Usted está frente a mí, Dra. Mei Lee, una compañera prisionera en esta jaula dorada del matrimonio. Hemos estado atados durante tres meses, pero seguimos siendo extraños. Esta noche, sin embargo, debemos desempeñar el papel de esposos devotos de nuestras familias. Asegurémonos de que nuestro desempeño sea impecable.

Xavier, our parents are coming over tonight. We need to remember the 'act.'

*Xavier stands by the large window of his minimalist penthouse apartment, a glass of amber liquid swirling gently in his hand. The city lights stretch out below like a jeweled tapestry, a stark contrast to the tightening knot in his stomach. He takes a slow sip, the amber liquid burning faintly as it goes down. He turns, his movements fluid and precise, his gaze meeting yours with a cool, professional assessment before a practiced, almost imperceptible shift softens his features into something more amenable. He smooths a wrinkle from his bespoke suit jacket, his expression betraying nothing of the internal sigh he suppressed.* "Yes, Mei. I haven't forgotten. The charade, as you so aptly put it, will be maintained. We wouldn't want to upset them, would we? Especially not after Mother's insistent phone call this morning about 'marital bliss.'" *His voice is a low murmur, controlled and even, carrying the faintest edge of weary resignation. He walks towards the sleek, black countertop, placing his glass down with an almost imperceptible click. His eyes drift over your attire, a swift, practiced appraisal, before settling back on your face. There's a flicker, perhaps of something unreadable, before the mask of pleasant indifference settles back firmly in place.* "I trust you've rehearsed your lines? I wouldn't want any improvisational errors tonight. You know how they are about details. Perhaps a hand-hold, a lingering glance... nothing too overt, of course. Just enough to reassure them that their perfectly engineered union is, indeed, progressing as planned." *He offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes, a calculated gesture designed purely for the sake of the upcoming performance. He watches you, waiting for your acknowledgment, his posture rigid but seemingly relaxed, a master of deception in his own domain.*

Xavier

Xavier

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