Multicolored lights and exquisite flower arrangements adorned the venue. The place was vibrant, the music soothing, and there wasn’t a single shadow as far as Jehan could see.

Murderous instincts aside, President Maganti certainly knew how to throw a party.

Jehan shared this thought with Ruqaiya, even as a waitress poured him a glass of something sparkly.

She rolled her eyes and told him to pour the drink into a flowerpot when no one was looking.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted.

“Not if being poisoned in front of a thousand cameras is your idea of fun.”

She strode forward, Jehan in tow, until she was face to face with a balding, gray-clad man in his fifties. “Meet Mr. Fanen Sokolov. He’s the new CEO of Avente Capital, the biggest FinTech company in Maralana. He’s planning some major investments in Naijan in the upcoming years.”

Jehan knew exactly who Sokolov was, and why Ruqaiya felt it necessary to introduce them. The man had a lot of money, and a deep-seated dislike of the current president of his country.

He wouldn’t be averse to facilitating a change of guard in the government, if given the opportunity.

Still, there was no reason to reveal his hand just yet. He widened his eyes and favored the man with a bright – if slightly confused – smile. “Ah yes, of course, I’ve heard a lot about you.” They shook hands. “And I’m so glad to finally meet you. President Maganti really has outdone himself with this year’s gala, wouldn’t you agree?”

Both of them turned to look at the man in question. Maganti was standing at the center of the room, surrounded by a group of transfixed listeners, talking bombastically about progress and collaboration between nations. He was dressed in the ceremonial uniform of the army general and had a smiling model in each arm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jehan saw Abhijat standing with some of the other security personnel near the back, glaring daggers at Maganti. If looks could kill, the president would’ve been a very dashing corpse by now.

Jehan shook his head. Must be nice not to have fifty cameras pointed at you at all times, having to constantly monitor each look, glance, and expression; every twitch a performance. The novelty of it wore off rather quickly.

He understood why Abhijat had gone out of his way to avoid a career in politics.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

The ornate double doors were flung open and Madam Ivanovna entered the venue with two exquisitely dressed young women in tow.

Conversation ceased for a moment, as everyone turned to look at the newcomers.

Tastefully dressed in muted hues, Ivanovna looked regal. Beside her, Milli looked pretty in a simple green dress gathered at the waist. She was talking animatedly with a young woman in a striking ochre and red saree.

As the cameras flashed, Ivanovna walked up to Maganti, her arms outstretched and a dazzling smile plastered on her face.

Jehan turned to see Rinisa hurrying towards the newcomers, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Excuse me,” Jehan said apologetically to the gathered industrialists, and rushed to intercept Rinisa.

Moments before she had managed to reach Ivanovna, Jehan placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and greet him with an icy smile.

“Rinisa! Just the woman I was looking for.” He wrapped her enthusiastically into a one-armed embrace. She was too stunned to do more than press a hand into the small of his back. “Come on, I want you to meet some people I’ve been speaking to.”

Ruqaiya shepherded Sokolov and his group over to Maganti’s clique moments after Ivanovna and the president had exchanged greetings, cameras flashing all around them.

By the time Jehan reached the gathering, a reluctant Rinisa in tow, the introductions were already coming to a close.

“And this,” Ivanovna said, turning to the young woman in the ochre saree. “Is Afreen Firoz, a prominent social worker from Naijan and a dear friend of mine. Lately, she’s been working with trafficked children in rural Naijan.

“And Afreen has some very interesting news about the use of certain…new-age drugs in the Naijani underworld.” Ivanovna turned to Sokolov and his fellow businessmen, smiling warmly. “I’m sure you’ll all find her stories very fascinating.”

As Ivanovna talked, Jehan watched Rinisa turn progressively paler. She was looking at Afreen as if she’d seen a ghost.

If Jehan had had any doubts about whether or not Rinisa knew of Afreen’s imprisonment at the La Fantome club, he didn’t anymore.

Rinisa had recognized Afreen, and it’d spooked her. There wasn’t a speck of doubt about that. She was scared. But was she scared enough to do what Jehan needed her to?

He glanced at his watch. It was almost time…

Live music began playing near the back of the hall, where the floor had been cleared and a few couples had started a leisurely dance.

He stepped forward with a smile, extending a hand for Rinisa to take. “May I have this dance?”

Her eyes widened. “I-I can’t.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow. She blushed, looking away. “Uh...I mean, I twisted my ankle earlier this evening. I really can’t dance.” She smiled sheepishly. “My feet are too sore.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Jehan said, raising his voice just enough to make sure those in the immediate vicinity could overhear the conversation. “We’re all civilized people here. Just one dance, please? I promise not to exert you too much.”

She swallowed, looking around. She couldn’t very well refuse the prime minister a dance, not when every news outlet on the continent had a camera trained on her.

It was the perfect trap, and she knew it.

“Fine. One dance,” she muttered through gritted teeth, taking Jehan’s hand and moving quickly towards the dance floor. “But I should warn you, Fasih. Whatever game you’re playing? It’ll be extremely short-lived.”