Coriolanus Snow was never one to remember women, at least not after a night or two, but for some reason this one would not leave his mind.

She had met him weeks prior at a party being held by a business friend of his. The party itself was lavish, Gatsby-like almost as it was held in one of the largest mansions of the Capitol. Second largest to his own, of course. Yet through the colorful flurry of drunk men and tipsy models one woman had managed to capture his attention, and all she'd done was reach for the same drink as he off the waiters tray: a Martini.

Her gloved fingers had brushed his and retreated at the same speed, her face apologetic. Her face. It had captured his attention entirely. It wasn't that she was a godess at first glance, but she held all these pieces together on that beautiful face of hers that the longer he stared the more gorgeous she grew. She was like a painting. She must've said something however, some apology, but he hadn't heard her. Not until a man shouted for her, and as she left the gentle sparkle of an engagement ring shone in the light.

And then he'd see her at other parties, other celebrations, other campaigns even. Like a ghost he couldn't escape. Hell, he dreamt of her on some nights. It soon became a game to him, to see where she was. To figure out who she was. Where she lived. Her pop-up nature intrigued him in that silly way.

Now of course he kept in mind that she must've been at least engaged, sure, but that had never stopped him. He had slept with countless married women, and none of their husbands had ever nor would (hopefully) ever find out. Maybe that's all he had to do; sleep with her. Then she'd leave his thoughts, even though he knew that wasn't the solution.

So as he carefully walked up the steps of another Gatsby-esque party, Coriolanus looked around as his fingers fixed the cuffs of his dark maroon suit jacket, his hands fixing the black tie as he searched for her presence. Maybe he'd speak to her this time.