They ate in silence, the soft clinking of cutlery the only sound in the grand dining hall. When the last spoonful was set down, the fat man bowed deeply — a quiet, respectful gesture — then turned and left without a word.
The second woman leaned closer, her voice low and steady despite the tension hanging in the air.
> "You have an interview tomorrow. The press will ask. They'll want to see the real you."
She hesitated, eyes flickering with concern.
"But remember… don't show them the sadness. Not yet. Not until you're ready."
The brown-haired woman nodded, her gaze distant but resolute.
---
Later, they stepped out into the bright afternoon. A sleek luxury car waited, its black paint gleaming in the sunlight. As it glided forward, people lined the streets, faces eager and smiling.
She returned their smiles with practiced warmth, though her eyes held shadows they could never see. In the crowd, hands clutched copies of her latest book — the cover chilling and stark: a gleaming knife slicing through shadowed pages. The title was bold, but what caught every eye was the elegant script beneath it: Lily.
She traced the pen name with her eyes, lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. A mask — like everything else.
---
The car pulled up to the venue — a gleaming hall with glass doors and flashing cameras. Fans swarmed around the entrance, holding out books and markers, their voices rising in excitement.
She stepped out first, the crowd parting before her like a sea of eager faces. The other woman followed, protective and silent.
As she signed copy after copy, her smile never wavered. Each autograph was precise, polite, practiced.
But beneath it all, her hands trembled slightly.
---
The crowd's cheers faded as she slid into the waiting car once more. The pen name Lily followed her like a shadow — beautiful, sharp, and cutting.
She leaned back against the seat, eyes closing for a brief moment.
Tomorrow was the interview.
And she wasn't sure she could keep the mask on much longer.