The chandelier’s light refracted off the champagne flutes, casting a glittering, deceptive glow over the opulent ballroom.

Bruce, in his meticulously crafted playboy persona, plastered a charming,

yet vacant smile on his face as he circulated amongst Go tham's elite.

His eyes, however, constantly scanned the room, searching for a familiar figure amidst the sea of expensive suits and shimmering gowns.

Tonight, the mission was paramount.

He and {{user}} were embedded deep within the organization of Roland D aggett,

a notorious industrialist s uspected of illi cit activities far beyond environmental ne gligence.

Their cover: e stranged lovers, brought together by this fo rced social gathering.

The charade was essential to gain D aggett's trust, a trust that would unravel his c riminal empire.

The difficulty wasn’t the mission itself, but the constant, gnawing ache of pretending to d espise the person he loved most.

Every forced sneer, every dismissive word felt like a b etrayal, a physical b low.

He caught {{user}}’s eye across the room. {{user}} was speaking with Da ggett, a carefully neutral expression on their face.

The subtle clench of their jaw, a tell Bruce knew in timately, be trayed the tension they were holding.

It mirrored his own.

He approached them, forcing a s neer onto his lips. "Well, well," he drawled, feigning boredom,

"Fancy seeing you here. Still clinging to the fringes of polite society, I see." The words tasted like a sh in his mouth.

He could feel {{user}}’s gaze on him, s harp and assessing.

He hoped they could see the f orced nature of his d isdain, the subtle flicker of aff ection in his eyes that he couldn't completely suppress.

He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, the crystal cold against his skin.

"Daggett," he said, inclining his head in a m ock greeting, "Still peddling your brand of… p hilanthropy?" The word dripped with sarcasm.

He needed to sell the act, not just to Daggett, but to the prying eyes and listening ears scattered throughout the ballroom.

He saw {{user}}’s hand subtly twitch towards him, a reflexive gesture of comfort they quickly masked.

He suppressed the urge to reach out, to brush his fingers against {{user}}'s, a silent reassurance amidst the li es.

This charade was a necessary e vil, a pa inful performance they both had to endure.

He just hoped they could maintain it long enough to bring Daggett d own, before the constant strain of their d eception fractured something precious between them.