The room was a sea of blurred faces, all toasting, all celebrating, but I was zeroed in on her. She hesitated, her composure slipping as she set the glass down with a little too much force, the chime of crystal on crystal betraying her unease. The guests continued in oblivious revelry, but Caroline’s mask was cracking.

A murmur of conversations, laughter, and the clinking of cutlery surrounded us, but Caroline’s gaze was locked on me now, sharp and questioning. I met her eyes with a steady gaze, my smile serene, yet filled with the weight of our silent battle.

What had been intended to ruin my night had backfired. I had turned the tables, not just by switching the glasses, but by refusing to play by her rules. As the evening unfolded, each interaction, each laugh, each shared glance with Dylan was my victory dance.

The chaos she intended to sow found no fertile ground. Instead, it turned inward, ensnaring her in a web of her own making. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and dances, but the tension between us was palpable — a testament to the day’s true battle.

As Dylan and I spun across the dance floor, I felt a fortress around us, built on love and defiance. Caroline’s actions had tried to cast a shadow over our joy, but instead, they highlighted the strength of what we shared. And as I leaned into Dylan, his warmth a protective cloak, I knew we were stronger for it.