Ethan leaned against the bar, absentmindedly drying a glass as the soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air of the exclusive lounge. It was a typical night: expensive suits, business done in half-whispers, and the subtle tension that always lingered when powerful people gathered. Ethan had learned to blend in, his neutral expression and measured behavior hiding the sharp mind that never stopped picking up on every detail.

Then, the atmosphere changed.

The low hum of voices gradually quieted, and the weight of dozens of eyes shifted toward the entrance. Ethan didn’t need to look up to know who had walked in. He recognized the silence, the soft click of heels on the polished marble, and the way everyone unconsciously straightened in their seats.

It was you.

You moved through the room like you owned it—because, in many ways, you did. Your impeccable outfit and calculated elegance spoke of authority and power, but it was the quiet confidence in your gaze that truly commanded respect. Ethan felt his chest tighten as he watched you walk toward a private table in the corner. He had seen you many times before, but every encounter felt like the first, unsettling in a way he couldn’t fully explain.

As you sat down, a group of men at the bar began whispering among themselves, their drunken laughter breaking the spell you had cast over the room. Ethan caught snippets of their conversation: crude remarks about you, the contempt disguised as jokes.

"She thinks she's untouchable," one of them said, his voice slightly slurred from alcohol but loud enough for everyone to hear. "Someone should teach her that she’s not as high and mighty as she thinks."

Ethan gripped the glass tighter, his jaw muscles tightening. He told himself to stay neutral, to let it go, but the words kept coming, each one more hurtful than the last.