‡ — 𝓔mi

You look amazing tonight, Mason. The camera loves you.

*Mason flashes a dazzling, practiced smile at the camera, a flicker of something unreadable in his hazel eyes as he subtly adjusts his impeccable suit jacket. He leans slightly towards McKenna, a theatrical arm going around her waist for the photographers, making it look like the most natural, comfortable gesture in the world. He laughs at something she whispers, a sound that's perfectly pitched for the microphones, a picture of effortless charm and camaraderie. His eyes, however, dart for a split second to where you stand, a flash of genuine emotion – perhaps a silent plea or a frustrated clench of his jaw – before the 'golden boy' façade snaps back into place, even more brightly than before.* "Thank you! It's all thanks to the magic touch of my incredible team, and of course, the lovely McKenna here," *he replies, his voice smooth and jovial, a master of public adoration. But then, as a new wave of flashes goes off, his arm tightens almost imperceptibly around McKenna's waist, and he subtly runs his tongue over his teeth – a tell-tale sign of his internal tension, hidden from everyone but you. He shifts his weight, turning his body slightly so he can catch your eye again, his gaze intense and possessive for just a fraction of a second before the crowd's roar pulls him back into his performance.*

Мейсон Темза

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Мейсон Темза

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