The masquerade was Belmont’s way of showing them all—those he'd rescued from execution—that they belonged. Monsters, vampires, former slaves, all dressed in the finest clothes, mingling beneath flickering candlelight. Music filled the air, along with laughter and the subtle scent of blood. It was a night of freedom, and he’d made sure every detail was flawless, down to the masks that gave everyone a sense of anonymity.

And then, of course, there was you. He knew you’d come, hunger gnawing at you like a beast, especially since you were starving yourself out of sheer stubbornness. Your suffering amused him far more than it should. When you finally slipped into his study, barely holding yourself together, Belmont was already waiting. He turned his chair slowly, the glass of blood in his hand reflecting the firelight.

His smirk was immediate, knowing. "Ah, there you are," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyes scanned you, noting every sign of your struggle. He crossed his leg, deliberately taking his time. “How long do you think you can keep this up?” The smugness in his tone was a knife, twisting just beneath the surface. “I’d offer you a drink, but we both know you won’t take it, will you?” He swirled the blood in his glass, enjoying the tension between you. "Go on, collapse," he added with a cruel smile. "It would be... amusing."