01-19-2025, 02:34 PM
Colette hesitated over an answer. Sofia watched the minute signs of her fluster like a shark monitoring a smaller fish’s attempt to evade its hungry jaws. By the swivel of her head it was not difficult to discern an attachment still remained between Colette and the man who’d claimed her attention on the dancefloor – not least because of the gentle flush which presently suffused Colette’s cheeks when she looked across at him.
Sofia’s stare was as hard as the diamonds on her mask, but if the anger radiated in almost palpable waves it was not at Colette. It was for her.
It was painfully clear that the woman had terrible taste in men, something that must be remedied now she was in Sofia’s inner circle. A persistent ex might be a compliment to her charms, something to gossip and laugh about, but if Colette had told him the relationship was over, then it was simply over. It was more than that though. Sofia’s upbringing had been one of privilege and excess, but also one that endeavoured to categorise her: mother or whore, its all women were supposed to be when they stopped being daughters, and it was the men in their lives who cast the judgement. Sofia fought against the label of either with tooth and claw, but she had a particular distaste for the aspersions of the latter. Though both implied a woman’s worth and power only amounted to one thing: what was between her thighs.
Men were predictable. Even the ambitious ones were led by their dicks. It seemed even the fucking Ascendancy had a woman wrapping him round her fingers – a whore cast aside to the shadows because he’d never share that power. Colette was more than whatever that man saw when he looked at her, more than whatever arbitrary claim he thought he’d laid. And if Colette was too weak to make that "no" heard, well… Sofia had no such reservations.
She turned her attention briefly to Carter over the mill of guests, but the look was dismissive.
“He isn’t worth your time. And you won’t make it anywhere in Moscow fawning after such men, Colette.” The warning was gentle, made in such a way it might easily have encompassed either of her suitors – Carter or Adrian. It was not said without empathy, but neither was Sofia seeking permission for what she did next. She raised a toned arm to click her fingers, held it there a moment before a return to poise. Family security was not obvious, but the Vasilievs made their money a certain way, so it was always present. Every movement was watched, every whim catered for. And after all, Sofia Vasilieva was Konstantin’s baby daughter, the most doted of them all.
Across the ballroom her eyes moved to brush against Pavel’s, where he stood surrounded by a sea of suits. She knew he would have noticed the gesture. He returned her look with a tight frown.
The man who presently attended them appeared as any other guest; smart tuxedo, simple mask, and he came bearing two refills of drinks in delicate crystal flutes, as though that was all the finger click had so elegantly demanded. Sofia took hers with the barest curve of a smile. “That man over by the pillar, he wasn’t invited, and he has been bothering my friend. Tell Pasha to have him removed – and Viktor, make certain he regrets the audacity.”
She looked at Colette as she spoke, not at Viktor. A reminder of who she was, of who the Vasilievs were, and perhaps to see if Colette protested. She should not have told Sofia otherwise. The gesture was a gift, the barest promise of Sofia’s ferocious friendship. A Volthström wasn’t a nobody, and he would not take kindly to the embarrassment, but anyone Colette was discontent with Sofia would defend her from. Even when she would not defend herself.
There was no acknowledgement of the command as Viktor slipped away. Sofia didn’t watch him go.
“Do you anticipate a scene? My darling Colette, it might be best to tuck yourself away in case he embarrasses himself.” She watched for Colette’s reaction, to see whether her friend relished the idea or recoiled from it. Then she turned slightly, allowing a better view of Adrian and Zixin’s distant tête-à-tête. It didn’t go unremarked, considering the currents of conflict she had perceived at their introduction. But for now it was the least of her interests. She imagined Colette would flee obediently to her date. But she ought to consider Sofia’s warnings about fawning as she did so.
For a moment she paused to look Zixin up and down across the distance herself. His blatant attempt at charming Jessika Thrice right under her nose when he’d been welcomed here on her arm would not be forgotten. But the public rejection diminished his appeal too – she had no intention of returning to his side unless he sought her out. Let him feel the cool side of Moscow’s disfavour. She’d been prepared to play nice – she still was – but it wasn’t the only way to get what she wanted from him. Just the easiest.
Her sharp glance moved to assess this new Privilege of an entirely new Dominance. That required calculation, but ultimately Jessika would need to understand her place in Moscow. It wasn’t where Sofia intended to go first, though.
“I have some things I need to attend to, if you will be okay?”
Sofia’s stare was as hard as the diamonds on her mask, but if the anger radiated in almost palpable waves it was not at Colette. It was for her.
It was painfully clear that the woman had terrible taste in men, something that must be remedied now she was in Sofia’s inner circle. A persistent ex might be a compliment to her charms, something to gossip and laugh about, but if Colette had told him the relationship was over, then it was simply over. It was more than that though. Sofia’s upbringing had been one of privilege and excess, but also one that endeavoured to categorise her: mother or whore, its all women were supposed to be when they stopped being daughters, and it was the men in their lives who cast the judgement. Sofia fought against the label of either with tooth and claw, but she had a particular distaste for the aspersions of the latter. Though both implied a woman’s worth and power only amounted to one thing: what was between her thighs.
Men were predictable. Even the ambitious ones were led by their dicks. It seemed even the fucking Ascendancy had a woman wrapping him round her fingers – a whore cast aside to the shadows because he’d never share that power. Colette was more than whatever that man saw when he looked at her, more than whatever arbitrary claim he thought he’d laid. And if Colette was too weak to make that "no" heard, well… Sofia had no such reservations.
She turned her attention briefly to Carter over the mill of guests, but the look was dismissive.
“He isn’t worth your time. And you won’t make it anywhere in Moscow fawning after such men, Colette.” The warning was gentle, made in such a way it might easily have encompassed either of her suitors – Carter or Adrian. It was not said without empathy, but neither was Sofia seeking permission for what she did next. She raised a toned arm to click her fingers, held it there a moment before a return to poise. Family security was not obvious, but the Vasilievs made their money a certain way, so it was always present. Every movement was watched, every whim catered for. And after all, Sofia Vasilieva was Konstantin’s baby daughter, the most doted of them all.
Across the ballroom her eyes moved to brush against Pavel’s, where he stood surrounded by a sea of suits. She knew he would have noticed the gesture. He returned her look with a tight frown.
The man who presently attended them appeared as any other guest; smart tuxedo, simple mask, and he came bearing two refills of drinks in delicate crystal flutes, as though that was all the finger click had so elegantly demanded. Sofia took hers with the barest curve of a smile. “That man over by the pillar, he wasn’t invited, and he has been bothering my friend. Tell Pasha to have him removed – and Viktor, make certain he regrets the audacity.”
She looked at Colette as she spoke, not at Viktor. A reminder of who she was, of who the Vasilievs were, and perhaps to see if Colette protested. She should not have told Sofia otherwise. The gesture was a gift, the barest promise of Sofia’s ferocious friendship. A Volthström wasn’t a nobody, and he would not take kindly to the embarrassment, but anyone Colette was discontent with Sofia would defend her from. Even when she would not defend herself.
There was no acknowledgement of the command as Viktor slipped away. Sofia didn’t watch him go.
“Do you anticipate a scene? My darling Colette, it might be best to tuck yourself away in case he embarrasses himself.” She watched for Colette’s reaction, to see whether her friend relished the idea or recoiled from it. Then she turned slightly, allowing a better view of Adrian and Zixin’s distant tête-à-tête. It didn’t go unremarked, considering the currents of conflict she had perceived at their introduction. But for now it was the least of her interests. She imagined Colette would flee obediently to her date. But she ought to consider Sofia’s warnings about fawning as she did so.
For a moment she paused to look Zixin up and down across the distance herself. His blatant attempt at charming Jessika Thrice right under her nose when he’d been welcomed here on her arm would not be forgotten. But the public rejection diminished his appeal too – she had no intention of returning to his side unless he sought her out. Let him feel the cool side of Moscow’s disfavour. She’d been prepared to play nice – she still was – but it wasn’t the only way to get what she wanted from him. Just the easiest.
Her sharp glance moved to assess this new Privilege of an entirely new Dominance. That required calculation, but ultimately Jessika would need to understand her place in Moscow. It wasn’t where Sofia intended to go first, though.
“I have some things I need to attend to, if you will be okay?”
![[Image: vasiliev--scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/vasiliev--scaled.jpg)