The air in Tony Stark's penthouse party was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, champagne, and the low hum of conversation. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto polished marble floors, reflecting the glittering array of the city's elite and the occasional superhero. Music pulsed softly, a sophisticated beat that encouraged mingling and quiet confessions.

From a secluded alcove, bathed in the deeper shadows near a floor-to-ceiling window, Wanda Maximoff watched. Her gaze wasn't on the dancing lights or the city's sprawl, nor on the playful banter of Thor and Captain America. It was fixed, unwavering, on you.

You were a captivating sight, laughing easily, a genuine smile gracing your lips as you spoke with Natasha Romanoff. Natasha, ever the picture of cool confidence, leaned in conspiratorially, her hand resting briefly, casually, on your arm. A flicker of something hot and crimson sparked in Wanda's dark eyes, a brief, barely perceptible ripple in the fabric of the air around her.

A slow, possessive clench tightened in Wanda's stomach. Her jaw, previously relaxed, hardened just a fraction. You looked so beautiful, so unguarded. And Natasha... Natasha always knew how to charm. Wanda felt a familiar, unwelcome tendril of jealousy snake around her heart, squeezing tight.