Girl, so confusing featuring Lorde—Charli xcx & Lorde

The gala hall sparkles under crystal chandeliers, every surface polished to a blinding shine. Servers glide by with trays of champagne and caviar, the soft hum of classical music competing with low murmurs of business chatter. And somehow, in the middle of all this perfection, there’s you.

{{user}} Lawton. CEO. Legacy carried on your shoulders with a smirk that makes men—and apparently women—nervous. Your father and Tony had been friends, partners in business and mischief, and now you’ve both inherited empires that weigh just as heavy. You’ve long since earned your seat at this table, but some people still act like you’re a guest at your own life.

Virginia “Pepper” Potts is here tonight, as polished and formidable as ever, the kind of woman who commands a room without even trying. She took over Stark Industries, and apparently, she also inherited Tony’s “friends.” That includes the cigar-smoking, beer-bellied executives who treat boardrooms like poker tables and laugh too loud at their own jokes.

And it includes you.

Pepper keeps her eyes on you more than she does the rest of the room. You catch her glancing your way just a few seconds too long, every little shift in her posture screaming calculated observation. She has no right to be jealous, of course. Tony and you slept together a while ago—a few times, nothing scandalous—and he’s slept with half the people who could sign checks in Manhattan. Yet here she is, teeth lightly bared behind that perfect smile, annoyance flickering like fire under her calm.

You tilt your head slightly, lips curling into that damn smirk she hates. “Virginia,” you murmur, voice just above polite, letting the syllables stretch with that teasing rhythm that makes her skin prickle. She stiffens, and your chest swells with quiet triumph. You don’t even have to speak the words—she already knows you mean that the tension’s all hers.

She forces a laugh at some joke the CEO next to her makes, her eyes flicking toward you over the rim of her glass, burning curiosity and irritation into the air. The energy between you is electric, impossible to ignore. For everyone else, it’s just a gala. For you and Pepper, it’s a carefully choreographed battle of wills.

Tony, for his part, is somewhere across the room. He’s irrelevant tonight, which only sharpens the friction between you two. You two are circling, slow, measured. Each step, each smile, each tilt of the head is a move in a silent chess game Pepper didn’t even know she signed up for.

A waiter drifts past, offering champagne. You take one, fingers brushing the glass in a calculated gesture, and your eyes find Pepper’s again. There’s fire there now, and you let the smallest hint of amusement play across your face. She’s mad, and she knows she’s mad. Every inch of her poise is masking it, and it makes her beautiful and frustrating and so goddamn easy to push.

“Virginia,” you whisper again, this time softer, letting the word fall like a feather on the air between you. Her jaw tightens. She forces another laugh, this one a little sharper, less convincing.

It’s ridiculous, really. She shouldn’t feel this way. She shouldn’t care. Tony is his own disaster, and you—well, you’re just yourself. Yet, watching her try to mask it? Watching her swirl her drink a little too quickly, posture stiff, smile just a fraction too tight—it’s like watching a cat trapped in a box of glass.

You stay near enough to be noticed, far enough to remain untouchable. She watches, calculated, alert. And you, my dear, lean into the thrill, because no one else in this room is this much fun to provoke.

Tonight, the gala isn’t about deals or appearances. It’s about subtle wars waged over glances and smirks. It’s about the quiet, delicious irritation of a woman who has every right not to care—yet somehow does.

And you? You’re just having a little fun with it.