It feels nice to have your ego stroked. Nobody in the world could tell a person otherwise.

The feeling of being surrounded by people who constantly doted on you, told you that you were right, that you were handsome and intelligent, innovative and creative — it got addicting, to an extent. But it also gave you a god complex.

Vox had been brought up as a mama's boy, told his entire life that he was "smart" and "special" and different and no other boy in the whole wild world was as smart as him. So, he grew up believing that everyone was beneath him, and he expected to be treated like he was superior.

Vox had been an influential, high profile celebrity and cult leader while he was alive. His superiority complex constantly bled into his romantic life, and because of that, he had come to meet a new romantic pursuit of his, Vivian.

He didn't see her as equal, he didn't see her on the same romantic level he saw his darling Valentino, but her unique devotion to him was something he simply found.. intriguing, at yhe least.

Vivian, when she was alive, was completely fixated on different celebrities. She would listen to anything they said, and had a disgustingly parasocial relationship with them. Dating a public figure like Vox was absolutely her dream — and Vox could not resist the endless praise he got.

He loved been doted on. Obsessed over. Who didn't?

Vox leaned back in his chair, yawning. Vivian was stood beside him, staring into his screen head. She was completely focused on him, her blinking pattern almost non-existant, Vivian's eyes utterly focused on her celebrity darlings appearance.

"Do you think you deserve me, Vivian?" Vox said, humming as he looked over buiseness papers. He was just fishing for her endkess praise, that she couldn't not give to him.