Chapter 4 Ghosts in Silk and Bourbon

The scent of aged bourbon hung thick in the air of Damien Wycliffe's study, a sprawling chamber of dark mahogany and curated art pieces meant to impress more than inspire. He leaned back in his leather chair, legs crossed, a glass in his hand, and the city lights glinting through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter," he said, voice cool, controlled.

His father's longtime aide, Mr. Lucan, stepped in-an older man with eyes sharp as glass.

"The Langstons have confirmed the engagement party for Saturday evening. The guest list includes two sitting senators and a board member from your father's shipping line."

Damien nodded slowly. "Good. This alliance must be seen as a signal of power, not desperation."

Lucan hesitated. "There's... been talking. Someone's moving quietly. Buying up properties tied to your father's portfolio. All traced back to shell corporations with clean books and no trail."

Damien's brow lifted. "Who?"

"We don't know yet. But whoever it is-they're strategic. They hit the old textile plant, the Seaborne shares, and even the Virellin estate." He paused. "They're targeting your roots."

For a flicker of a moment, Damien's calm cracked.

"Dig deeper," he said, swirling the bourbon. "Everyone has a price, Lucan. Find someone willing to name it."

"Yes, sir."

As the door closed, Damien walked to the window. The city glimmered below-his playground, his burden, his battlefield.

Selene.

He thought of her often-beautiful, stubborn, principled Selene Albrecht. She had once loved a boy beneath her station. And when that boy disappeared, Damien had waited.

He hadn't forced her affection. Not at first.

He'd been patient, helping her mother restructure debts, guiding her brother into business deals, presenting himself as a shield while their empire buckled.

But patience was no longer a virtue he could afford.

His father was dying. The investors were getting restless. And Damien-who had once been told he was nothing without the Wycliffe name-was determined to carve his legacy with or without it.

Marrying Selene would cement the illusion of nobility, power, and stability. A perfect picture.

Yet something in her still pulled away from him-like a string connected to a shadow in her past.

He clenched his jaw.

"Whatever ghost still haunts you," he murmured, "I will bury it for good."

---

Selene stared at her own reflection, the silver fabric of her gown pooling around her feet. It had been fitted for the engagement party-Damien's choice of designer, her mother's approval, her silence. She looked regal, elegant... but utterly wrong.

"Stop fidgeting," her mother, Celeste Langston, said behind her. "You'll wrinkle the waistline."

"I can't breathe in this," Selene murmured.

"You'll be fine once it's on the red carpet."

"There's a red carpet?"

"Of course. The press will be there. This is not just a marriage-it's a resurrection of the Langston name. Damien is doing us a favor."

Selene turned sharply. "A favor?"

Celeste's eyes flashed. "After what happened with that boy, Kael-after the disgrace and the scandal-Damien gave us time. Protection. You think he waited this long because he had no options? He did this for you."

"No, he did it for power."

"And what's wrong with that?" Celeste snapped. "Power builds futures. Love is for girls with trust funds."

The silence stretched.

From the corner couch, her younger sister Lyra giggled over her phone. "I think Damien is hot," she said without looking up. "At least you're not marrying some wrinkled tycoon with liver spots."

Selene looked back at the mirror. Her throat felt tight.

Later that night, in the solitude of her room, Selene opened a drawer lined with silk scarves and jewelry. Beneath it all, she found the one thing she hadn't been able to throw away: an old photograph. Faded. Torn at the edges.

Kael.

Smiling. Young. Stupidly hopeful.

She gripped the photo until her knuckles paled.

What if he had survived?

What if he hadn't abandoned her like they all claimed?

But those were dangerous questions. The kind that reopened wounds she wasn't allowed to have anymore.

There was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Selene?" It was her brother, Elias. "Mother wants to know if you've chosen the venue for the bridal photoshoot. Damien's team is waiting."

"I'll be down," she replied, voice hollow.

As his footsteps faded, she whispered to the air.

"Kael... if there's anything left of you, please come back."