Delva's family gala was streaming to over forty-five elite channels worldwide.
Royal families. Global tech CEOs. Silent assassins. Even retired gods of the underground tuned in.
Everyone came to see the heiress in red flaunt her dynasty's wealth.
And everyone came to see what she'd wear.
But tonight…
They saw Yirenda instead.
The moment Delva stepped onto the golden stage, hands lifted to toast—
The feed glitched.
A low hum rang through the gala hall.
The lights dimmed.
And then—
The screen behind Delva lit up.
Yirenda's face.
A slow smile played on her lips, black diamonds glinting from her ears.
"Since you enjoy filming me without permission," she purred, "I thought I'd return the favor."
Then—
The video played.
Not the whole encounter. No nudity. But just enough:
Yirenda pressed to the sniper's chest.
His bruised lips. Her legs curled around his waist.
The moan that silenced a room full of the world's most powerful people.
Gasps.
Silence.
Delva stood frozen. Her lips trembled. Her father's face turned to stone.
In the Shadows
The sniper watched the stream in a locked room, hand in his hair, eyes dark.
"You're burning the world," he whispered.
"And yet…" Cipher replied in his ear,
"…you still want to be burned by her."
Back at the gala…
Delva ran. Her heels snapped. Her image shattered.
And Yirenda?
She shut the stream with a final word:
"Next time, don't watch me. Worship me."
Later that night, Yirenda stood on her balcony overlooking the city skyline.
Her phone buzzed.
From: Unknown
"That was suicide."
She typed back.
"No. That was war."
"Then you'll need me."
She smiled at the sniper's arrogance.
"No. You'll need me."
[Cipher Alert: Public favor +67% — Fear factor rising]
[Delva's father files for silence treaty. Request: Negotiation.]
She didn't respond.
Because queens didn't negotiate.
They reigned.