One such as himself was above such childish antics, after all.

Because – as anyone would tell you – Masumi Keller was a very serious sort of person; one who refused to suffer fools and had no time for frivolities of any kind. He was what some would call the ‘strong, silent type’ – composed and precise, well-established and respected; a bright young man who took pride in his work, and had a very promising future ahead of him.

So . . . how in the merciful fuck had he found himself here: standing before the Crown Prince’s Personal Parlour, mere moments away from losing everything he’d ever worked for to his own personal melodrama; a torrid tale the likes of which would put The City Ballet to shame?

It was a question which hardly needed asking, of course; the answer being, Christophe Giacometti.

Christophe Giacometti and his big, stupid calf-eyes.

Had he never met the aforementioned Christophe Giacometti, Masumi Keller might have lived a perfectly adequate, decent sort of life; one which saw him well-liked, modestly successful, and never in want of comfort or contentment.

But The Universe, it seemed, had other designs – and now Masumi’s carefully crafted existence had devolved into a series of events so unspeakably strange, they could never be understood in their entirety; a nine-month-long saga of outlandish antics, all colluding to bring the calm, orderly balance of his perfectly planned-out life to ruin.

Although . . . much as he cursed The Universe – and a certain, calf-eyed scoundrel – for his current predicament, Masumi had to admit that he was not, perhaps, entirely innocent in this regrettable tale; and not, perhaps, entirely as righteous as he’d once fancied himself to be.

In hindsight, he really should have drawn the line at getting Chris fired.

The full-length double-doors before him practically sneered; egging him on like a pair of rowdy hecklers, eagerly awaiting the final act of his shameful downfall to begin.

Masumi took a deep breath and raised a single, white-gloved fist; poised and ready to knock.

He paused a moment, steeling what little of his resolve still remained.