04-16-2025, 11:30 AM
Cyrena showed not an ounce of discomfort, let alone pain. Sofia’s lips were pressed into a faint smile, the cat-like roam of her gaze more than content with the subtle show. Because it was costing her greatly, that mask of indifference, and Sofia enjoyed the stretch of every single second the other woman fought to endure and maintain her dignity. She felt no shame for her cruelty. It had been foolish of Cyrena to associate with Colette’s ex. Even more foolish to try and claim the man who came here on Sofia’s arm. Though it wasn’t quite jealousy that spurred her; frankly Zixin did nothing to earn that from her. It was about power.
“Your tongue is viperous, darling.” Sofia’s laugh chimed like bells, amused but ultimately dismissive. Her tone suggested a condescending forgiveness.
She knew she had won. It was a sweet victory, but she had more to accomplish tonight than putting Scion’s slutty daughter in her place, so when Cyrena shifted to negotiate her exit Sofia was prepared to let her make her shameful retreat. It would stay with Cyrena for far longer than Sofia would deign to linger on it.
Instead her gaze flattened into calculation as Zixin made his timely interruption. She might be prepared to punish those who tried to turn his eye tonight, but it didn’t make him any less culpable in the offence. Sofia cared about the optics, perhaps more than she cared about the truth, and Zixin made a poor mistake fluttering around Thrice in a ballroom full of Moscow’s most influential. Fortunately for him, undermining him was not part of the reason she had invited him tonight – which did not mean she did not at least picture the satisfaction of rejecting him then.
She wasn’t remotely surprised at the choice he made, and if he offered himself up like a prize, she was prepared to accept only because it suited her. So she took his hand, let him control their entrance to the dancefloor.
“I only crush with intention,” she corrected in afterthought to him after Cyrena sloped off. The threat was tame; factual. The glitter in her eyes was as hard as the diamonds of her mask. She absolutely could and would crush Zixin if he gave her reason to, but that had never been in doubt for either of them since the night on the bridge. Cruelty softened her expression into self-satisfaction. “She would know.”
“Your tongue is viperous, darling.” Sofia’s laugh chimed like bells, amused but ultimately dismissive. Her tone suggested a condescending forgiveness.
She knew she had won. It was a sweet victory, but she had more to accomplish tonight than putting Scion’s slutty daughter in her place, so when Cyrena shifted to negotiate her exit Sofia was prepared to let her make her shameful retreat. It would stay with Cyrena for far longer than Sofia would deign to linger on it.
Instead her gaze flattened into calculation as Zixin made his timely interruption. She might be prepared to punish those who tried to turn his eye tonight, but it didn’t make him any less culpable in the offence. Sofia cared about the optics, perhaps more than she cared about the truth, and Zixin made a poor mistake fluttering around Thrice in a ballroom full of Moscow’s most influential. Fortunately for him, undermining him was not part of the reason she had invited him tonight – which did not mean she did not at least picture the satisfaction of rejecting him then.
She wasn’t remotely surprised at the choice he made, and if he offered himself up like a prize, she was prepared to accept only because it suited her. So she took his hand, let him control their entrance to the dancefloor.
“I only crush with intention,” she corrected in afterthought to him after Cyrena sloped off. The threat was tame; factual. The glitter in her eyes was as hard as the diamonds of her mask. She absolutely could and would crush Zixin if he gave her reason to, but that had never been in doubt for either of them since the night on the bridge. Cruelty softened her expression into self-satisfaction. “She would know.”
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