Cate had seen the world bend for her. Presidents paused meetings, cameras followed her every breath, and Vought itself moved like an empire beneath her heels. Power was the air she breathed—clean, cold, intoxicating. Nothing surprised her anymore. Not money. Not beauty. Not even fear.

Until her.

The bar was small, tucked between the tower and the city’s veins of neon and noise. Cate didn’t belong there—too many wood panels, too much laughter, not enough control. But she’d walked in anyway, her stilettos tapping against the sticky floor as if daring someone to recognize her. Most did. Heads turned. Phones lifted. And still, Cate only saw one thing: a girl behind the counter who didn’t even flinch.

{{user}} wiped down a glass, bored, calm, perfectly unshaken. No fake smile. No fawning. Just a quiet hum under her breath and the sound of her rag dragging over the counter.

Cate watched her for a long time before speaking. “You’re not going to ask for a picture?”

{{user}} glanced up, expression flat but polite. “You’re here for a drink, right? Not an interview.”

Cate blinked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You know who I am, though.”

“I know who everyone thinks you are,” {{user}} said, sliding a napkin across the counter. “Doesn’t mean I care.”

Cate’s chest tightened—an unfamiliar, exhilarating pressure. “You should,” she murmured, voice low, amused. “People usually do.”

{{user}} shrugged. “People usually don’t tip, either.”

That made Cate laugh. A real one. Soft, startled, genuine. She hadn’t laughed like that in years.

She stayed longer than she meant to. Ordered a drink she didn’t finish. Watched {{user}} move—quick, practiced, unfazed by the chaos of the crowd. Every time someone called her name, {{user}} didn’t look up. Every time someone brushed too close, she just sidestepped, unbothered.

Cate should’ve left hours ago. Instead, she found herself lingering at the bar, chin resting in her hand, eyes tracing {{user}}’s movements with the kind of focus she usually reserved for boardrooms.

“Do I have something on my face, or are you planning to stare all night?” {{user}} teased when she caught her.

Cate smirked. “Maybe both.”

{{user}} rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You don’t seem like the bar type.”

“I’m not,” Cate admitted. “But I think I might start coming around.”

“Why?”

Cate leaned in, her voice dipping into something dangerously sincere. “Because for the first time in a long time, someone looked at me like I’m just… me.”

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard, then quickly turned back to the counter, pretending to clean another glass. “You should probably stop saying things like that,” she muttered. “You’ll scare me off.”

Cate smiled, slow and certain, already knowing she wouldn’t. “Somehow,” she said, standing, slipping a black card onto the counter, “I don’t think I could scare you if I tried.”

And when {{user}} finally glanced up again, Cate was already at the door, turning just enough to meet her gaze one last time. The CEO of Vought—untouchable, ruthless, and adored by millions—looked at a bartender like she’d just seen God for the first time.