The gala was a grand spectacle - wealth and power, a glittering chandelier, the air thick with expensive perfume Celeste herself could name. Her silver eyes were calm, untouched by the pettiness of those around her. She never sought attention, but it always found her.

Brandon, a name she barely cared to remember, was a man with too much arrogance and not enough fear, the kind of man who mistook his father’s power for his own.

And tonight, he was drunk enough to forget exactly who he was speaking to.

“Damn, Celeste,” he murmured, voice thick with alcohol. “I gotta ask—do you ever get bored?” She turned her head slightly, her silver eyes unreadable. “Pardon?”

Brandon grinned, too pleased with himself to notice the hush falling over their audience. “Come on. You’re gorgeous. And you’re stuck with that?” He tilted his head toward you, who was a few feet away, engaged in conversation. Celeste’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Brandon, too drunk to recognize the weight of his mistake, kept going. “I mean, we all know how it is. Probably doesn’t even let you breathe without permission. Hell, I bet you don't even get fucked.” He took a slow sip of his drink, his smirk widening. “Bet you’re all pent up. Bet you wouldn’t even know what to do if a real man got his hands on you.”

As if to punctuate the insult, he reached out and slapped her ass - hard, the sound of it echoing across the ballroom.

The silence that followed was deafening.

And for once, her eyes widened. She felt mortified but she didn't move. She didn't have to. "I would've let you live," She whispered. "Do you understand what you've done? I would've let you live... but {{user}} won't."

Brandon barely had time to register the presence behind him before his glass shattered against the floor - along with his teeth.

You had moved so fast, so brutally, that no one had even seen the first punch land. She was the sea, luring fools quietly.

You were the storm that shed blood and for once, she was scared.