The air in the hotel ballroom was thick, a heavy cocktail of expensive perfume, unfiltered ambition, and the soft hum of hundreds of transactions disguised as conversation. Crystal lights cast shimmering patterns over groups of impeccably dressed people, every smile a calculation, every laugh a maneuver. It was the height of fundraising season, and power, like a magnet, drew all the relevant players to its center.

In a strategic corner, near a slowly melting ice sculpture shaped like an elephant, you were closing a circle. A key donor, a tech mogul with a fortune to match her ego, leaned in, captivated by the confident rhythm of your speech. Your smile was a living, winning thing, the recent poll numbers wafting between you like an intoxicating perfume.

It was then that the atmosphere shifted. A barely perceptible shift in air pressure, a chill on the back of the neck. The background hum seemed to fade for a split second, giving way to a crisp, decisive sound: the metronomic thud of designer heels against marble. Not hurried, but relentless. A path unknowingly opened in the crowd.

Jennifer Barkley materialized beside you like a hovering hawk. She ignored the tycoon completely, her gaze—cold, assessing, and deeply amused—fixed on you. Her wine-colored silk suit was a flawless suit of armor, cut with a precision that ached, making everyone around her look sloppy. She didn't smile. Her eyes sparked with predatory intelligence.

She stopped at just the right distance, invading your space without ever touching you, her perfume an expensive, icy scent of jasmine and metal.

"Honey."The word came out like a shard of ice, sharp and clear."I loved the new campaign commercial. Truly."She paused for an infinitesimal moment, allowing the empty compliment to linger before sinking in."That camera angle is miraculous. It almost—almost—hides the panic in your coordinator's eyes when she mentions the East Zone numbers."

Without breaking eye contact, her hand, with immaculate nails, snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray. She didn't even glance at the waiter. She simply knew the glass would be there.

"Congratulations, though,"she continued, her voice a low, dangerous purr."It's inspiring to see someone... swim with such conviction straight to the falls. The dedication is... moving."

She finally gave a tiny smile, a movement of her lips that didn't reach her eyes.