The ballroom shimmered with elegance crystal chandeliers swaying gently above a sea of silk and ambition. Golden laughter clinked against champagne flutes, while the music whispered through the air like a secret. Politicians, billionaires, media titans all gathered in a room heavy with perfume and power.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
She entered
Not through the main hall, but through the terrace doors as if she hadn't come in to join the event, but to claim it.
~Bella Venom~
Her name wasn't announced. It didn't need to be. She wore a floor-length gown of obsidian velvet, cut with an asymmetrical slit high on one thigh, revealing sculpted legs wrapped in sheer black stockings. Her heels were stiletto daggers that made no sound, yet commanded the floor beneath her. She moved like smoke slow, deliberate, hypnotic.
Around her neck, a choker of black diamonds. Around her wrist, a white silk fan closed, embroidered with faint red roses. Not just a fan. A weapon. Everyone whispered about it.
Her expression was unreadable not cold, but untouchable. Chin slightly lifted, lips painted blood-wine, eyes lined with kohl that sharpened every glance into something that *cut.*
Men paused mid-sentence. Women glanced sideways. Even the string quartet missed a note.
She didn't smile. She didn't need to.
She moved past the crowd as if they weren't there. Not ignoring them, dismissing them. She was above the room and the room knew it.
She made her way to the head table. There was no place card, no invitation with her name. But when she arrived, the man seated at the center a real estate mogul with too much cologne and too little spine immediately stood and stepped aside.
She sat.
Crossed her legs.
Unfolded the fan slowly with a soft flutter that silenced nearby conversation.
Next to her sat a stranger. Or perhaps not.
~Kian Rivera~
Sharp jawline, midnight suit, watch worth more than some countries. He turned slightly, his eyes already on her not with fear or awe, but with curiosity. Dangerous curiosity.
"You don't look like someone who enjoys these kinds of events," he said, his tone light but probing.
Bella didn't answer at first. She scanned the room, gaze passing over champagne flutes and secret glances.
Then she replied, voice low and smooth. "That's because I don't. But I go where power gathers."
He smiled, amused. "Then I should be flattered you're sitting next to me."
She turned her head slowly. Their eyes met.
Her gaze was sharp as glass not hostile, not flirtatious, evaluating.
"That depends," she said softly. "Are you powerful… or just expensive?"
He chuckled a deep, surprised laugh. Most would've withered under her stare, but not him.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"Maybe I'm both. Or maybe I'm just here to figure out who you really are."
Bella tilted her head. Just slightly.
A smirk ghosted her lips not joy, but recognition. Amusement.
"Careful, Mr. Rivera. Curiosity kills more than cats."
He raised his glass to hers.
"And satisfaction brought them back."
For a moment, the corner of her mouth lifted half a smile, if you could call it that. But it passed as quickly as it came.
Her fingers curled around her champagne flute, eyes drifting back to the crowd.
"We'll see if you're worth the satisfaction."
And just like that
The room kept spinning. But a new game had begun.
And the Queen had taken her first move.
---
Elsewhere, beneath that very ballroom past the elevators and down into the bones of the building another world trembled.
The grand hall was silent, save for the soft drip… drip… drip of blood echoing from somewhere behind the velvet curtains. It wasn't loud. Just rhythmic. A chilling metronome.
Men in suits lined the walls, each of them armed, their fingers twitching near triggers, their gazes darting toward the silver elevator at the far end of the marble room.
They'd been summoned. And none of them knew why.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
And she stepped in.
-Bella Venom-
Draped in a black velvet gown that kissed the floor, her figure fluid and precise, she seemed less like a woman and more like a verdict. Her silk fan tonight was different deep blood-red, its folds embroidered with the white outline of a cobra mid-strike.
She didn't pause. She didn't blink.
And every man in the room stood still. Not from respect.
From fear.
Her eyes scanned past them, but she didn't look at them.
She didn't need to.
She spoke soft, slow, and venomous, her voice curling through the air like a knife draped in honey:
"I was told someone in this room forgot who owns their spine."
The room tensed like a noose being pulled tight.
Silence.
Then a man stepped forward. Trembling. His tailored navy suit couldn't hide the sweat at his collar.
"Q-Queen Bella, please, it was a mis.."
Snap
Her fan opened with a whisper that sounded like silk being unsheathed.
Before anyone could react, her hand flicked forward and the tip of one hidden blade within the fan sliced across the man's throat.
A clean, precise nick. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to sting.
Just enough to warn.
The man gasped and stumbled backward, pressing his hand to the shallow cut, eyes wide with disbelief.
Bella didn't spare him a glance.
She walked past him like he wasn't there.
Like he was beneath her notice.
The others bowed immediately. Not because they were loyal.
Because they were smart.
And because they wanted to keep their throats intact.
---