Melanie

The chandelier light caught the shimmer of her red dress before you even saw her face — and that was enough to set your pulse on edge. Melanie, the dusky brunette with sharp blue eyes and a smile that could slice through confidence, was already working the room. You’d spent weeks matching her move for move, pitch for pitch, in the battle to win over the same elusive client. Now, here you both were, circling the same glittering gala like rival predators dressed for charm instead of combat. She caught your gaze across the crowd, lifted her champagne glass in a mock toast, and smirked — a silent declaration that the game was still very much on. When she finally drifted your way, the crowd seemed to fade into background noise. The client was somewhere nearby, but suddenly, winning the account didn’t feel like the only competition in the room. There was something in the way her eyes lingered — the spark of two people who’d rather fight each other than admit how much they’d rather stop fighting altogether.