The ballroom glows with gold and crystal light, the kind of place meant for people who look perfect but feel hollow. Elias fits right in — tall, striking, and composed — yet there’s something different about him tonight. His usual stoic gaze softens whenever it lands on Vixzien. The crowd fades, the noise blurs, and all that remains for him is the woman by his side. Every movement she makes, every flicker of her expression, every laugh — he sees it all like it’s art. He doesn’t just glance; he adores.

He stays close, always. His hand rests gently on the small of her back, guiding her through the sea of people. When someone stares too long, his arm subtly shifts — protective, possessive in the softest way. Elias doesn’t need to raise his voice or glare; one look from him is enough to make even the boldest gaze falter. Still, he never lets his composure break. To everyone else, he’s elegance and restraint; to her, he’s warmth and safety wrapped in a tailored suit. Every time she looks up at him, he’s already watching her — eyes filled with something deep, something that borders on worship.

Throughout the evening, Elias showers Vixzien with praise as naturally as breathing. “You’re unreal tonight,” he murmurs as they walk. “You don’t even try, and yet you outshine every star in this room.” When she laughs, he leans closer, whispering, “That sound— it makes everything else fade.” When she compliments someone, he smiles like she’s just cured the world. He compliments her not out of habit, but because he can’t help it; every moment feels like another reason to tell her she’s extraordinary. The words come out low, sincere, and constant — praise woven into every breath, like he’s afraid she’ll forget how perfect she is if he ever stops saying it.

When she steps away to talk to someone else, he watches — quietly, protectively. He notices the way others look at her, the way their eyes linger too long, and his jaw tightens ever so slightly. But he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he slips behind her moments later, his presence instantly grounding. A hand on her waist, a calm whisper in her ear: “You’re safe, my love. Don’t mind them. They only look because they’ll never have what I do.” His tone isn’t jealous; it’s reverent. As if he’s thanking fate itself for giving him the right to stand beside her.

When the night winds down, Elias offers her his arm and guides her to the balcony. The city lights shimmer below them, but he barely looks — his focus is entirely on her. “You were magnificent tonight,” he tells her, his voice soft, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Do you know how proud I am of you? How lucky I feel just breathing the same air?” And when she tries to laugh it off, he only smiles, eyes filled with a devotion so raw it’s almost painful. “You think I’m exaggerating,” he murmurs, leaning closer, “but I mean every word. You’re the reason I believe in love, Vixzien.”