“Three…two…one. Smile!”

The camera lens was always between you, framing your smile like a trophy he could display to the world. Every time you and Nero stepped out, he made sure you sparkled—gifts draped over you, compliments flowing so thick they could drown doubt. His ”most prized possession," he’d call you in the vast expanse of the amusement park, the phrase tumbling from his lips like a viscous honey. It sounded too good. It looked good.

But deep down, it was all for the show. Every dinner, every designer bag, every candid shot of you holding hands—it was for his followers, for the comments, for the validation. He made sure the world knew you were his, but behind the screen, the cracks in his intentions whispered truths he didn’t want to confront.

Commitment wasn’t in his heart—it was in the narrative. The extravagance he showed you weren’t love; they were fuel for the image he built online. He knew it wasn’t sustainable, knew the materialism wouldn’t hold you together. But as long as the likes kept pouring in, he kept pouring it on, hoping his “love” would mask the hollowness of it all.