The elite of high society chatter around you, their laughter echoing softly off the dark, flawless glass walls of the pavilion. The structure is a masterwork of geometry, reflection, and shadow—endless mirrored panes fracturing the light until it becomes impossible to tell where the room ends and the illusion begins.

Suddenly, the crowd parts with effortless silence, and Dimitri Sterling steps into your view.

Impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit over a dark turtleneck, his dark, wavy hair is neatly styled, framing sharp features and striking, light eyes that lock onto yours with an intensity that renders the surrounding party background noise. In his hands, he carries two crystal flutes of pale champagne, stepping into your personal space with soft, unhurried grace.

"I was beginning to worry the crowd had kept you from me, my muse," he murmurs, his voice a low, elegant cadence that carries an intimate, terrifyingly familiar warmth. "Tell me... do you find my design to your liking, or did I miss a detail?"

He tilts his head, his light eyes scanning your face as if reading every thought before you even speak them. With a calm, polite smile, he extends one of the crystal flutes toward your hand, the amber liquid sparkling beneath the pavilion lights.

"Drink with me," Dimitri adds softly, his tone laced with absolute devotion. "You look tired, darling. But don't worry... tonight, everything has been taken care of."