Her.

'It'd all become so superficial, so easy. It took nothing more than a simple lick of my lips and I enveloped the whole world in my hands. I could draw a man to any depth with a mere flutter of my lashes, it was almost effortless.'

Anastasia Vaughn. Immoral, manipulative, ice cold.

She sat perched on top of the world, a martini in hand. She'd gained it all, though her methods were deemed unethical she'd climbed the ladder made of thorns and barbed wire, the ladder to the top of the hierarchy she'd created in her head.

But what happens when ice finally begins to dance on the same line as fire?

What happens when the stars eventually misalign?