Chapter 25: Fine Lines
Selene
i spend the time relaxing in the hot tub, and an hour later there's a knock at the door . There's a waiter there with some snacks and well as a woman who looks like she stepped off the runway, with some gowns on a racks as well as her assistant following her with shoes.
I stare at her in confusion, and she promptly tells me that John arranged for her to bring some gowns for me to try on. His treat of course. I pick one up and almost have a seizure at the price tag on it.
Almost on cue John calls me and asks if I can meet him at the restaurant and his driver would fetch me . He also insists that the gown or gowns are his treat when I tried to refuse them and complain about the price.
"Selene, please let me do this , you are the first woman who has ever turned down anything , most women expect it from me ." He says
"Well we aren't dating John, " I reply . He just laughs and asks if I'd do him the honour of accepting that small gift. The gowns are stunning and all in my size which surprises me even me.
I end up choosing a long black sequenced gown, with a slit that goes almost up to my hip. And shoes to match. Not too long after , his driver arrives to take me to meet him.
The Manhattan skyline is almost too perfect. Golds and pinks melt into the glass buildings as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the rooftop where John made a dinner reservation just for the two of us. The kind of place where waiters glide instead of walk and the food looks like modern art.
He stand up and kisses my cheeks and holds out my chair as I sit, his fingertips grazing my shoulder a second longer than necessary. Just long enough for me to feel it. A quiet charge.
“Still okay?” he asks, unfolding his napkin.
I nod, smoothing the fabric over my lap. “Much better than I was before “.
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You look like you’ve been through hell.”
“I know.” I take a sip of my wine. “I think I just needed to see how far I could get from the fire before I stopped feeling burned.”
John tilts his head. “And am I the fire escape?”
I glance at him, arching a brow. “You’re the jet-powered one, if anything.”
That earns me a low chuckle. “I’ll take that.”
Dinner is slow, indulgent—perfectly cooked sea bass and truffle risotto, glasses of wine that never seem to empty, and conversation that dances around everything and nothing all at once. He’s good at this—reading me without pushing, filling silences with charm rather than weight. But something’s shifting. Or maybe it already has.
The way his gaze lingers a little too long. The casual, practiced way he reaches for my hand when ever he wants to make a point, the simple gesture of getting up and slipping his jacket over my shoulders when the wind picks up, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
I let him.
Not because I’m trying to make a point.
But because for the first time in days, I feel wanted in a way that doesn’t hurt and I think I'm done with pinning for Adrian.
“Selene,” he says, voice lower now, more private. “You know I’ve always respected what you do career wise, Jonathan cannot stop singing your praises , and I’ve made it abundantly clear that I want you”.
“That’s very diplomatic of you.” I murmur with a slight smirk.
He smirks. “I’m a businessman. I deal in facts. And right now? The fact is, I want you , but I can see you’ve been hurt.”
My chest tightens, but I nod. “Yes. I have but that's in the past .”
“You deserve someone who sees you. Who values you every day, not just when you’re walking out the door.”
I meet his eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing between us but the pulse of something real. Dangerous.
I pull my hand back gently. “Thank you. For reminding me who I am.”
He nods. Doesn’t push.
But I feel the shift. The possibilities curling around the edges of something that hasn’t quite started yet.
Maybe that’s what scares me the most.
Adrian
I sit on the sterile hospital cot, arm outstretched as the nurse draws blood. My stomach churns with unease, but I force myself to stay still. This is the only way to prove it. To fix it. To get her back.
Jonathan paces the small waiting area outside like a man with too much caffeine and too few answers.
“You think she’ll even look at you again after this?” he asks when I step out.
“If I can prove I was drugged? Maybe.”
“And if you can’t?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
Back at the hotel, restaurant we go over the timeline. Bianca’s texts. Her arrival. The drink. The video. It all fits too neatly stacked —too perfectly in sync.
“She framed the shot with that calendar for a reason,” I mutter. “She wanted Selene to think it happened last night. She wanted to time the hit.”
“And she sent the video while you were still unconscious. That’s calculated. That’s malicious intent.”
“She’s unhinged.”
Jonathan leans back, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Then we need to prove it. Digital timestamp on the video, security footage, something. Otherwise it’s your word against hers—and right now, she’s already won the first round.”
I stand and grab my keys. “Then we go to her.”
“What?”
“She still has my keycard. Which means she’s probably still in my suite. Let’s see how smug she is when we bring the fight to her.”
Jonathan’s lips twitch. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
As we head toward the elevator, one thought keeps pounding in my head like a war drum: I will not lose Selene to a lie. And if I have to burn every bridge between here and New York to prove it, then so be it.