She watches him from afar, as he goes from one guest to another, the perfect host to a perfect party. She watches as he smiles and says the words the men need to hear, that have them feel strong, brave and important. She watches the smiles he bestows to the ladies, having them swoon, making them feel like they're the queen of the party.

Fuck Klaus.

Caroline sighs. It's her own fault anyway. She knows she should never have responded to his invitation. It would have been the sensitive thing to do.

And here she is now. She needs Champagne. And vodka. Vodka more than champagne, even though the bubbly would be better suited for this event.

What the hell is wrong with her? They had said they would never meet again. She had made him swear. He didn't break his promise. She did.

Just a silly girl, she calls herself, looking for the silver lining. She is, after all, attending one of those parties that will go down in history. People know about the opera night, nights about death and victory. For once, she gets to witness it. When the picture is taken, she will show on it, as a proof that she was there.

That has got to be worth something, right?

He smiled at another girl (tramp is the word that comes to mind but pettiness is not pretty), and she feels hate. She feels disgust for him, for the way he has to constantly prove himself, for the way he keeps people in his orbit not because they want to, but because they have to.

A garcon passes with a tray, and she grabs a flute, downing it in one and exchanging it for another one. She's thirsty. And pissed off.

She will be able to say she was there, she tells herself again. That's all that matters. She is part of history, even though all she's doing is being a pretty doll, standing there in a gown that fits her perfectly, her hair up, her make up impeccable. She hates how he has reduced her to being part of the furniture. She's that pretty doll from Mystic Falls.

Their eyes meet, and if her heart had still been beating, it would have stopped. She's overwhelmed. He's overwhelming her. There's something in his eyes. It makes her feel... Warm in certain places, hot all over, special. He's wearing that smug smile and she wants to wipe it off his face, either by punching him, or kissing him.

He slowly makes his way to her.

Kissing sounds better, she decides, as she panics for a second, wondering if she is indeed as pretty a doll as she just thought herself to be.

"Caroline", he says, and her blood boils in her veins. "So glad you could make it."

They've danced this dance before, when she arrived earlier. He had kissed her hand, and welcomed her, promising her he would show her around, before letting her in the company of Hayley.

He moves forward, just slightly, and she can almost feel him against her skin, awaking memories of their bodies moving together.

"I still owe you a tour," he purrs, and she's almost certain her panties would have dropped if she was wearing any.

(Panties leave marks under such a tight dress, and nobody wants that).

She feels his breathe against her ear, and she just perks up. Her whole body is awake, and on board for a tour and more.

He steps back, and goes to meet another guest.

Fucking Klaus, she thinks when she finally gets back to having a functioning brain. Fuck the smug bastard.

And fuck her and her stupid mind too. Why does she wonder if she is the only girl he said words too this evening he actually meant? Why does she believe that she is different, when she was just observing his routine? She just saw him do that to dozens of girls and women. Hell, she can see him doing that right now. She could have sworn he looked her way very briefly so as not to get caught by his guest.

She's just kidding herself, right? And making a fool of herself too…

She feels a longing in her bones for him, and wonders if he will call on her again tonight.

Such a silly doll, she calls herself, before having another flute of champagne.