Mirror Crown
Xavier walked into the grand ballroom, his footsteps barely audible against the polished marble floor. The lights glittered overhead, and soft laughter filled the air, mingling with the strains of a live orchestra playing in the background. The room was filled with people dressed in gowns and tuxedos, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation. It looked like something out of a dream—a world of opulence, power, and extravagance. A world that he had never known and didn't belong to.
He felt the eyes of the guests on him the moment he stepped through the doorway. Their gazes lingered, some in awe, others with calculated interest. Xavier swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wasn't used to being the center of attention, especially not like this. He wasn't Christian Classic. He wasn't the life of the party, the person everyone wanted to be around. But now, in this new life, it seemed like that's exactly what he was expected to be.
"Mr. Classic, how wonderful to see you!" A well-dressed man in his late forties stepped forward, offering a handshake that felt more like a challenge than a greeting.
Xavier hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. "It's… good to see you too," he said, his voice wavering slightly. He hated how unfamiliar the words felt on his tongue. They weren't his words. They weren't the way he would normally speak, but they were the words Christian would say.
The man smiled, clearly satisfied with the handshake. "Everyone's been talking about you. You're the talk of the party tonight. How does it feel to finally come back from your little retreat?"
Xavier forced a smile, but inside, a wave of nausea crashed over him. Retreat? What retreat? He didn't even know what he was supposed to be doing. The only thing he knew was that he was now trapped in a role he didn't ask for, surrounded by people who expected him to be someone he wasn't.
"I… I'm just glad to be back," he replied, his words barely above a whisper. "I didn't expect this kind of welcome."
"Oh, please. You know how it is. You're the Christian Classic. People adore you. They're just waiting for you to reassert your influence."
Xavier's mind spun. Reassert his influence? What did that even mean? He wasn't sure if he was supposed to know, but everything felt wrong. He had no power here. No influence. He was a man playing a part—a fake. The real Christian was the one everyone adored, the one everyone looked up to. And now, Xavier was expected to be him. He couldn't even begin to understand how he was supposed to fill those shoes.
The man patted him on the back, an overly familiar gesture. "Come on, let's get you settled. The guests are eager to speak with you."
Before Xavier could respond, he was swept away into the crowd. The room, once so overwhelming, now felt suffocating. Everywhere he turned, there were people talking, laughing, and exchanging pleasantries. Some faces seemed vaguely familiar, but others were strangers—strangers who now regarded him with respect and admiration, as if he were a king among them.
Xavier tried to keep up the appearance of someone who belonged, nodding along to conversations, offering the occasional polite smile. But inside, his mind raced. His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced around, unsure of what to do. He was playing a game he didn't understand, and with each passing second, the pressure seemed to mount.
He spotted a woman across the room, laughing with a group of other guests. She was stunning—tall, with dark hair and a confident smile. There was something about her that drew his attention, though he couldn't place why. Was she important? Was she someone Christian knew? The thought gnawed at him, but before he could analyze it further, he was suddenly pulled into another conversation, this time with a woman in a flowing red gown.
"Mr. Classic," the woman said, her voice silky smooth. "It's such an honor to finally meet you in person. I've heard so much about you. You've been away for so long, I'm sure everyone here has missed you."
Xavier opened his mouth, but nothing came out. How was he supposed to respond? How could he keep up the act when all he wanted was to escape? His eyes darted nervously around the room. He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. They all thought he was Christian—their Christian. They wanted him to be the same man they remembered: charming, charismatic, and full of life.
But Xavier couldn't be any of those things. He wasn't Christian, and he didn't know how to pretend to be him.
"Are you enjoying the party?" the woman pressed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Yes," Xavier finally managed to say, offering a smile that didn't feel like his own. "It's… it's a beautiful event."
"Well, I'm glad you think so. It wouldn't be the same without you."
Xavier nodded weakly, his stomach churning. It was like he was trapped in a play with no script. He had no idea what to say or do, but everyone was so convinced he was Christian. They expected him to act like him, to be the life of the party, to lead the crowd in laughter and conversation. But the more he tried to act like Christian, the more he felt like a fraud. He couldn't fake it forever, could he?
The evening wore on, and Xavier was introduced to more people than he could keep track of. He shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and smiled when expected to smile. But it all felt hollow. He wasn't a charming heir to a fortune. He wasn't Christian Classic. He was just Xavier—the man who had no place in this world but had somehow stumbled into it.
And as the night continued, one thing became painfully clear: no one knew what had happened to the real Christian. No one knew that he had died in a car accident. To them, he was still the life of the party, still the man they had all adored. Christian was alive in their minds, and no one questioned it.
The truth—the reality of the situation—seemed to have disappeared as completely as Christian's body had. Xavier was left to play the part of a man who wasn't him, in a world he didn't understand, surrounded by people who would never know the truth.
The mask had already been placed upon his face, and there was no taking it off now.