Chapter 4 Unseen Hands

---

Snow still clung to the edge of the terrace railing, melting in slow, silvery drops.

Selina stood just inside the doors, arms folded, gaze fixed on the city beyond the glass.

Geneva was soft in the morning - foggy, quiet, almost too polite.

Like a city full of secrets that refused to speak until asked twice.

She hadn't slept again.

Not from grief this time.

From confusion.

The email replayed in her mind like a riddle she couldn't solve.

> Fully funded.

Three-month window.

No creative interference.

No name.

Just an NDA.

It was either a miracle... or a trap dressed in diamonds.

---

Behind her, Naomi padded into the kitchen in a red silk bonnet and a "CEO In Progress" hoodie.

She sniffed the air. "You didn't even make coffee?"

Selina didn't turn. "I haven't moved."

"Okay. That's ominous."

Naomi poured herself a cup from yesterday's leftover brew, reheated it in the microwave, and leaned against the counter. "Spill. What's haunting you now?"

Selina handed over the tablet.

Naomi read in silence.

Twice.

Then lowered the screen slowly. "What kind of anonymous billionaire fairy godmother nonsense is this?"

Selina allowed herself a single laugh. "Exactly."

Naomi narrowed her eyes. "This isn't normal. This isn't safe. We're not signing our soul to some faceless corporate daddy without background checks."

"I know," Selina murmured. "But you saw the terms. If it's real... it's everything we need to launch."

Naomi scowled. "It's real, all right. And that's what makes it scary. Real usually has strings."

---

They spent the next three hours doing what they did best - research, suspicion, quiet swearing.

Naomi combed through the legal firm's records, traced shell companies, checked for known partnerships.

Selina took notes. Looked for patterns. Watched her own instincts.

> Something about it didn't feel predatory.

It felt... intentional.

As if someone knew exactly what she needed - and had been waiting for her to rise far enough to offer it.

That thought made her stomach twist.

She didn't like being watched.

Not anymore.

---

By 11 a.m., Naomi dropped her tablet onto the couch.

"Nothing. No red flags, but no green lights either. They've hidden this thing like a damn treasure chest."

Selina sat back, quiet.

Naomi crossed her arms. "You're thinking about signing it."

Selina didn't deny it.

Naomi's voice softened. "I know it feels like a lifeline. But you've rebuilt yourself brick by brick. Don't let a shiny shortcut unravel all that."

"I won't," Selina whispered. "But maybe... maybe I don't have to do everything alone anymore."

Naomi blinked.

Not because it was wrong.

But because it was the first time Selina had said anything close to that in three years.

---

Meanwhile... across the city.

Adrian Voss stood on the rooftop of a luxury high-rise, scarf coiled at his neck, dark coat sharp against the white sky.

He watched Geneva move below - a puzzle of snow and steel.

"She saw the offer," his assistant confirmed, voice crackling through the earpiece.

Adrian said nothing.

His eyes never left the horizon.

"She hasn't signed," the assistant added. "Her COO is digging deep."

"Let her," Adrian murmured.

"You don't want to introduce yourself yet?"

A pause.

"No," he said finally. "Not until she knows what she wants.

And not if she's still trying to outrun ghosts."

---

Back at the apartment

Selina stepped into her office nook - small, modern, sunlit.

She opened a drawer.

Pulled out a black fountain pen.

And stared at the printed copy of the NDA on her desk.

Just looking at it made her heart thump harder.

She thought about Lucas.

His eyes. The indifference. The silence.

And now this - a hand from the dark offering something she'd only dared to imagine:

A chance to win.

On her own terms.

Selina reached for the pen -

Buzz.

Her phone lit up.

Lucas.

---

She froze.

He hadn't called. Not once. Not even after that night with the papers.

And now?

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Naomi called from the kitchen, "Do not pick up!"

But Selina's body moved before her brain did.

She answered.

"Selina?" His voice was low. Familiar. Rusted with hesitation.

She said nothing.

"I... I heard you're in Geneva."

Still, she didn't speak.

"I didn't think you'd-leave. Not like that."

Now she laughed.

"Like what, Lucas? Quietly? Dignified? Without throwing something? Sorry to disappoint."

A pause.

"I didn't know you were serious."

She pressed a hand to her forehead.

"That's the problem. You never thought I was serious. Not when I loved you. Not when I begged you to see me. Not when I walked out."

He sounded smaller. "I wasn't ready."

"You were ready enough to watch her come back into town. You were ready to pick her up at the airport."

Selina's voice shook.

"You were ready to end our marriage with a goddamn envelope and silence."

He swallowed. "It wasn't like that."

"No?" she whispered. "Then tell me what it was."

Lucas didn't answer.

And Selina... didn't wait.

She hung up.

---

She stood there for a long time.

The room was silent.

But inside her - thunder.

She picked up the pen.

Signed the NDA.

And whispered to herself:

> "No more almosts. No more shadows. I choose me now."

---

The snow had stopped falling, but Selina still kept the windows shut tight.

There was something about the cold that mirrored her - silent, pristine, capable of burning if held too long.

The contract lay spread out before her on the glass desk.

It was thick. Luxurious paper. Soft edges. Embossed seal.

> Anonymous Investor.

Five-million-dollar equity-free backing.

No board interference.

Full creative control.

Confidentiality guaranteed.

And still... not a single name.

Just the same encrypted firm address in Zurich. The signature line left blank.

Naomi stood over her shoulder, arms crossed like a suspicious mother at a PTA meeting.

"This is either the golden goose," she said, "or the devil in Prada."

Selina didn't look up. "It's not the devil."

"You sure?"

She hesitated.

No. She wasn't sure. But she'd learned to trust something deeper than fear.

Her instinct.

And something inside her told her this wasn't danger. It was direction.

"Whoever this is," Selina murmured, "they don't want control. They just want me to move."

Naomi narrowed her eyes. "No one gives that kind of power away without wanting something in return."

Selina's gaze drifted back to the final page. The signature line gleamed under the lamplight.

"I'll find out what they want eventually," she said softly. "But I'm done living in fear of good things."

---

Meanwhile...

Back in Florence.

Lucas stood beside Amara in front of an upscale café, cameras flashing as they stepped onto the pavement.

Amara wore cream - all elegance and restraint.

Lucas had his hand lightly on her back.

The headline would read:

> Lucas Hart Reunites with Former Muse - Love Rekindled or PR Move?

Inside, they sat side by side, not across.

The internet buzzed.

Some called it "romantic."

Some said it was sad.

But none of them knew the truth:

> Lucas wasn't smiling for Amara.

He was performing for the ghost of someone else.

And Selina - that ghost - was nowhere in sight.

---

He hadn't seen or heard from her in weeks.

No texts. No calls. No hints of her life.

He assumed she'd gone to lick her wounds, maybe regroup, maybe wait for him to come to his senses.

He was wrong.

---

In Geneva, Selina was already working.

She'd rented a temporary studio - clean white walls, natural light, just a single desk and drafting board.

Naomi stood by the window, scrolling through her phone.

"Oh my god," she muttered.

"What?" Selina asked without looking up.

Naomi turned the phone around.

Lucas. Amara. Florence. Headlines.

Selina blinked once.

Then kept writing.

Naomi blinked too.

"You're not going to react?"

"I did," Selina said calmly. "I didn't throw my coffee."

"That is progress."

"I don't care anymore, Naomi."

She meant it.

> And that was the most dangerous freedom of all.

---

Later that evening, the contract was signed.

Selina pressed her name to the page in looping black ink, her handwriting steady.

Naomi sealed the envelope and tucked it into the courier's secure case.

As they watched it leave through the glass lobby doors, Naomi exhaled.

"Well. We just made a deal with someone who doesn't exist."

Selina whispered, "Or someone who finally sees me."

Naomi gave her a long look. "You think it's Lucas?"

"No," Selina said, voice hard now. "Lucas never saw me.

He saw comfort. Convenience.

He loved my outline - not my fire."

---

Meanwhile...

Across Geneva, inside a minimalist penthouse overlooking the Rhône, a man sat with a glass of scotch in his hand and a contract in the other.

He read her signature three times.

Selina Moreau.

Finally.

Adrian Voss smiled - barely. But it was there.

The kind of smile that hurt to hold back.

"She signed," his assistant confirmed via the tablet on his table.

"I know."

"What now?"

He stood, crossed to the window, and looked out into the pale dusk.

Now...

> "I give her space."

"I let her win."

"And when she's ready... I arrive."

---

Back in Florence...

Lucas sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through old photos on his phone.

Selina, two years ago. Wearing navy. Laughing.

Selina in the kitchen. Selina under the covers. Selina kissing him goodnight.

> He thought she'd come back.

He thought the silence was hurt.

He didn't know it was peace.

He didn't know he'd been erased from the version of her that was now rising like smoke from her own ashes.

He didn't know he'd already lost.

---

In Geneva, Selina stepped onto her terrace.

Cold air rushed to meet her.

Below, the city lights blinked on like stars that had made peace with the darkness.

She closed her eyes.

Not to escape the past.

But to listen.

And in that silence, a voice echoed - not in her ears, but in her bones.

> "You were never second.

You were never 'almost.'

You were always her."

And this time...

She believed it.