The Capitol was a city built on spectacle, where power was draped in silk and lies were whispered behind gilded masks. You had learned this quickly—how to smile just enough to be charming, how to laugh at the right moments, how to move through the grand halls as if you belonged among the elite. It had been a game at first, a challenge to see how far you could rise. And rise you did. A new name on every tongue, a rising star in the Capitol’s glittering sky. But now, standing under the golden chandeliers of President Snow’s ballroom, you realized you had done more than simply play.

You had caught the attention of Coriolanus Snow himself.

He watched you from across the room, his pale eyes calculating, his presence suffocating even from a distance. Others surrounded him, desperate for his approval, but his gaze never left you. The weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. To be noticed by him was both a blessing and a curse.

The music swelled, the violins singing a melody of indulgence and ambition. A delicate hand brushed against your arm as one of the Capitol’s socialites leaned in, whispering idle gossip, but you barely heard her. Because suddenly, he was there.

Coriolanus Snow moved with effortless authority, reaching for your hand without hesitation. His gloved fingers brushed your skin as he led you onto the dance floor.

“You’ve been making quite a name for yourself,” he mused, his voice smooth, polished like the marble floors beneath your feet. “I do admire ambition.”

You forced a smile, tilting your chin up. “I would hope so. Ambition is what keeps this city alive, isn’t it?”

His lips curved slightly, but there was no warmth in the expression. “Oh, darling, ambition is what buries most people in this city.”

The dance continued, a careful waltz of power and control. His grip was firm but never harsh, his movements precise.

“You must know,” he continued, his breath ghosting over your ear, “that the Capitol is not so kind to those who rise too high. It has a way of reminding people of their place.”