POV: First Lady Illara Voss
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She slammed the door shut behind her, her hands shaking as she clutched her chest.
The marble walls blurred as tears welled in her eyes.
"Stupid, stupid!" she whispered harshly, pacing like a trapped animal.
One glass. One damn glass.
Now the entire Republic might be branded reckless, or worse—disrespectful to the Blackwood Empire.
She could still feel the weight of Amara's eyes on her.
Cold. Calm. Calculating.
"God help us…" she muttered.
The door opened.
Her husband, President Darn Vox, entered, red-faced and breathless.
"What the hell was that, Illara?!"
"I didn't mean it!" she snapped back. "My hand slipped. I was nervous, alright?! You didn't see the way he was looking at me like—like he already knew something bad would happen!"
Darn rubbed his face. "You think Amara's going to just let this go? That woman is an empire in heels. And Chris? That man speaks in mercy but moves in fire."
He grabbed her shoulders. "You have any idea what you could've just triggered? We've been trying to get this alliance for years. Now it's on thin ice because of a glass of wine?"
Illara bit her lip, then leaned into him and started sobbing. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
Darn held her, but his eyes stared coldly over her shoulder.
"They said this was going to be the greatest welcome in Darnova's history," he whispered. "If we're not careful, it'll be the last one too."
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MEANWHILE — INSIDE THE IMPERIAL GUEST SUITE
POV: Amara Blackwood
Chris stood shirtless by the window as Amara gently wiped the remaining wine from his chest with a silk cloth.
"Accident?" she asked.
Chris exhaled slowly. "I saw the tremor in her hand before the glass tipped. She's not bold… just afraid."
"And sloppy."
Chris glanced at her. "She fears me. But she fears you more."
Amara smiled faintly. "Good. It's not me they should worry about. It's what I'll do when they cross you."
She tossed the stained cloth aside.
Chris smirked. "Prepare the Darnova press team for a photo. Make it light-hearted. We'll say the First Lady was too excited to meet me."
"Public grace…" Amara whispered, brushing his collar straight, "…private vengeance?"
Chris gave her that Blackwood grin.
"Exactly."
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