Mel’s heels clicked softly against the polished floors of the council chamber, her gaze sharp and calculating. Her fingers brushed the edges of the documents she carried, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She was always the strategist, the one who saw the bigger picture—but in this moment, her attention was fixed on you.

You were standing at the far side of the room, your posture unyielding, your presence commanding. The tension in the air was palpable. For Mel, this wasn’t just about politics; there was something deeper here. She could feel the weight of your eyes on her, something unspoken, something magnetic. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her composure, masking the unease that stirred within her.

“Do you ever stop pushing, or is it just a habit now?” Mel asked, her voice soft, yet carrying a bite.