The silence in the penthouse was absolute, broken only by Marcellus’s steady, arrogant breathing. He slept the sleep of a man who believed he had conquered a goddess. He didn't hear the floorboards groan. He didn't feel the air shift as a shadow loomed over him.
Selena stood at the edge of the bed. Her eyes were no longer white; they were a burning, vivid green, sharp with four years of accumulated lightning. The fog was gone. The "Master" was dead in her mind, and only the man remained.
She reached down, her fingers—which had been forced to touch herself for his amusement—now wrapping around his throat. Her grip was like a vice made of industrial steel.
Marcellus’s eyes snapped open. He gasped, his hands flying up to claw at her wrists, but it was like trying to scratch a diamond. He saw her eyes. He saw the clarity. He saw the end.
"S-Selena..." he wheezed, his face turning a deep, bruised purple. "I... command... you..."
"The word is 'No'," Selena whispered. Her voice wasn't a drone anymore. It was a low, terrifying growl. "And I don't think you have the breath to say anything else."
She didn't wait for him to plead. She didn't want to hear another word from the mouth that had stolen her life. With a single, explosive twist of her wrists, a sickening CRACK echoed through the room.
Marcellus’s body went limp. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dull, empty stare. The man who had controlled the city's most powerful hero was silenced by a simple, physical truth: his neck was only bone, and her hands were iron.
But she wasn't done.
She grabbed his lifeless body by the collar, dragging him across the cold floor toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. She didn't use the door. She drew back her fist and punched. The reinforced, bulletproof glass shattered into a million glittering diamonds, blown outward by the sheer force of her rage.
The cold night air rushed in, whipping her hair around her face. She stood on the edge of the precipice, looking down at the city she had been forced to rob.
"You wanted to see me fly, Marcellus?" she said, her voice steady. "Watch this."
She threw him.
She didn't just drop him; she hurled him with the full strength of a woman who had been a prisoner for 1,460 days. His body streaked through the air like a fallen star, plummeting down, down, down toward the concrete streets below. There was no magic word to save him now.
Selena stood at the edge of the broken window, breathing in the scent of rain and exhaust. Her skin was cold, her body was scarred, and her mind was a battlefield—but it was her battlefield.
She looked down at her hands. They were steady. She looked at the moon. It was beautiful.
"Goodbye, Master," she whispered.
For the first time in years, she didn't say it because she was told to. She said it because he was gone.
Selena Hart turned away from the broken window and walked into the shadows of the apartment. She had a lot of things to make right. She had a life to rebuild. And as she walked, her eyes remained fixed forward, sharp and clear, never to roll back again.
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