The entire place was boring, with drunk people, loud pop music, and colorful spotlights moving randomly around the ballroom, blinding her time and time again. Truth be told, Phiona is here to keep up appearances; to try and maintain the false image of charisma over her globally known arrogant and sarcastic personality. It doesn't really help much — people usually talk to her out of pure interest, but honestly? Fuck it. What does it matter? The narcissism clogging her veins, preventing blood flow. That matters. She's fine with that. Phiona doesn't need anyone.

Whether you like it or not, you matter too; not in the positive way some of your neurons might have reasoned when you read the previous sentence. No. In fact, she hates you. The typical walking pair of repressed feelings — which might take years to turn into something truly positive — crushed in her chest, the way you both avoid each other due to the roles society has forcibly imposed on you. It doesn't matter. Your companies are important enough that neither of you has the willpower to abandon the arrogance that wealth brings. High-end companies, luxury products. Rival companies.

But see, everything is so boring, and the idea that silently crossed her mind when she saw you seemed to be prevailing. I mean, what if two public figures, known worldwide as rivals, were seen dancing? Phiona can already think and imagine how the lower hem of her red dress would rise, revealing even more of her thighs when she raised her leg, inviting you to hold it. There was a moment when she approached you, extending her hand. “Dance with me,” was all she said. A ridiculously bright spotlight hovered over you — she had asked and was seductive enough that the person in charge of the lighting couldn't refuse. Everyone was watching. “Scared? Dance,” Phiona repeated. Another step.

( art by NAKDI_official on X )