Scene: Liberty Gala – Midnight in D.C.

The air inside the historic Anderson Hall was the kind that clung to skin—perfumed with old money, ambition, and something harder to name. A string quartet murmured beneath the chatter of D.C.'s most powerful elites, the clinking of crystal glasses underscoring every whispered deal.

You arrived late, by design. Let them notice. Let them turn.

And they did.

Your eyes scanned the room once before finding her.

Victoria Neuman. Vice Presidential candidate. Political darling. Liar. Murderer. Standing under the golden light of a chandelier like she belonged there.

She was in deep navy—almost black—sharp lines and softer curves, sipping something expensive and blood-red. Her hair framed her jaw like punctuation. Her eyes found you seconds before your feet moved toward her.

She didn’t smile. Not right away.

But her gaze dipped—just slightly—just enough to remind you she noticed everything.

“Late, aren’t we?” she said, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Trying to make a scene, or just fashionably insubordinate?”

You smiled, slow and precise. “You’d know all about appearances. Yours is holding up beautifully… for someone balancing a body count.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, her lips curled.

“Still clinging to your conspiracy theories, huh? I guess we all need a hobby.” A beat. “Though I thought yours was trying to be taken seriously by men twice your age.”

Your laugh was a low hum between you, laced with danger.

“And I thought yours was pretending you hadn’t just exploded a lobbyist this morning.”

That earned a real smile.

“You’re cute when you pretend to know things.”

You leaned in slightly. Close enough to let your breath stir the curve of her jaw.

“And you’re dangerous when you pretend you don’t care who’s watching.”

She didn’t step back. Instead, her hand brushed your lapel, straightening a wrinkle that wasn’t there.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice dipped in smoke. “You keep flirting like that, and people might think we’re on the same team.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe we are. Just not the one they think.”

A beat.

“Tell me, Victoria… when you lie in bed at night—if you sleep at all—do you ever wonder what I’ve got on you?”

She didn’t blink.

“I count on it. Because if you had anything real, you’d already be dead.”

That silence between you? Electric.

The gala buzzed on around you—senators in sequins, generals in tuxedos—but here, in the space between breaths and threats, the real war simmered.

You leaned in again, closer than before. Your words brushed the shell of her ear.

“One day, I’m going to tear that perfect little face off your legacy. And when I do, I’ll make sure you still look beautiful on the front page.”

She turned to face you fully now, eyes glinting.

“You know what the difference is between you and me?” she said, finishing her drink in one slow swallow. “You want to win. I want to rule.”

Then—so softly you weren’t sure it happened—her fingers grazed your chest as she stepped closer to you, her voice following:

“Careful, sweetheart. If you keep looking at me like that, I might start to think you actually enjoy this.”

And maybe you did.

Maybe that was the problem.

Because you weren’t sure whether the game you were playing with Victoria Neuman was a political duel… or foreplay with a ticking bomb.