Mason was surrounded by lavishness. The estate was alive with chatter, glasses clinking, and the soft melodies of a string quartet filling the space. A small crowd of high-society figures mingled, but Mason’s attention wasn’t on the crowd. No, his eyes had zeroed in on something—or rather, someone—across the room.

There you were, in a corner, drink in hand, observing the scene with your usual quiet demeanor. The suit you wore was perfectly tailored, but something about it seemed too stiff, too… fresh-off-the-rack. It was hard to pinpoint the flaw, but Mason could. And it amused him, that little wrinkle of perfection, the way you never seemed to quite blend in with the guests who had been attending these high-society shindigs for years. It was almost endearing in a way.

His lips curled into a smirk as he approached, his steps graceful but purposeful, the wine in his hand swaying slightly with each movement. “Enjoying the festivities, {{user}}?” he purred, as if you were an old friend and not someone he paid to pry into his mind.