Her gaze never wavered. Wine dripped down her temple, slid past her cheek, and disappeared into the folds of her dress. Still, she sat back straight, hands resting lightly on the table as if nothing had happened. Around her, the room hummed with nervous energy, laughter that was too loud, whispers that were too sharp, the clinking of glasses used to mask unease.
But when her eyes lifted, the noise dimmed. She looked first at the glass in the Aerys’s hand, now empty, held like a weapon turned trophy. Then she raised her gaze higher, settling on the woman in red. The smirk on the Aerys’s lips faltered. It was only for a second, a flicker, but in that moment, the crowd caught it.
PART2
The CEO’s stare was deliberate, unhurried, piercing. She didn’t need to speak. The silence wrapped around her like armor, and the weight of it pressed into the room. Her composure became the loudest thing in the hall. A ripple of discomfort spread. One guest shifted in his chair, suddenly aware of how loud his laughter had sounded a moment ago.
Another lowered her phone, ashamed to be caught recording. The cameras still pointed, but their owners were no longer certain they wanted proof of what they were witnessing. The aerys tossed her hair, forcing a brittle laugh. “What? No comeback? No words?” she sneered, but her voice cracked slightly at the edges.
She leaned closer, waving her glass in mock triumph. “You should thank me. No stylist could ever make you stand out like this. Her cruelty met only silence. And then slowly the CEO blinked, one measured blink, her lashes heavy with wine before her eyes opened again, calm, cold, unflinching.
It was the look of someone who had already decided, someone who held the power to end this entire charade with a thought. The ays felt it. She took a step back, just a half step, but it was enough. Those watching noticed, murmurss stirred. Did you see that? She’s not even angry. Someone whispered. Another voice replied uneasy.
No, she’s waiting. Oh. The CEO adjusted her posture slightly, straightening in her chair. She lifted one hand, not to wipe the wine, but to place it gently on the stem of her own glass, her fingers curling around it with quiet certainty. The movement was small, but it commanded attention. Her gaze never left the Ays.
She let the silence stretch, a silence thick enough to drown the mocking giggles that tried to spark back to life. The crowd leaned in without realizing, drawn by the gravity of her stillness, and in that charged pause, something shifted. The spectacle no longer belonged to the woman in red. The spotlight had moved.
Every eye was on the drenched figure at the table, not as a victim, but as the calm center of a storm no one else could see coming. The aerys forced another laugh, too loud, too hollow. She waved to the crowd as if to reclaim their attention, but her eyes flicked nervously back to the woman she had tried to humiliate.
And what she saw staring back at her was not weakness. It was warning. The banquet hall buzzed with tension. Guests leaned closer to one another, voices lowered, unease spreading like cracks across glass. The wine kept dripping. The silence kept deepening. And at the center of it all, the black CEO’s eyes told a story no one else dared to speak aloud.
This isn’t over. The ays shifted her weight, heels clicking softly against the marble as she tried to reclaim the rhythm of the room. Her smile widened, brittle at the edges, the kind of grin that dared the crowd to laugh with her or risk standing against her. She twirled the empty glass in her fingers and let it dangle carelessly at her side.
Oops,” she announced, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Guess I got carried away. But come on, look at her. She actually looks better this way, don’t you think?” She gestured toward the woman in orange, still seated, still silent, still dripping wine like a statue carved from resolve. A few obedient chuckles followed.
A smattering of applause rose from her loyal circle, desperate to keep her ego intact. One man even clapped too loudly, his laugh bouncing around the hall like broken glass. But beyond that shallow ring of supporters, the atmosphere wavered. Guests exchanged wary looks. A woman covered her discomfort with a sip of champagne. An older gentleman adjusted his cufflinks, staring at the tablecloth rather than the spectacle before him.
The aerys tilted her head back, basking in what she mistook for admiration. She raised her chin, her red dress catching the light, diamonds at her ears flashing with every exaggerated gesture. She was beautiful, yes, but her beauty had curdled into something sharp and arrogant. She strutdded around the chair like a performer on stage, her heels tapping out a rhythm of disdain.
Tell me. She leaned in close to the CEO, her perfume filling the air, her tone dripping with venom. How does it feel to sit among us, to wear your little orange dress and pretend you belong? Did you think no one would notice? The room held its breath. Every syllable was a strike. Every pause an insult.
She wanted to break her target, not just with wine, but with words. To strip away dignity layer by layer until nothing remained but shame. And then she laughed again louder. Shriller turning her head toward the crowd. Don’t be shy, everyone. Take a good look. This is what happens when you climb too high. Phones flashed. Glasses clinkedked.
But the energy was thinner now. stretched taut, ready to snap. Even those still laughing felt the unease beneath their own voices. The nagging thought that the joke had gone too far. The CEO remained immovable. Her silence was beginning to feel dangerous, like a storm gathering at the horizon. She did not speak, but her presence said enough.
Her gaze followed the Aerys with calm precision, tracking her every exaggerated movement as though measuring the cost of each insult. The AIS tried to hold that gaze but found herself glancing away. She spun again, tossing her hair, twirling her empty glass in circles. She leaned into her roll, convinced that performance could erase the tremor of doubt creeping into her chest.
“Smile for the cameras,” she sneered, lowering her voice just enough for those nearest to hear. “This will be the only headline you’ll ever make.” Her laughter spilled once more, but it sounded different now, thinner, desperate, fighting against the heavy silence pressing back from the woman she had tried to destroy. And across the table, across the hall, people began to see it.
The cruel show was no longer amusing. It was unraveling. The ays didn’t know it yet, but the moment she poured that wine, she had set a fuse, and the woman she mocked was the one holding the match. The laughter spread again, though thinner this time, forced like champagne gone flat. A handful of guests clapped their hands against the table, eager to keep the mood alive, eager to stand on the side of money.
Their voices rose in shallow agreement. “That’s right,” one young man barked from the far end, his cufflinks catching the light as he raised his glass. Outsiders should know their place. His words drew a ripple of uneasy chuckles. Another, emboldened, leaned back in his chair and spoke louder than he should have.
If she wants to play with giants, she better learn to take a joke. His friends laughed too loudly, trying to prove they belong to the same circle of cruelty. The aerys soaked it up. She turned to them, grinning, arms spread wide as if she were conducting the room itself. “See, they understand,” she declared, her voice dripping with satisfaction.