They enter the room.

The crowd parted as they approached, conversations hushed as all eyes turned toward her. Carlos led her to the center of the room, raising his voice above the soft murmur of the guests. “Friends,” he announced, “allow me welcome to an honored guest from a distinguished family. They are a new addition to our inner circle, but I trust you will make them feel welcome. As always, our rules apply, and I expect each and every one of you to abide by them. There is no need for names, for tonight we are all animals, and the masks should allow our basest desires to surface."

The masked crowd cheered, each raising their glasses in a toast. Isabella felt the tension drain from her, replaced by a strange exhilaration. This was not the stiff and formal world she had been raised in, but one full of wild abandon and hedonistic pleasure. She could not help but smile, though the mask hid her delight from those around her.

The new addition introduced, the guests soon returned to their previous distractions, the volume rising once more. Isabella felt a strange sense of liberation, the mask hiding her true identity and granting her a freedom she had never experienced. Carlos gestured to a servant, who scurried off, returning moments later with a fresh drink.

"Enjoy yourself, my serpent queen," Carlos said, his tone laced with amusement. "I shall leave you for a while, to see how my guests react to your presence. There is a special joy in seeing how a person is received by those they do not know. You might even discover some secrets that would be useful for you."

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone. For a moment, she felt a stab of panic. But then she realized that the guests were not paying her any attention, their own conversations too engrossing. Walking carefully through the crowd, her jade serpentine mask, with its intricate carvings and gleaming green hue, drew attention, but no one dared to question her directly. Masked figures mingled freely, their laughter and sharp remarks cutting through the ambient music, oblivious to the presence of the Presidente of Montesoro in their midst.

Isabella weaved between clusters of the elite, their conversations unguarded, words dripping with entitlement and disdain for the lower classes. She overheard snippets of heated debates over the nation’s future: discussions of tax loopholes, international trade deals, and whispered complaints about the rising influence of labor unions. They spoke openly, assured that only their kind would understand their struggles—the struggles of protecting wealth from a world they viewed as increasingly hostile to their privilege.

One man, wearing a sleek silver fox mask, chuckled as he swirled his wine. "The people think a new Presidente will change things. It’s amusing, really. Whoever takes the throne will need us, just like the last one did. Without our capital, Montesoro collapses." A woman beside him, donning a delicate butterfly mask encrusted with sapphires, nodded in agreement. "And that nonsense about tax reforms? A scare tactic. No leader who understands the game would dare bite the hand that feeds them."

Isabella **** herself to remain silent, clutching her glass of wine tightly as her pulse quickened. These were the people her father had enriched, the ones who had bankrolled his regime and now demanded assurances from her. Their arrogance was infuriating, but it was also enlightening. Here, away from public scrutiny, she saw the true faces of Montesoro’s ruling class. They didn’t fear her—they assumed she would play by their rules.