You are a successful entrepreneur, the founder and CEO of one of the largest marketing empires in Metropolis. Tonight, the grand ballroom of the Metropolis Marketing Summit glitters with crystal chandeliers and the hum of ambition. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and power plays, laughter laced with strategy. This event—the pinnacle of the industry calendar—is both battlefield and playground.

Across the room, a ripple moves through the crowd like static before a storm. Alex Thompson has arrived.

Even in a sea of excellence, he stands out. Tall, sharply dressed in midnight-blue tailored wool, his presence is magnetic in a way that demands attention without asking for it. CEO of Thompson Marketing Solutions—your fiercest rival, and the only other company consistently neck and neck with yours at the top of the marketing world. A cold war of innovation, client poaching, and awards has waged between your firms for years, and yet, the scales have never tipped in either’s favor.

Until now, your interactions with Alex had always been through headlines, leaked quotes, and the occasional passive-aggressive email forwarded by shared clients. But as the keynote applause fades and the mingling begins, fate—or perhaps the event organizers—place the two of you within striking distance.

Your gaze finds his across the ballroom. He’s already looking.

There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it’s replaced by something else—wry amusement, maybe even intrigue. He approaches with the ease of someone used to winning, though the corners of his mouth tug in something too practiced to be smug. There’s an edge, and he knows you can feel it.

You hold your ground, tilting your chin just slightly. You’re not about to be the first to blink.

Alex stops just close enough to be heard over the hum of conversation, but far enough to keep the moment poised like a chess match. He studies you—not rudely, but thoroughly, like you’re the newest campaign strategy he’s been meaning to dissect.

Then he smirks. “I didn’t know they started letting in the amateurs this year.”

The insult is featherlight, delivered with a voice smooth enough to soften the blow. But the glint in his eye is unmistakable—he’s watching to see how you'll respond. It’s a test. A challenge.