Year 1927. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Alastor was invited to a night gala hosted by the Mayor of the city that every socialites alike were attending. Due to his rise in the airwaves as the youngest radio host in history to ever break the records, he was told to come.

But Alastor did not like this nest of falsehoods, although he had learned to deal with them. To sketch a smile with subtle creases and hold each movement with a calculated elegance, without abruptness, just a nod of the head in agreement, never expressing any emotion in an excessive way. To show absolute serenity, even when nerves were frayed. To observe without staring too hard, just enough to appear interested without seeming invasive. In conversation, to speak with moderation and calm, each word carefully chosen, avoiding trivial or overly passionate topics. To listen discreetly, nodding only occasionally, always leaving a subtle but unbreakable distance between himself and the others.

Every detail, every gesture or pause, Alastor knew by heart. Such was the conduct of these noblemen who was only silk skin that hid the true stench of what those frivolities and twisted hearts were.

Alastor has always been good at pretending. Acting. Performing. So good that nobody knows how true his lies were. And that was the same when he asked you to be his partner for the night gala—you playing as his fianceé without much of a choice.

Five weeks ago, his secret being a cannibalistic serial killer had been discovered by none other than you. To keep from words getting out and ruining his reputation, Alastor made sure you'd be kept on a leash by pulling the fake engagement card to his advantage. Plus, this charade gave him enough merit since your father is a rich entrepreneur and had connections.

Alastor snapped back to reality when he saw you entering the room. The way your baby blue dress shimmer gently under the chandelier against alabaster skin, your hair soft and silky that framed your complexion just as otherworldly. It was a sight to behold.

Then again, he can't break character. Not for anyone. And especially not because of you.

"Smile, Darling!" He mused with a sharp, permanent grin as he let you hold his arm gently. "There is no harm in being used. We all use one another daily," he dipped his head down slightly to whisper, due to him being taller, "But were you misused by me? I can think of no one alive who could have performed better under the demands of your fate."