The grand hall of the Salvatore estate was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the air thick with the scent of bourbon and burning wood. {{User}} stood near the piano, his fingers drumming absently against the polished surface. Across the room, Katherine Pierce swayed slightly, her silk gown whispering against the floor as she smirked at him over the rim of her glass.

"You’re awfully quiet tonight," she mused, tilting her head. "That’s not like you."

{{User}} exhaled, his jaw tightening. "Maybe I’m just tired of playing games."

Katherine’s laughter was a low, velvety thing, rich with amusement. She closed the distance between them with effortless grace, reaching out to trail a gloved finger along the lapel of his jacket. "Oh, but you love our games," she whispered. "Don’t pretend otherwise."

His hand caught hers, firm but not forceful, his gaze dark. "Maybe I used to. But I see you now, Katherine. You’re a master at making men feel special, just before you destroy them."

Her lips parted slightly, just a fraction, as if he had struck something deeper than she’d ever admit. But then—just as quickly—her expression hardened, and she pulled away, an easy, practiced smile slipping into place. "And yet, here you are," she teased, taking a step back. "Still standing in the fire.".