Claire suddenly leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Listen," she started, her tone sharper now. "I don't know what game you're playing, but let me give you some advice. This world? It's not for everyone. It's dangerous. People like you don't last long."
The woman's expression didn't change. She reached for another cigarette, lighting it with a flick of her lighter. "People like me?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean people who weren't handed a front-row seat to the show?"
Claire clenched her fist. "You don't know the first thing about me."
"Maybe," the woman said, blowing out a puff of smoke. "But I know your type. You think because you've been 'married' to Lucas for over a year, you've seen it all. You've been to a few fancy parties, witnessed a few power plays, and now you think you've got this world figured out."
Claire's fingers curled around her whiskey glass. "And what about you? You think you're different?"
She leaned forward this time, the cigarette balanced between her fingers. "I don't think, Claire. I know. You've had Lucas to protect you. Me? I've had to survive on my own. You don't get to where I am without learning how to play dirty. So spare me the lecture."
For a moment, Claire didn't say anything. Her mind raced, trying to read between the lines. There was something about her, a hardness beneath the polished surface, like someone who had seen far more than she let on.
She stood, smoothing her robe as she did. She walked past Claire, pausing just long enough to murmur, "Sit back and enjoy the show."
Before Claire could respond, she flicked her cigarette into Claire's whiskey glass. It landed with a soft hiss, the amber liquid bubbling around the stub.
Claire sat there, staring at the glass as her footsteps faded down the hall.
"Game on," Claire muttered under her breath, her lips forming into a cold smile.