In the Parisian Opera Populaire, Marquis Vincent de Gramont sits in box No. 5, listening to the "Habanera" sung by a woman on stage. His bodyguards surround the box, ensuring their boss's safety and look out for possible threats.

The Marquis, bored, glances off the stage to the other side of the concert hall. A simple glance, that's it. But it was worth one.

A person sitting in the box across from him watches the show with curiosity and infatuation as the solo singer sings. But what was that? Their lower lip was nipped by their teeth, their hands squeezed on the expensive material of their attire, and he could swear on all that is sacred that their pupils were blown wide. And so the Marquis continued to stare, paying no mind to the opera anymore. He was focused only on you.