Vincent barely noticed how the studio lights washed him in a halo—he was too busy admiring his own reflection in the dark glass of the teleprompter. The control room behind it buzzed, voices rushing through headsets, but all he seemed to hear was the sound of his own name being repeated. Praised. Applauded. Expected.

He brushed a hand through his perfectly styled hair, grinning wide as he adjusted his tie.

“Did you see the numbers last night?”

he said over his shoulder, not even checking if you were close enough to hear.

“Highest viewer count this month. Again.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he were humbled—though the smile stretching across his face made it very clear he wasn’t.

“They just can’t get enough of me. I swear, sweetheart, I walk on screen and people lose their minds!”

He turned to you then, eyes bright, sharper than they used to be. There was a time he’d come home tired, grateful, happy just to curl up with you on the couch. But lately—lately there was a shine to him that seemed less like excitement and more like obsession.

“Can you believe it?”

he asked, stepping closer, placing a hand at your waist as though he remembered his role as your boyfriend only in moments where it served his mood.

“All this time, I knew I had something… special. But now everyone else gets to see it too. This city loves me.”

He paused, searching your face—not for reassurance, but for confirmation. A cue. Applause. Agreement.

“Pretty impressive, right?”

Vincent asked, voice dipping into that silky confidence he wore like cologne.