A Cold Encounter, A Warm Reprieve

Elara's POV

Beck Marshall's dismissive eyes bore into me across the bustling corridor. The cacophony of race fans faded into background noise as his judgmental gaze took me in from head to toe.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he remarked, his voice dripping with condescension. "This doesn't seem like your... scene."

I stared back, my earlier vulnerability hardening into resolve. Seven years of these subtle digs and dismissals from Damien's inner circle had worn my patience thin.

"And what exactly is my 'scene,' Beck?" I kept my voice level, refusing to shrink before him.

He smirked. "You know, quiet charity galas, book clubs. Places where you can talk about your feelings and knit sweaters."

"How incredibly reductive of you." I stepped closer, no longer willing to back down. "Perhaps you should consider that people are more complex than the boxes you put them in."