The Mouse and The Monarch

31

"Target in sight," she relayed in a hushed tone sipping her drink.

"He's even hotter in person. Someone tell Callisto," she whispered softly as she leaned back and watched the man walk around shaking hands and smiling.

"Copy," König's voice resonated in her ear with no emotion but she detected a slight anger in his tone.

She knew he was the jealous type, and it made her smile to know she was still getting under his skin.

She continued to sip her champagne, her eyes never leaving the enigmatic man across the room.

She needed an opening.

A way to get to him that wasn't too obvious.

Yeah, she could find shit in his office, but most Cartel bosses codded their computers and wrote everything in a way that would confuse anyone but them.

It was more effective to go straight for him.

It was also more dangerous.

But based on how she was dressed, not impossible.

Ophelia's eyes maintained their watchful gaze on the black-haired man as she sipped her champagne.

Before she could blink, a blonde woman radiating an air of sophistication, gracefully slid onto the barstool next to Ophelia.

The clinking of ice against glass accompanied the woman's order for a drink, and her blue eyes met Ophelia's with a warm and conspiratorial smile.

"I know, right? He's probably the most alluring man I've ever seen," the woman declared in English, her thick Russian accent lending a unique charm to her words.

Ophelia acknowledged the statement with a nod, feigning a shared admiration for the enigmatic figure across the room.

The woman continued, seemingly eager to bond over their shared appreciation.

"I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be with him," she mused, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of fantasy and desire.

Ophelia seized the opportunity, her trained instincts discerning more than the casual observer might notice.

Her eyes subtly assessed the woman's attire, revealing subtle details that spoke volumes.

The older man on the side of the room was watching her like a hawk, which hinted at a possessive connection.

And the massive diamond on the woman's hand screamed of a union not born of love but obligation.

Married to the older man, but not happily so.

She was stunning, curved, long blonde hair, wide blue eyes and thick red lips.

All squeezed into a tight black dress.

If she didn't have a shot at Dimitri then Ophelia sure as hell wouldn't.

The revelation fueled Ophelia's role, and she responded with a faux bashfulness, her features contorting into a charming smile as she adopted a flawless Russian accent.

"I know. I can't seem to look away from him. He's just so beautiful," she confessed, raising her voice to a higher pitch.

The blonde woman beside her reciprocated with an even wider smile.

"Beautiful yet so incredibly wicked," the woman said as she winked suggestively at Ophelia.

"Shame he only goes for the strippers. I get it though, wouldn't want to piss off anyone powerful by fucking their wife," the blonde woman said as she pouted and sipped a glass full of pure alcohol.