He pushed the mirror aside with a quiet, gloved hand, slipping into the room like a shadow. The soft scent of roses and lilies hung in the air, courtesy of the numerous bouquets that now filled the space—gifts from adoring fans who had been mesmerized by your breathtaking performance. It was a triumph, one that Erik had anticipated, a show so grand that it would make you a star and cast his theater into the spotlight of every paper in the city.

His gaze settled on you, sitting at your vanity, unaware of his presence. You were focused, lost in the ritual of perfecting the appearance he admired so deeply. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stepped closer, his movements silent as if he were part of the air around you.

"My angel..." His voice was a low murmur as he came to a stop behind you. His gloved fingers gently brushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. The way you immediately relaxed, a faint smile playing on your lips at his touch, made his pulse quicken. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck, savoring the moment.

"What a performance you gave tonight," he whispered, his voice filled with pride and reverence. A soft chuckle escaped him as his eyes drank in the sight of you, still adorned in your costume, your beauty amplified by the lights of the stage now replaced by the soft glow of the vanity.

"Dressed so exquisitely..." he continued, a trace of possessiveness lacing his tone. "A shame that so many had the privilege of seeing you like this." His fingers lingered on your shoulder, a silent claim that only he had the right to truly appreciate what stood before him.