Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Sofia Vasilieva]

Sofia Vasilieva

The dancing was perfunctory, but it was his favour bestowed in view of everyone here that mattered. Clandestine rumour tied the Ascendancy to the American politician Evelyn Avalon, and while she didn’t know the truth of it, if Brandon ever chose marriage it was always going to be a political arrangement – something that brought something significant to the Custody’s table. 

And Sofia had zero interest in ever being relegated to a powerful man’s mistress.

The conversation was polite. He was distant, which was acceptable, but also seemed on the edge of distraction, which flamed her chest with something less tolerant. Ultimately, though, she played the part, as did he. When he released her, Sofia’s first thought was to seek Colette, but the sharpness of her gaze found another trajectory entirely. Calculation spun behind her eyes as she watched the path Brandon took. Dmitri was oblivious to the look he received, but Sofia was not.

He still had his hands on Noémi’s hips, though the music had ended, paused in anticipation of the guests gathering for the Ascandancy’s announcement. His head was bowed, pressed close to her as though in lover’s intimacy. Even at this distance Sofia could see the soft obsession in his gaze. Her attention landed hard on the whore who courted his affections, only to see Noémi slip backwards, extricating herself from the embrace and turning to weave deftly against the tide of people.

After a moment in which his expression flickered in abject hurt, her brother stalked less elegantly after her.

Sofia caught Dima by the arm as he passed. It looked pleasant enough, but her nails dug deep into the skin. “The fuck are you doing?” she hissed. “And what the fuck is she doing here?”

“She came back,” was all he said, somewhere between pain and possession. Then Grisha was there, sans mask and jacket and bowtie, his shirtsleeves pressed up over his tattooed arms. He gave a lazy smile, but there was a spike of worry in the glaze of his eyes as he wrapped his arm around Dima’s neck to pull him away. He whispered something in his ear, which Dima didn’t seem particularly keen to listen to.

“Don’t, Sofka,” was all he said to her. It was more plea than warning. Sofia’s eyes narrowed, but around them the chimes were sounding, and she couldn’t be absent. Not yet anyway.

[Lore]

[[continued from here]]

Lore Dearborn

Her heart was a little unsteady. Not because she was unused to grandeur, but because the moment was so big. She’d rather give a presentation to an auditorium full of people than something so nebulous as carry a conversation at a party, mostly because the things others usually seemed to want to talk about at these events were so frightfully dull. Give Lore something interesting, though, and she could talk all night.

Their arrival was timed to perfection, though Lore expected no less of her own efficiency. Punctuality was important, and she had put a great deal of effort into making sure this evening ran flawlessly.

As they entered the speech was in motion, all eyes on the grand staircase from which the Ascendancy spoke. She blinked a little in awe for the first moment she saw him in the flesh. Then, when Damien’s name was revealed, she half glanced over her shoulder, expecting that he might somehow materialise to ruin all her plans. But he was conspicuously absent.

Finally came the announcement of the new Dominance’s Privilege. Lore felt her heart swell with pride, knowing how hard Jessika had worked for this moment. “You look amazing, enjoy it,” she whispered to her, as the moment came for her to ascend. Lore joined the rise of applause, smiling radiantly – glad to stay behind, unnoticed.

[Jaxen Marveet]

 

Cyrena & Tarik Marveet

Tarik returned to the party with his nerves dulled and his mood significantly improved, thanks to whatever Guillaume had slipped him. He’d made a vague promise to meet up with the Volthstrom heir at some unspecified point in the future—what for, he wasn’t sure. But keeping a Volthstrom in his back pocket was simply good strategy. He doubted anyone at this glitzy charade of a party had any idea that the heir to the infamous family was walking among them, utterly anonymous. That little nugget of knowledge alone had been worth enduring the endless speeches and forced pleasantries.

Spotting Cyrena, he sauntered over to her and claimed a spot within easy sight of their father. Not close enough to attract his attention, but not too far to suggest they were hiding. A perfect balance—just the right level of filial respect to keep the old man appeased.

As the announcement of their father’s appointment was met with applause, Tarik and Cyrena joined in, their claps slow and laced with a shared sense of amusement. The kind that only siblings with years of navigating their father’s ego could pull off.

“He’ll be insufferable now,” Cyrena muttered under her breath, her tone flat but her smirk betraying her irritation.

Tarik chuckled, leaning just close enough to nudge her shoulder. “Now? As opposed to what, yesterday?”

She snorted, but before she could respond, Tarik’s attention shifted. Across the room, standing near their father, was a figure that caught his eye. The woman was pretty, almost absurdly young to hold a position as significant as Privilege. Her polished presence practically screamed ambition, and yet, the subtle tension in her posture hinted at someone keenly aware of the sharks circling her.

“Who the hell is Jessika Thrice?” Tarik asked, leaning toward Cyrena. His tone carried the sharp curiosity of someone who wasn’t just asking for information, but already working angles in his head.

Cyrena turned her head sharply, her annoyance flashing as if it physically pained her to explain. “Don’t you pay attention to anything in American politics?”

“What the hell for?” Tarik countered, his expression one of mock incredulity.

Cyrena rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “She’s the president—or whatever they call it—of that cowboy state.”

“California?” Tarik asked, half-impressed.

Cyrena gave him a look so scathing it could’ve peeled paint off the walls. “California?! Who the hell calls California the cowboy state?”

Tarik shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, in the movies, the cowboys are in California. The Old West. California is in the west.” He gestured with his hands as if that made his logic infallible.

Cyrena groaned, rubbing her temples. “No, dumbass. Texas. She was over Texas.” Her tone had shifted to one of absolute disdain, and Tarik could practically see her filing Jessika into her mental list of people to hate on principle.

“Texas,” Tarik echoed, nodding slowly as if that somehow explained everything. His gaze drifted back to Jessika, already working on ways to unravel the mystery. “So she went from running Texas to Privilege? That’s quite the jump.”[/color]

Cyrena scoffed. “Probably kissed all the right asses along the way.” She crossed her arms tighter, her expression set in irritation as she studied Jessika from a distance.

“Either way,” Tarik said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “She’s interesting.”

Cyrena’s head whipped toward him, her brow furrowing. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re about to go all ‘strategic alliance’ on her. You’ve got that look.”

Tarik smirked, unrepentant. “What look?”

“The one where you think you can charm your way into something you have no business getting involved in,” she snapped, her tone equal parts exasperated and knowing.

He leaned back, his hands sliding into his pockets as his gaze lingered on Jessika. “She’s young, ambitious, probably drowning in sharks right now. She’ll need someone who can keep her afloat.” His smirk widened. “And I can think of no better lifeguard than me.”

Cyrena let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” Tarik replied with a shrug. “But she’s not in the Sphere because she’s stupid. If she’s already managed to climb this far, then there’s a story there. A story I’d like to know.”

“And then what?” Cyrena challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ll make her your new best friend?”

“Maybe,” he said, flashing her a grin. “Or maybe she’ll make a better lay than an enemy.”

[Colette Moreau]

As the first soft chimes rang through the air, delicate and commanding, Colette stiffened in Carter’s embrace. Her head turned sharply toward the staircase where the Ascendancy was beginning to ascend, the faint flicker of the chandeliers casting a golden sheen over the room.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly, her voice tight, as though the weight of the announcement had already settled on her shoulders. She stepped back, slipping out of Carter’s arms with a kind of urgency that bordered on desperation.

“Colette—” Carter began, but she cut him off with a look, one that carried both warning and frustration.

“Not now,” she hissed, low enough that no one else could hear. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, her heart pounding. She didn’t look back, hoping—praying—that Carter would take the hint and leave. But she knew better than to hope too much. He was so stubborn! So cute, but so damn stubborn!

Carter lingered in a corner of the room, his pale eyes following her like a hawk locked onto its prey. He leaned casually against a pillar, pretending not to exist, but his attention was razor-sharp. He watched the way Colette moved through the crowd, her steps quick and purposeful, her head held high. She was trying to lose him in the sea of masked faces, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He folded his arms, biding his time, his focus unwavering. Whatever she was running from—or toward—he intended to find out.

Colette pushed through the throng of guests, searching for Sofia. Her friend wasn’t hard to spot with that effortless poise she always carried. Colette joined her, grateful for the buffer of Sofia’s presence as the guests settled into a quiet hush. She glanced toward the staircase, where Nikolai Brandon, the Ascendancy himself, stood above the room like a king addressing his court.

The air felt heavy, almost electric, as the announcement began. Colette listened with a mix of discomfort and awe, her gaze flicking between Nikolai and the crowd. The way people hung on his every word, the way they looked at him with something like reverence—it unsettled her. This was a kind of government she had never truly understood, one where a single man held absolute power, and yet… everyone seemed to love him for it. The way he spoke, the way he commanded the room, it was impossible to ignore.

She couldn’t help but think of Evelyn. Evelyn would have had something clever to say about all this. Something insightful. Colette wished she were here, standing beside her, giving her the confidence to make sense of what she was feeling. This wasn’t just a party or a simple announcement—it was a display of power, one that felt utterly foreign and yet strangely magnetic.

When Valentin Sulteev’s retirement was announced, Colette clapped politely, though the gravity of the moment wasn’t lost on her. The changing of the Privilege of Dominance I was a reminder of how tightly controlled this world was. A single man had the authority to appoint successors to positions of incredible power, and no one questioned it. No campaigns, no debates, no votes—just the Ascendancy’s declaration. The efficiency of it was awe-inspiring, but it also left a knot in her stomach. This was a far cry from the politics she knew, where decisions were fought for tooth and nail, often to the detriment of everyone involved.

But it was the second announcement that left her breathless.

Jessika Thrice.

The name landed like a thunderclap in Colette’s mind. Her chest tightened as she clapped again, this time more out of reflex than intention. The name Jessika Thrice was impossible to ignore. Colette had followed the news of the Texas succession with rapt attention, watching as shockwaves from the event rippled across the United States. Jessika’s leadership in the breakaway state had been nothing short of monumental, and now, here she was, stepping into the Custody’s inner circle.

Colette’s mind raced. Her family had yet to declare any official stance on Texas’ independence, carefully waiting to see how the chips would fall before committing to either side. It was a strategy, of course, one that allowed them to remain flexible in the volatile political climate. But standing here now, seeing Jessika welcomed into the Custody’s Sphere, Colette couldn’t help but feel the shifting tides. The future of the United States was in jeopardy, and if the Custody’s influence continued to grow, it wouldn’t just be Texas. It would be everything. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this conflict inside.

Her gaze drifted back to Nikolai. This was the winning side. She could see it now, clearer than ever. It must have been what Evelyn saw, too. If she wanted to get anything done—if she wanted to truly make her mark—she would need to choose her alliances carefully. The Ascendancy’s power was absolute, and those who aligned with him rose to greatness. Jessika’s presence was proof enough of that. Evelyn’s loyalty was proof enough.

Still, the thought left her uneasy. Colette wasn’t used to power that didn’t come with checks and balances. But perhaps she would have to learn.