Managed.
I don’t like it.
Not even a little.
I want to be in those rooms.
I want to hear the plans.
I want to know how they intend to fight a war that started with my blood.
But I don’t say any of that.
Because the ladies mean well.
So I smile instead, lifting my glass slightly.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say.
And this time, the smile sticks.
We stay there a while longer—laughing, talking, exchanging small pieces of ourselves that have nothing to do with power or survival.
It’s easy and fun.
After about twenty minutes, the rhythm of the night pulls us back.
The music swells slightly.
More guests arrive. Timofey finds me, and it’s time to socialize again.
Sometime later, I slip away. Carefully. Quietly. Because no matter how composed I look, there’s only so much I can take.
Too many eyes.
Too many conversations.
Too many layers to hold up at once.
I move toward the back of the room, where the lights are softer and the noise dulls just enough to breathe. For a second, I just stand there. Alone. Or at least…trying to be.
“You look like you need a drink.”
I turn.
A blonde woman stands there, effortlessly beautiful, her smile easy.
“Hi. I’m Elise.”
I take it, polite but guarded. “Valeria Petrova.”
Her smile widens slightly. “I know. You’re the star of the party.”
I let out a small laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Is that what this is?”
Her eyes flicker with something I can’t immediately place. “Tonight? Yes.”
I shift slightly, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me to myself.
