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Her hands wrapped around the cup, the emerald hue of the vessel casting a mesmerizing glow upon the crimson liquid within. Amani lifted the cup to her lips as she took a deliberate sip, savoring the rich flavor of the red wine. The subtle bitterness danced on her tongue, making a small pleasured expression cross Amani’s features slightly. She had never been quite fond of bitter things, but she sure did enjoy the bitterness of red wine, as after all red wine was expensive and exclusivity often came with a hint of bitterness, a flavor Amani had grown accustomed to relishing. She often found herself drawn to the finer things in life, not just for their inherent luxury, but for the sense of superiority they afforded her and anyone who knew Amani, knew that she loved the feeling of superiority.
Born into the echelons of influence, Amani, the youngest daughter of formidable tycoons and esteemed practitioners of the arcane arts, had been nurtured amid an ambiance of privilege. It was an environment where superiority was not merely a birthright but an expectation, one she had seamlessly internalized. Yet, Amani’s sense of distinction was not solely owed to lineage; it was cultivated through diligence and ambition, qualities she wielded with as much finesse as her innate charm and striking allure, which had graced countless glossy covers since her youth. She would hate, of course, to give all the credit for her sense of superiority, for the way she was to her darling family whom she loved. For Amani had worked quite hard for that, to distinguish herself from her family and to make a name for herself, so no one could accuse her of getting everything ‘handed down to her’, sure a lot of her offers came from nepotism, but it also came from Amani’s brilliant mind and her overachieving personality that she wore with grace.
Education had always been a pursuit of excellence, a realm where she effortlessly ascended to preeminence. The perfect student, she used to be called by teachers, professors and educators as that. To them, she was a model student, quiet and poised in class, always paying attention, always doing her work and never getting less than a 99. But of course, outside of classes, Amani was never so quiet or poised, she was much more… how does she put it in words? Hmm bolder
The corners of her lips tugged at each other, as a smirk formed on her features, as she took a sip of her tinted emerald drink. Through her mask, and through narrow eyes, , a subtle furrow graced her brow, her lips forming a taut line of disdain. It was not aversion that she harbored toward the throng, but rather an indifference bordering on contempt. To say they vexed her would be an oversimplification; rather, she found herself indifferent to their presence, yearning for a conflagration to engulf the room, leaving her untouched amidst the chaos. It would be fun, after all, to watch all of them go up in flames, to scream for help, while she watches as each eligible ‘competition’ is wiped away from the face of earth. Then the next day, she would play the victim to the cameras, crocodile tears shall fall for her eyes as she would call every single one of them dear to her and how devastated she was by their deaths, knowing it was quite the opposite. Alas, such a thing cannot happen, for in this room, Amani still has friends. Friends, she did not wish to be harmed and competitions, that Amani did not want dead yet. For people who were even slightly her competition, it was not much but one gets the point, should live long enough to see her succeed even more and then die of bitterness.
Speaking of competition, Amani ears could not help but to recall what was said about Miles North had disappeared. Where to? No one knows, or at least the school phrased it as if they did not know and perhaps if Amani had cared for North even just a little, she might have inquired further. Yet, in Amani’s world, Miles North was but a muted thread—someone she acknowledged in passing but never invested her curiosity in. The disappearance of a fellow student, especially one as significant as Miles North, should have sparked intrigue or concern, but Amani’s thoughts remained ensnared in the web of her own ambitions. He was hot though, Amani wished they could have had something before he disappeared to only God knows where, if he was kidnapped, could they not have taken someone uglier? She mused, but still she wondered, if he had run away, what had been his reason and where did he go? Either way, it did not truly concern her, but it did make her feel a little uneasy.
Through her feathered masks, Amani continued to survey the room, wondering which one could be one of her friends. Where was Celestine? She had wondered, or Tae, Dante? Or Jesse- yes where was Jesse? She could have used a little help from him, before she came here, he always knew just how to ease her tension, in his own way. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see which of these masked people could be either of them. So many tacky gowns and suits, Amani mused, it was incredibly painful to her eyes, for she knew that they could do a lot better, but then again, not everyone was Amani Ditto Monet, because of course not everyone could rock what she was wearing.
Amani’s attire, a masterpiece of audacity and refinement, held the room captive with its avant-garde elegance. The gown, a cascade of midnight silk, clung to her form perfectly. The daring cut along the abdomen, revealed glimpses of the golden chains that adorned her midriff. Real gold, courtesy from her older sister who had traveled to dubai not so long ago, shimmered against her brown skin.
It was perfect she would say, perfect for her, and quite distinct from the masses. It was not one of those ugly prom dresses dupe that most people here seemed to rock, as if they had never been too fancy places, but then again they probably had not. Her lips wrapped a small part of the glass once more, as she took a sip, before dropping the drink down at a table close to her. She was about to get her phone from the small handbag she carried with her, and text Jesse. But before that could happen, a man had wrapped a hand around her waist. Starling her, for she had not seen the man approaching nor had she thought anyone would be that brave to approach a stranger like that. She wondered if it was Jesse, the outfit was mediocre in a way that reminded her of Jesse dressing style, but it was slightly better than his usual style.
The man standing in front of her, looking at her as if he was something was also a little taller than Jesse by 2 inches, so it could not be him, unless the shoes he was wearing added some height.
The man, the stranger, before her exuded an aura of confidence, his proximity unsettling yet oddly intriguing. His whispered invitation hung in the air, a tantalizing proposition that stirred a myriad of conflicting emotions within her. For a fleeting moment, Amani considered mocking him, insulting his confidence and audacity, and removing his arm from her waist as she walked away. Yet, the allure of spontaneity beckoned, a flicker of curiosity igniting within her.
Whatever happens, Amani told herself, she could blame it on the alcohol. She leaned into the masked man’s ear, her voice soft and sultry, “Perhaps,” she purred, Her lips brushed against his earlobe, leaving a trail of enigmatic warmth in her wake. “Lead the way,” She told him, inviting him to take her wherever he wished for the night. There was a certain allure to it, spending a night with a stranger who she could not tell who he was, all she could tell was that he sure did have an awful taste for fashion. But she ignored it, because there was something about his aura and his masks that drew her to him.