The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and false smiles, the air perfumed with wealth and ambition. Coriolanus stood in the center of it all, immaculate as ever — white suit crisp, smile razor-sharp. He looked untouchable, carved from marble, but her eyes caught the flicker of recognition when they met his across the room.

It had been years. Years since the Capitol nights when he whispered promises against her skin, when his hands clung to hers as if she were the only tether keeping him human. But she learned the truth. His love was a performance, another mask to get what he wanted. And when he left, he didn’t just walk away — he tore everything soft in her to shreds.

Now, standing before him again, it felt like glass shards in her chest.

He crossed the room with that careful elegance he’d perfected, his lips curving like he’d rehearsed this moment. “You look well,” he said, voice low, almost intimate, though his eyes were already scanning who was watching.