Alisa Meng stood in the center of the marble-floored hall, the soft hum of conversation swirling around her like distant music. The faint scent of expensive champagne mixed with the warmth of perfume and cologne, but none of it could mask the irritation burning quietly beneath her poised smile.
The scene replayed in her mind—Scarlett Rose walking past her with that calm, unbothered expression, wine glass in hand, her gaze steady, her presence commanding without even trying. There had been no fear in her eyes, no hesitation in her steps. The girl hadn't flinched, hadn't even bothered to acknowledge Alisa properly.
And worse, Nicolas Volkov had looked at her.
It was just a flicker—barely a second—but Alisa saw it. The faint lift of his eyes, the stillness in his hand as he held the glass, the unspoken curiosity that passed between him and that woman. For someone like Nicolas, who rarely spared a second glance at anyone, that was enough to make Alisa's blood simmer.
For years, she had been the center of attention. The Meng family was one of the oldest elite circles in Italy, fourth in the power hierarchy, and respected for their ties to the financial world. People bowed when she entered a room. Men sought her attention. Women envied her grace. Yet tonight, none of that mattered.
Because Scarlett Rose had stolen the attention that should have been hers.
Alisa's lips curved into a soft, practiced smile as she swirled the champagne in her glass. Outwardly, she was composed — the very image of refinement. But inside, her mind was already working. Calculating.
Joanna approached her nervously, glancing back toward the crowd that was still whispering about the confrontation. "Alisa… people are still talking about that scene. That girl—she humiliated me in front of everyone!"
Alisa turned her head slightly, her gaze sharp enough to make Joanna fall silent. "And whose fault was that?"
"I—I didn't expect her to—"
"She didn't even look at you," Alisa interrupted coolly. "That's what makes her dangerous."
Her eyes shifted toward Nicolas again. He was standing near the balcony now, the night breeze brushing against his dark hair, his expression unreadable. There was something distant about him — a cold elegance that both fascinated and frightened people. He spoke little, smiled even less.
And yet, that girl had made him look twice.
Alisa's grip on her glass tightened. She forced a light laugh, the sound soft but hollow. "Scarlett Rose," she murmured under her breath. "Interesting name for someone who doesn't know her place."
Joanna hesitated. "What… are you going to do?"
Alisa placed her glass down on the silver tray of a passing waiter and turned toward her friend. "Nothing… for now." Her tone was light, but her eyes gleamed with quiet malice. "Let her enjoy her little moment. I want to see how long she can survive here."
She stepped forward, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Her posture was perfect, her smile polite — but everyone who looked at her felt the faint shift in the air, the subtle tension that followed wherever she went.
No one dared to speak when Alisa passed. No one had ever challenged her before.
And yet tonight, one woman had.
Alisa paused near the entrance, her gaze lingering on Scarlett's retreating figure as she exited the hall. The soft light from the chandeliers reflected in her eyes — cold, determined, calculating.
"Scarlett Rose…" she whispered again, her voice barely audible beneath the music. "If you think you can take my place in this world, you're gravely mistaken."
She turned to Joanna, her tone smooth but dangerous. "Find out who she is. Everything. Where she lives, what she does, who she knows."
Joanna nodded quickly, fear flickering in her eyes. "I will."
Alisa smiled again, a perfect mask of charm. "Good. Because if she wants to play in my world, she should know…" she leaned closer, her perfume sharp and intoxicating, "there's always a price."
As the orchestra resumed its melody and the crowd's whispers softened into laughter again, Alisa walked away — graceful, composed, every step echoing with silent promise.
A storm was coming.
And Scarlett Rose had just lit the first spark.