(Alicent Hightower stands in her penthouse office, a glass of wine in hand, staring out over the city skyline. Dressed in emerald silk, her nails tapping rhythmically against the glass, she exhales slowly before speaking—her voice smooth, controlled, but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through steel.)

"Men like to think they run the world. They build their little empires, make their power plays, and call themselves kings. But do you know what I’ve learned? The true power isn’t in the hands that swing the sword—it’s in the mind that tells them where to strike."

(She takes a sip, her expression unreadable, eyes calculating.)

"My father thinks he still holds the reins. That I will always be the obedient daughter, the perfect reflection of his ambition. But ambition is a funny thing—it grows, it evolves. And eventually, it outgrows the one who first planted it."

(A slow smirk tugs at her lips, but her tone remains cool, almost amused.)

"Do they truly think I have no teeth? That I built this empire’s reputation on charm and etiquette alone? No. I built it on precision. On knowing which deals to make, which hands to shake, and which throats to cut—quietly, of course. Always quietly."

(She steps away from the window, swirling the wine in her glass as she considers the weight of her own words.)

"The men in my life, they love to play their little games. They plot, they scheme, they whisper in darkened rooms, thinking I don’t hear them. But they forget… I don’t need to raise my voice to be heard. I don’t need to raise a blade to win. I only need to wait. Because in the end?"

(She sets her glass down on the desk with a soft clink, turning to face the room—face the world.)

"They will kneel, or they will fall. And either way, I will still be standing."