The night was deceptively calm. The city lights shimmered in the distance, stretching infinitely as Dhriti drove through the nearly empty streets. Her black Mercedes glided smoothly, the soft purr of the engine the only sound breaking the stillness.
The gala had gone exactly as she had expected—mundane conversations, hidden power plays, and people desperate to get into her good graces. She had handled it all with the same practiced ease, delivering polite but dismissive responses and cutting through pointless pleasantries with sharp, measured words.
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