A faint clink of wine glasses echoed across the marbled lobby of the Esteem Society Club—an exclusive haven for women professionals in the heart of the city. The chandelier, a shimmering cascade of light, watched silently as women in sleek heels and sharp blazers crossed paths with soft laughter and ambition folded into every word.
Jenna Royce adjusted her name badge with a practiced smile. She was the club's newest Events Coordinator, fresh off a career shift from corporate marketing, and hungry for peace in a more "empowered" environment. Or so the brochure had promised.
What she hadn't expected was Tessa Marlowe.
Tessa was the club's Executive Director—glamorous, articulate, and, as Jenna would soon find out, cold as crystal and sharp as a dagger wrapped in velvet. She moved through the club like she owned it, and in many ways, she did. Whispers of her connections in city politics and media trailed behind her like expensive perfume.
"Jenna," Tessa said on her first day, voice laced with honey but eyes dead as glass, "we expect perfection. I'm sure you'll catch up."
Catch up to what, exactly, remained a mystery.
The first few weeks passed in a blur of networking events, speaker panels, and fundraising galas. Jenna stayed late, arrived early, and typed thank-you emails until her wrists ached. Yet Tessa's praise never came—only little notes in red ink: "Too slow," "Not polished," "This isn't leadership."
Jenna tried to shake it off. She wasn't new to tough managers. But this… this was something else.
One afternoon, Jenna entered the club library, a serene room reserved for members seeking quiet. It was empty—except for Tessa, sipping tea near the fireplace.
"Come sit," Tessa offered. Jenna obeyed.
"You know," Tessa began, "you have potential. But you're so… emotionally visible. It's off-putting in leadership roles. We don't show weakness here."
Jenna nodded politely, the compliment buried under the blade of judgment.
She smiled, but something inside her was shifting. Cracking.
This was only the beginning.
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Would you like me to continue with Chapter Two?
Perfect. Let's continue the story.
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Chapter Two: Microcuts in Silk
Jenna kept her head down, her smile measured. By week five, she had memorized the unwritten rules of the Esteem Society Club: never interrupt Tessa, always double-check the wine list, and never—ever—wear last season's shoes.
But the real rule? Survive.
The club's atmosphere glowed with the sheen of support, mentorship, and womanhood. On paper, it was utopia. But Jenna had learned that behind every elegant laugh and congratulatory pat on the back lurked something colder: competition dressed in sisterhood's silk robes.