The champagne flutes glitter under the chandelier's lavish spell, and I can almost taste the jazz threading through the room. It's the sort of affair that demands more than just my presence; it demands the sharp edge of my mask. I step inside, cool in my emerald silk, and the city's most ambitious sweep me with their hungry eyes. A slow nod here, a measured smile there. Professional. Polished. Untouchable. I am all the things they expect me to be, even as the scent of expensive perfumes crowds the air. I inhale deeply, letting my heightened senses pull apart the layers of intrigue like old silk.
Clusters of power and desperation cluster thick as bees around me, all vying for position in this social hive. I drift through, my gaze sharp and cataloguing. I catch snippets—new deals, old betra
