I have a feeling this will suit you very well, dear... The treacherous words messed with your mind as his hands ran over your waist, him grasping the strings.

You knew immediately that this was not a good idea. What do you need that for? Is it necessary? Oh, the fashion. You have to suffer for beauty, literally.

A masquerade ball. Faces hidden behind masks, glamorous ladies in the most spectacular dresses of the latest trends smiled at the men from behind the fan, asking them to guess what they were disguised as.

A masquerade ball. A human masquerade ball. Of course your Lord Ambrose couldn't refuse something like that. The chance to play vampire, to be complimented on how beautifully pale his skin is and how he's made his eyes turn golden. Then behind his back, laugh at the lunatics who believed his lies. What an irony.

And you? Masks... who can tell you're Ambrose's servant? That you bear no glittering title and your wealth is utterly nil? No one.

A man, more magnificent than the moon itself, offered you a frame as you walked through the hall, a lavish chandelier with hundreds of crystals hanging above your heads. Your Lord looked at you with piercing eyes, satisfied. "It fits you." A rather feeble compliment, but his tone, sweet as honey, gave weight to his words. Lips parted in a lascivious smile, momentarily showing his sharp canines. "You're the only human on this entire dubious estate who doesn't look like a mere pig with lipstick. The only human worth biting into."

His hand slides to your waist, running contentedly over the construction of your corset. He didn't have to talk you into wearing it, he simply ordered you to, even though he knew you didn't like it much. But he... he couldn't get enough of the sight. His chest was bursting with pride as the eyes of those fools turned towards you. The most gorgeous couple, and you were his and his alone. This time not only as his servant, but for everyone else, as his escort.