Chesla Gawklow lounged in her private suite, crimson heels resting lightly on the chaise, a smug smile curling her lips. Around her, Marissa fawned and Chantel tried desperately to keep her envy masked behind polite laughter. The soft glow of crystal lamps reflected off gold-trimmed walls, but Chesla's eyes were sharp, scanning the phone in her hand as though it could summon the news she waited for.
"Finally," she murmured, voice lilting with arrogance, "the girl will learn why some of us are untouchable."
Marissa tilted her head, a little hesitant. "Chesla… are you sure your plan will work?"
Chesla waved a dismissive hand. "Of course it will. I have friends in all the right places. Have I not told you? I am close to Adrian De Vere Leone. We meet often at diplomatic galas. He notices me trusts me listens when I speak. Who else could do this?"
Chantel's lips pressed into a thin line. A flash of jealousy sparked in her eyes. "And I suppose you think that makes you… superior? That because you brush shoulders with him, you're untouchable?"
Chesla laughed, a sharp, melodic sound, dangerous and intoxicating. "Superior?" she repeated, letting the word hang. "Oh, Chantel… it's not about being superior. It's about being powerful enough to control the course of things without anyone questioning me. That girl, Valeria… she dared to rise above her station, to show talent without pedigree. Foolish. And tonight, she will regret it."
Marissa's hands fluttered nervously, smoothing her gown. "But it's been so long… shouldn't you have received a message by now?"
Chesla's frown deepened, her fingers tapping impatiently against the glass of champagne. "Long? The plan was flawless. The message should have come minutes ago. I hired the finest those men who know what fear looks like. Yet still… nothing. Why are they taking so long?"
Chantel's envy twisted into fear. "What if something went wrong?"
Chesla's eyes glinted dangerously. "Wrong?" she echoed, voice low, venomous. "Nothing goes wrong when I orchestrate it. Adrian sees me, yes. He may respect me, perhaps even enjoy my company in those galas… but the girl will learn. Even his protection cannot shield her from the consequences of crossing me."
She leaned back, smirking at the ceiling. "Power is subtle. It's patience. Control. And sometimes… it's a lesson delivered quietly, leaving the target trembling before they even realize the scale of their failure."
Chantel's voice was barely audible, laced with envy. "And you… you can get close to him because of your connections. We… we cannot. Not even in dreams."
Chesla's smile widened, cruel and confident. "Exactly, my dear. That is why I win, always. The world bends to those who understand influence, and Adrian… well, he respects power. He respects those who can wield it with precision."
Her fingers drummed against the glass again, but now her confidence faltered slightly, the first seed of impatience creeping in. "Why haven't I received the call?" she whispered, almost to herself, her voice tinged with irritation. "Every moment counts. Every delay is unacceptable. Did they falter? Are they incompetent?"
Marissa tried to soothe her, voice trembling. "Perhaps… the girl is… already—"
Chesla silenced her with a glance, sharp and commanding. "Enough. If the news does not arrive, it will reflect on them, not me. I am untouchable. Adrian may be powerful, but he does not see all. And he will not suspect me… not yet."
She tapped her fingers against the table, her mind racing through possibilities. The thrill of control, the sweetness of revenge, and the simmering jealousy of those around her fed the fire in her chest. "By the time this ends," she whispered, voice cold and precise, "Valeria will know exactly who stands above her and who rules the shadows."
And somewhere, in the quiet of the night, the world outside spun on oblivious, while Chesla's patience stretched thin, her power and pride demanding results that had yet to arrive.