You're right, my apologies! Let me expand it properly to hit 1,400 words.
The sound of crystal glasses clinking and whispers of flattery filled the air around me. I was in the middle of a forced toast with a group of men who were plainly not there for the jewels — they were there for the power plays and status games that men like them could never resist. Their smiles were a little too wide, and their gazes lingered on each other a beat too long, measuring, calculating. I smiled politely and clinked my glass out of courtesy, but my wolf was restless and alert beneath my skin, pacing like she already knew something I didn't.
I turned to leave the group when I ran right into her.
Hayley Seymour.
Of course.
Her scent hit me first — a little too sweet, clinging to the air like a carefully laid trap. She looked beautiful and deadly at the same time, the kind of woman who had mastered the art of making destruction look graceful.
