discussing afternoon tea. “No more wait- ing, no more patience, I need to be informed that an engagement is happening, and very soon.”
Her tone didn’t rise, it didn’t need to. The weight behind her words was colder than fury.
“You’re running out of time, Seline.”
I sat back, jaw clenched, trying to keep my face still. “I know.”
“No, you think you know, but you don’t act like it,” she snapped, her perfect red nails tapping against her wine glass with quiet fury. “You play soft while another woman keeps breathing and existing.”
I flinched at the word.
Zyrah.
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It always came back to her.
My mother leaned in slightly, her perfume sharp and sweet like poison. “Do you think Ronan’s going to stay loyal with her walking around free again? Do you know how weak men become when faced with old sins wrapped in silk?”
I said nothing.
What could I say?
That I was already slipping?
That every hour he didn’t text felt like I was being erased?
She straightened, adjusting her blazer. “I have a meeting with the board at your father’s company. I expect an update if anything shifts with Zyrah, no delay.”
I nodded automatically. “Yes, Mother.”
She stood, untouched elegance wrapped in judgment. She kissed my cheek, just a brush of cold skin, and walked away, heels clicking with quiet condemnation across the marble.
I didn’t move.
I just stared at the empty chair across from me like it had something to say.
The smell of Vincent’s untouched scotch still lingered.
The scent of tension, secrets, and deals made in shadows, and I sat there, feeling like I was the one being hunted.
“Are you sure Ronan didn’t help her get out?”
My mother’s question dug its claws deeper.
I tried to shake it off, whispering under my breath, “No, He wouldn’t, Ronan wouldn’t.”
But the words didn’t sound convincing, not even to me because beneath all the fury was memory.
Three years ago, I stood by Ronan’s side through everything, through a lot more embezzlement scandals, legal threats, the board chaos. I gave him my loyalty, my time and heart.
We were together for five f**king years before he met Zyrah or knew she existed but in less than six months after meeting her, he married her.
Zyrah.
The little whisper of a woman he met at some gala, too polite, too plain, too perfect. And I watched him unravel ev- erything we had just to put a ring on her finger.
My fists curled against the table.
You said it wasn’t love.
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You said it was a strategy.
So why did it still hurt like a betrayal carved into bone?
I glanced at my phone which sat next to my empty glass, the screen dark.
I tapped it.
There were no messages, and missed calls from him.
My throat tightened as rage flickered in my veins like fire trapped under glass. I checked again, desperate, still noth- ing.
What if he’s with her right now?
What if this is already happening again?
The thought made my stomach twist violently.
I stood suddenly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, the couple two tables down glanced up but I didn’t care.
I grabbed my purse and marched out into the sharp cold of the evening as the wind hit my face, and the fury inside burned hotter.
As I walked out, I suddenly remembered that I didn’t drive to the restaurant, I had come in her car like a goddamn child.
“Dammit!” I cussed as I bit my lower lip.
I almost screamed right there on the sidewalk.
Instead, I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers and opened the Uber black app.
Within two minutes, the car pulled up, and I slid into the backseat without speaking, crossing my legs and gripping the leather armrest like it was the only thing holding me together.
As we pulled into traffic, I stared at my reflection in the window.
My lips were still red, steel eyes, and my hair was styled in great perfection, but in the glow was nothing but chaos underneath.
I told myself Ronan wouldn’t betray me again but my heart already knew because he has before, and a part of me still doesn’t trust him.
And this time, if he tries it, I won’t be the one left bleeding.
Soon I got home, the penthouse was too quiet, too clean, and very much empty.
I stood in the center of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around myself, the silence pressing in like a vice.
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There was still no text or call from Ronan, just me and the lingering perfume from this morning’s conversation with my mother, a mix of Chanel and venom.
I couldn’t stay here alone tonight.
At once, I grabbed my phone and scrolled until my thumb landed on the name that never judged me, Dahlia. She was chaos wrapped in heels and lipstick, the only person who understood what it felt like to unravel.
I hit a call.
“Seline, darling,” she purred before the second ring. “You sound like someone just set your world on fire, again.”
I collapsed onto the velvet couch, heels still on, one leg draped over the armrest like I owned the building. “She’s out, Dahlia.”
“Who’s out?”
“Zyrah.” Her name tasted like acid in my mouth.
There was a pause. “Shut the f**k up. I thought she was locked up for life.”
“Same,” I said coldly. “But she’s out, and Ronan hasn’t said a damn thing, not even a f**king text.”
Dahlia hissed. “Ooooh. So the Ice King’s gone silent.”
“I’m losing him again,” I whispered. “I can feel it, he’s slipping.”
There was a click of a lighter on her end, a soft inhale. “Then f**k waiting around, come out with me, let’s remind the world who the hell Seline Rousseau is.”
There was a pause of silence, then I sat up, eyes sharp.
“Saint’s. VIP. One a.m.” I announced.
“I’ll be there in blood-red,” she said.
Getting dressed felt like war paint.
I stood in front of my vanity, brushing thick black eyeliner across my lids like a weapon.
My lips were crimson with my cheeks bronzed. My hair flowed like silk down my back.
My dress was black, thin straps and a deep plunge accompanied with a slit so high it bordered scandal.
I didn’t want to look beautiful.
I wanted to look dangerous.
If Ronan wouldn’t see me, then every other man in that damn club would.
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Suddenly my phone buzzed, it was Dahlia.
“Seline, where are you? I am already at the entrance of the club and the line’s insane but they’re letting us in first.”
I smiled.
Of course they were.
I grabbed my clutch, sprayed perfume on my thighs, and walked out the door without a second thought.
“I am on my way.”
Saint’s was alive.
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Music pounded like a heartbeat as neon strobes turned bodies into silhouettes of lust. The scent of sweat, champagne, and cologne hit me like a slap, and I smiled
“I love this life.” I giggled.
Dahlia stood near the velvet rope, wearing a red latex corset and heels that could kill. We air-kissed and laughed like we weren’t falling apart inside.
“Let’s raise hell,” she said.
The bouncers waved us through and we headed straight to the VIP.
Champagne was already chilled, shots lined the table, and I drank as I didn’t dare to sip.
One tequila, then another. Then vodka, glittering glasses of champagne. The lights blurred as the music throbbed through my ribs.
I grabbed Dahlia’s hand and pulled her to the floor.
“Don’t you love this.” I laughed, caressing her waist.
We danced like we were possessed, writhing, laughing, and moving like we owned every eye in the room.
“Hello beautiful.” A man whispered to me and I laughed.
As more men flocked us, hands brushed my waist, and compliments slid past my ears like smoke.
I didn’t care.
I was electric.
High off spite, off fury, off the fact that I was still here and Zyrah should have stayed in that goddamn prison cell.
I pulled Dahlia close, lips by her ear. “I hate her.”
She giggled. “Zyrah?”
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“Who else?” I slurred, taking another shot. “She’s a disease in heels, she ruined everything.”
“She’s out now,” Dahlia smirked, swaying against me. “What are you gonna do?”
I threw my head back and laughed too loudly. “Whatever it f**king takes.”
“You still love Ronan that much?”
I turned to her, eyes wild. “I love Ronan like fire loves oxygen, and if she thinks she can take him again?” I licked salt from my wrist and slammed another tequila back. “She better be ready to burn.”
Dahlia whooped and raised her glass. “That’s my girl.”
We kept dancing.
Soon, two men joined us, they were muscularly built, sleek, probably models or money or both. I didn’t ask their names, I just smiled, pressed closer towards them to let them know with a glance they were temporary.
A distraction, and a blur.
By 3 a.m., we were in a black car, lipstick smeared, breath hot, dresses barely holding us together.
I was too drunk and I loved it.
“Let me have a taste of you tonight.” I said to one of the men as my fingers caressed his chest.
The hotel was closed, we got there soon and walked into the elevator, the ride was short.
We were already assigned a room for the four of us and as we all walked in, I smiled.
“Just perfect.” I muttered.
The room was dark, and luxurious, exactly to my taste.
“I will take him.” Dahlia giggled as she held one of the men and pushed him on the bed.
I smirked and turned to the other who already had his hands wrapped around my waist.
“I want to get fucked good tonight.” I whispered and bit the tip of his ear.
We began to kiss and he carried me in his arms and placed me on the bed.
We continued kissing, I could hear Dahlia already moaning in ecstasy. I undressed, got on my knees as I watched the man undressed.
He was huge and the sight of me made me so wet that I shoved it into my mouth and began to please him, my hands gently massaging his balls.
“Fuck!” He cursed out loud in between moans and I giggled, pleasing him.mire, faster this time as he went in and out of my mouth, his hands grabbing my hair.
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“I need you inside me now.” I ordered and pushed him on the bed.
I glanced at Dahlia, she was already riding the other man so good that their moans filled the room.
I sat on the man and as I felt him inside, I gasped out in the sweetness that filled my body. Slowly I began to grind him, his hands grasped my tits and soon I began to go faster, kissing him hard just to stop his moans from escaping his lips.
Soon he turned me around and began to drill me from behind. I could feel my wetness tickling down my laps and I laughed in happiness because I loved it so much.
The joy went on and in hours, we all collapsed on the bed, panting heavily in great satisfaction.
My mind spun but one thought cut through it all, Ronan should’ve been here, but he wasn’t, so I made someone else
scream my name.
I didn’t know how long I’d been out.
The last thing I remembered was stumbling through the door of my penthouse at dawn, still in my dress, makeup smudged and breath tasting like tequila and lipstick. I’d collapsed face-first onto my bed without even kicking off my heels.
Now the sharp buzz of my phone jolted me back into the living.
My eyes fluttered open, head pounding with mouth dry, dress twisted and halfway up my thigh. Sunlight was already slicing through the blackout curtains I forgot to close.
The phone kept buzzing.
I reached for it blindly, swiping the screen with a groggy curse. The name on the screen sobered me faster than any hangover cure.
Ronan.
My heart skipped, and I sat bolt upright, my stomach flipping, my eyes darted to the clock on the wall.
It was already past 1pm.
“Shit!”
I cleared my throat and pressed the green button, voice rough and barely present. “Hello?”
His voice came like a whip through the speaker.
“Where the hell have you been?! I’ve been calling you all morning!”
I winced, his tone was sharp, angry, the way it got when something had gone wrong.
“I’m, I’m sorry, Ronan, I was asleep, and I didn’t hear my phone.”
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“Asleep?” he snapped. “It’s almost one in the afternoon, Seline. What the f**k are you sleeping through half the day?”
My mind raced.
Say something smart Seline.
Something believable, and calm.
But I couldn’t.
I was too disoriented, still halfway in a dream and tasting last night’s liquor on my tongue.
“I just… didn’t sleep well last night. I had a migraine,” I lied quickly.
He didn’t bite.
“You sound like shit.” he let out.
I heaved a sigh, thanks for noticing.
I sat up straighter, trying to collect myself. “What’s going on? You sound pissed.”
There was a pause, then his voice shifted, still harsh, but more focused.
“I’m leaving the office, I’m coming to your place because I need to talk to you in
person.”
The words slammed into my chest like ice water.
I shot up to my feet, suddenly aware of the mess around me, heels thrown on the floor, makeup wipes, an empty glass on the nightstand, the faint smell of last night’s perfume and sin still clinging to the air.
“You’re…” I swallowed hard. “You’re coming here?”
“Yeah, and don’t take forever opening the door,” he warned.
At once, the call went off.
He ended the call.
I stood there for a moment, heart hammering, panic rising up my spine like heat. My place was a wreck, and I was a wreck, I didn’t even know what I looked like, and he was on his way.
“F**k,” I breathed.
I rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my own heels. I splashed water on my face, wiped off what remained of my smeared eyeliner, and reached for a brush with trembling fingers.
I stripped off the crumpled dress and tossed it aside, frantically spraying room freshener as I ran from the bedroom to the living room. Cushions were out of place, a wine glass from two nights ago still sat on the coffee table, and a stranger’s coat, one of the men from last night, was still draped over the back of a chair.
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“Fuck, fuck, f**k!”
I grabbed it and stuffed it in the bottom of the laundry hamper.
The clock was ticking.
Ronan was coming, and I had no idea what mood he’d be in, or what the hell he was about to say, but one thing was certain, I had to look like the perfect woman when he walked through that door.
Even if I was anything but that.
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Ronan’s Point Of View.
Martin f**king Calloway.
The name burned like acid.
