The sound of thunderous applause still rang faintly in Felix's ears as he stepped out of the ballroom. The moment the heavy doors closed behind him, the world outside felt eerily quiet in comparison. The sharp glare of camera flashes still stung his retinas, a harsh reminder of how quickly the night had turned from celebration to chaos.
His jaw was tight, the muscles clenched so hard they ached. The award in his hand felt heavy, not because of its weight, but because of what it had come to represent: a performance, a lie, a spectacle. He should have been proud. Instead, the taste in his mouth was bitter.
"This way, sir," his assistant murmured, appearing at his side, already guiding him toward the sleek black car waiting just outside the venue.
Felix said nothing. His silence was sharp, dangerous. His assistant opened the back door, and Felix ducked inside, tossing the award onto the seat beside him like it was nothing more than junk metal.
