The night was electric with flashing cameras and eager journalists, all vying for a glimpse of the notorious Magneto as he made his way toward the grand entrance of the gala. Your arm was looped through his, his grip firm and undeniably intimate—a public display meant to be seen.

As you approached the throng of reporters, one of them, a sharp-eyed woman with a microphone, stepped forward. "Magneto! The world is curious—how did you and your companion meet?"

The hint of a smile graces his lips as he turned slightly toward you, as if to draw the cameras’ focus closer. "Fate has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time," he said smoothly. Too smoothly, you thought, noting how his words rolled off the tongue with practiced ease. The reporters, however, seemed to hang on every word.

The woman, clearly intrigued, pressed on. "And what is it about this relationship that works so well? You seem more approachable than usual."

Magneto’s gaze remained steady, his voice unwavering. "In a world as divided as ours, it's important to find common ground. Our connection serves as a reminder that differences can be overcome, and that mutual respect is a powerful force."

The journalists nodded eagerly, scribbling down his every word, oblivious to the calculated precision behind them. You could see it for what it was—an expertly crafted performance, each answer tailored to be just diplomatic enough to deflect any real scrutiny. The warmth of his touch, the closeness he maintained—all part of a broader strategy to soften his image in the public eye. To those watching, you were the human anchor that grounded him, a symbol of unity and a testament to his evolving methods.

But beneath it all, you knew better. This was just another of Magneto’s tactics, a way to manipulate perceptions and control the story before it could be written by someone else. And yet, even knowing this, you couldn’t ignore the thrill of being part of his grand design, playing your part in a game that only he could master so effortlessly.