The Queen of His Bed, Not His Mistake.
I laid back in my bed, the cool satin sheets slipping over my thighs as I stared at the ceiling fan spinning above me. My robe hung loose, barely covering the lingerie I hadn’t bothered to change out of since last night.
I didn’t need to sleep.
I was too wired, too full of fire and of hate.
Zyrah’s face kept flickering behind my eyes, and every time it did, I wanted to break something.
That bitch.
That fucking bitch.
She always acted like some poor, delicate flower, like she didn’t know how to survive in a world built for wolves. She married Ronan and thought that made her queen?
Please.
She was nothing more than a placeholder.
A fucking shadow in my way.
I sat up sharply, grabbing the edge of the blanket and clenching it in my fist. “You really thought he’d love you?” I hissed under my breath. “You thought he’d choose you over me?”
I laughed, sharp and mean.
“I watched you run around that house like a damn servant while I was in his bed. You cooked for me, bitch, and made tea for the woman fucking your husband.”
God, the memory made me smile.
Zyrah was always pathetic, always so desperate. She thought love was enough to change a man like Ronan, but Ro- nan only changed for power, and now he had it again, because of me.
“Fucking piece of shit!” I scoffed as I rolled my eyes.
I swung my legs over the bed, crossing one over the other slowly. My nails tapped against the glass of red wine I hadn’t finished, still sitting on the bedside table, I took a sip, letting the bitterness sit on my tongue.
He said he’d give me anything I wished for,
He meant it and I saw it in his eyes last night..
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When everything else is falling apart, I’m the only one still standing at his side.
Not Zyrah with her pitiful little story and her long-lost heiress comeback.
What a joke.
“Bitch disappears for a few days, and suddenly she thinks she’s a threat? You were never built for this,” I spat.
My hand clenched around the wine glass.
I remembered the way Ronan looked at me that night, worn out, but needing me. Wanting me, and I knew, right then, this wasn’t just about a scandal, this was war, and I already had the crown.
He was going to find out soon that I went to my father for help, that I pulled the strings, made the calls, and took con- trol while he broke down.
He would love that, love to see what a real partner looks like and finally he will realize that Selina Rousseau wasn’t just the woman in his bed, she was the one holding the fucking sword.
I smiled wide, licking the wine from my bottom lip, imagining the ring on my finger, the press, the headline:
Ronan Lancaster Engaged to Rousseau Heiress.
“And where will you be, Zyrah?” I whispered with a venomous grin. “Back in the dark where you belong.”
My thoughts were still racing when my phone vibrated against the glass table.
I looked down and my smile faded a little. It was still sharp, but focused now.
It was my father calling.
My fingers curled around the phone, as the thought of my father finding a way out was going to help me end this war.
I answered, voice sweet as poison.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Seline.” The sound of my father’s voice always had weight.
“Yes, Daddy,” I replied sweetly, already wrapping the satin sheet tighter around my body as I moved toward the win- dow. The city shimmered beneath me like a playground I was born to own.
“I’ve scheduled a meeting for this afternoon,” he said. “Two of my old friends, they are very powerful and very inter- ested in what’s happening with Lancaster.”
My eyes narrowed with delight.
“You’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t waste my time otherwise,” he snapped. “They’re the kind of men who don’t sit in public places or shake hands with reporters. You want to clean this mess? These are the ones who can move things.”
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A slow smile curled across my lips.
I set the wine glass down, the red leaving a kiss on the rim like blood.
“Where?” I asked.
“One of their private rooftop lounges. Invite-only and on a neutral ground. You’ll meet me at the estate by two, we will go together, and you will say nothing unless I cue you.”
Of course.
My father liked control even when he was technically helping, he treated me like a child, but he raised me like a
queen.
Still, I couldn’t resist poking him. “Father, are you worried I’ll embarrass you?”
“I’m worried you’ll talk before you think,” he bit back. “This isn’t one of your club appearances or vanity fundraisers, these men don’t care what dress you’re wearing or whose lap you’re sitting on.”
“Then I’ll wear red,” I said with a slow, dangerous smirk. “Let them remember who walked in.”
There was a pause and then a sigh.
Then his voice lowered. “Don’t mistake this for glamour, Seline, you’re entering a room where lives are ruined with a glance. If they don’t see value in you, they’ll step on you like a fucking insect.”
I let that sink in for a beat, and then I smiled wider.
“Then I’ll sting first.”
There was another pause, and then, for the first time in a long while, I heard a hint of approval from him.
“You really are your mother’s daughter.”
He hung up.
I stared at the dead phone in my hand, pulse steady, eyes cold.
He had no idea.
I wasn’t just my mother’s daughter, I was my creation, refined in silk, sharpened in shadows, and ready to burn any- one who stood in my way.
I looked at myself in the mirror, my long legs, sharp eyes, perfect skin, prettier than half the girls who begged for a corner of the world I was already carving into my own.
Ronan was already mine, he just hadn’t sealed the deal yet.
Let Zyrah play chess with shadows, let her leak scandals and hide behind her fancy new last name.
I wasn’t hiding because I was going straight for the fucking crown.
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The engine purred like silk as I pulled into the long stone driveway of my father’s estate, the kind of house that wasn’t built, but declared. The black iron gates had already parted for me, the guards knowing better than to waste my time with protocol.
I wore a crimson fitted dress that clung to every curve like it was stitched onto my skin. Lipstick to match, my hair pinned with just enough softness to look effortless. I wanted to look powerful, not desperate.
But as I stepped out of the car and handed the keys to the valet, I noticed something strange, my mother’s car was parked beside the fountain.
That was… unusual.
She never lingered at the house, mother was always at the company, always in motion, giving orders, correcting men twice her size with a glance. She hadn’t been in this mansion for more than ten minutes in months.
I walked through the doors, heels echoing against marble, and found her already seated in the sunroom like a queen holding court.
Her black dress was pristine, her legs crossed perfectly. Her nails were blood red and in her hand was a glass of chilled white wine, like this was just another power lunch.
She looked up and gave me a slow, almost amused smile. “Finally, you arrive.”
“I thought you’d be at the company,” I said, still standing.
She took a sip. “I gave myself the day off, couldn’t miss the start of the war my daughter’s decided to drag the family into.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know about the meeting?”
“Of course I know, your father briefed me after your little visit,” she said smoothly. “He told me everything including who Zyrah really is.”
That made me pause with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re not surprised?”
She scoffed. “I am many things, Seline. Surprised is not one of them but what I am is irritated because now, every- thing just got more complicated.”
I walked in slowly, tension curling in my gut. “Zyrah’s identity doesn’t change anything.”
Valentina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “Doesn’t it? She’s not just some nobody you pushed out of the picture, she’s Callisto Aeternum, the daughter of the family that owns this city’s respect.”
“I don’t care who she is,” I snapped. “Ronan is mine, that bitch won’t crawl back into his life, over my dead body.”
My mother laughed, slow and cold. “Then you better start digging your grave, sweetheart because men like Ronan,
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they don’t love, they calculate, and now that he knows Zyrah’s real worth, he might come crawling back to her just to taste that empire.”
My blood boiled. “No. No, he won’t, I won’t let that happen.”
Valentina leaned in, voice low and sharp. “Then stop dreaming and start acting. You’re not a child anymore, if you want to win, marry him, secure your place before Zyrah blinks and steals it back.”
I clenched my fists. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” she bit out. “I didn’t raise you to stand second to anyone, especially not to a girl who got tossed into jail and came out shining brighter than you ever have.”
That stung hard.
I looked away, chest tight, about to fire back at her but the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway stopped me.
My father entered in a navy suit, his two bodyguards behind him like shadows.
“We’re leaving,” he said briskly. “Now.”
I nodded, rage burning under my skin as I turned and followed him out, and just before I crossed the threshold, my mother called after me with a smile so sharp it could slice through bone.
“Get the ring, Seline, or get out of the way.”
The car ride was silent.
My father sat beside me in the backseat, hands clasped around his cane like a king who’d seen too many wars to speak unless he absolutely had to. He was dressed in dark navy, clean-cut, commanding, expensive in a way that said nothing but meant everything.
I sat beside him, legs crossed, wearing a sleek black blazer-dress that kissed mid-thigh, my hair tucked behind one ear, lipstick sharp as blood, not a strand out of place or a single line underdressed because when you’re entering rooms built for titans, you don’t blink.
The car pulled into the underground lot of the high-rise, and I recognized it at once, a private tower in Viremont Square, known only to men who moved the city with money and silence.
We took the elevator to the rooftop lounge, and when the doors opened, the air shifted.
This wasn’t some social bar or high-end club.
It was powered by marble and glass.
Minimalist, black stone walls, open fire pit seating with a skyline view that made you feel like you owned the stars. Two men stood waiting, already sipping from crystal tumblers.
My father stepped forward with me on his arm.
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“Gentlemen,” Marcus greeted. “Thank you for seeing us.’
”
The taller of the two, gray hair, deep scar across his jaw, smiled. “Marcus, it’s always a pleasure, and this must be your daughter.”
I extended my hand gracefully.
“Seline Rousseau.”
He didn’t kiss it but nodded.
He shook it like he was indulging a child and nodded. “Let’s sit.”
We took our seats around the fire table, drinks already being poured for us.
The meeting began.
“As I understand it,” said the shorter man, thicker build, sharp eyes, “you’re here because of the fallout around the Lancaster Corporation.”
My father nodded. “Correct, there’s media contamination, shareholder distress, and a PR spiral that needs to be con- tained.”
The taller man tapped his glass gently. “And you want our help to stabilize Ronan’s position?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. “We’re asking for assistance in clearing the noise, rebuilding investor confidence, and handling press connections. He still has value if the ground is steadied beneath him.”
Both men exchanged a look.
Then the scarred one leaned back, his tone suddenly heavier.
“We can help him,” he said. “But not against the Aeternums.”
My breath hitched. “Why not?”
He looked at me like I had just asked if fire could be tamed.
“The Aeternum family is not a name you fight,” he said. “They are older than our corporations, deeper than our con- nections. When the Aeternums move, the city follows.”
“But..” I began, my voice sharper than I meant.
The shorter one cut in with a small, condescending laugh. “You really don’t understand, do you? If your quarrel with Zyrah Aeternum is personal, then you’re on your own and we won’t help you. No one here is foolish enough to chal- lenge that bloodline over a woman scorned.”
I stiffened, eyes narrowing.
“This isn’t just personal,” I said tightly. “She’s threatening Ronan’s legacy, she’s ruining his name.”
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“And we’ll help keep that name alive,” the man replied calmly. “That’s what we’re offering, protection from the storm, and not war with it.”
I hate this!
Argh!
I wanted to scream, ro flip the table, and tell them everything she had done, everything she had taken away from me but I didn’t, instead, I swallowed my pride.
“I understand,” I said slowly, with forced composure. “And I accept your terms as long as Ronan is protected, I’ll ac- cept whatever help you offer.”
My father nodded approvingly.
The meeting shifted to details, names, networks, press release strategies, but I heard none of it as my eyes were fixed on the fire, and all I saw was Zyrah’s face in the flames, burning, but not yet in ashes.
The silence in the car could have snapped a lesser woman in two.
I sat next to my father, as I watched as his arms folded, lips pursed, heels crossed at the ankle. My entire body was a clenched fist in disguise as my father, of course, sat like he ruled the city, cane propped beside him, eyes forward, like I wasn’t even there.
“You embarrassed me in there,” he said finally, voice low but razor sharp. “I told you to follow my lead.”
I turned my head slowly, keeping my tone cool. “I was trying to protect Ronan.”
He scoffed. “You sounded like a jealous schoolgirl, not a strategist. Those men won’t forget that because you exposed your personal vendetta and undermine your credibility.”
Heat rose to my face and I wanted to scream. Instead, I said through clenched teeth, “Stop the car.” I yelled at the driver.
“What?”
“I said stop the damn car, I’m not going back to the house.”
My father’s eyes snapped to mine, there was a beat of silence, then he barked at the driver, “Pull-over.”
The car rolled to a stop near a quiet restaurant, I shoved the door open and stepped out without another word. The door slammed like a gunshot behind me and I watched the car drive away, leaving me under the weight of my fury.
I stormed into the restaurant like I owned it, ignored the hostess, and slid into a booth. I didn’t order because I didn’t need food, instead, I needed space to scream. My fingers trembled as I ordered an Uber, then I sat like a storm waiting to break.
The moment I walked into my apartment, the tantrum detonated.
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“What the hell was that?”
“What is so special about the Aeternum?”
“I don’t want something shallow! I need to crush her!”
My clutch hit the wall as my shoes kicked a vase, a gift from Ronan last year, it exploded against the fireplace.
“FUCK YOU, ZYRAH!” I shrieked.
“FUCK YOU, YOU FAKE, LITTLE, BACKSTABBING BITCH!” I painted loudly, almost out of breath.
I grabbed the wine bottle off the counter, chugged half of it, then hurled it across the room, red liquid splattered the wall like blood.
“You think you’re winning, huh?! You think because you’ve got some old-money family name now that you’re better than me? Bitch, you couldn’t lace my heels if you tried!”
I stumbled into the living room, yanking the throw pillows off the couch, dragging the blanket to the floor.
“YOU PATHETIC, FAKE-CRYING, FRAUDULENT CUNT! I should’ve buried you when I had the chance!”
Tears burned hot, mixing with mascara as they streaked down my cheeks. My breath came in shallow gasps as my hair was wild, tangled like ivy, and my lipstick had smeared into a grotesque smear of rage.
I dropped to my knees in the middle of the chaos, heart racing like a war drum.
“I hate you, Zyrah… I hate you so much I can taste it.”
Then, as if summoned by madness itself, my phone buzzed against the broken glass of the coffee table.
“Who the hell is that?”
I got up on my feet, walked towards the center table and nonchalantly picked my phone and to my surprise, it was Ro-
nan.
“Ronan?” I mumbled.
I stared at the name on the cracked screen and my hand shook as I picked it up.
“Hello?” I breathed, trying to smooth the tremor in my voice.
“Where the hell are you?” His voice was hard, sharp.
“Home… I’m home.”
“Good,” he said. “Get yourself together, my driver will pick you up at seven. We’re having dinner tonight so don’t be late.”
He hung up without waiting for me to speak.
I lowered the phone slowly as my fingers curled around it like a weapon.
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Seline’s Point Of View.
