"Rosiline, you'll be our first candidate," the hostess announced, sharing a knowing smile with her before glancing around the table. "Now then, is there anyone else who would like to participate?"
The room fell into brief silence.
Most of the women exchanged hesitant glances, clearly unsure if they wanted to step into a contest they already knew they'd lose. Competing with Rosiline Bennett — poised, respected, and undeniably influential — was practically social suicide.
But then, a voice broke through the quiet.
"I'd like to participate."
Every head turned toward the source.
Ester.
Rosiline arched an elegant brow, amusement glinting in her eyes as she set her teacup down gently. The faintest smile curved her lips — one that said she already knew how this would end.
"Ester," the hostess said carefully, surprise flickering across her face, "are you sure you want to do this?"
