Camyl Langford

Finally, this tedious interview had concluded. The sweet smile plastered on his face vanished as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, and Camyl massaged his cheeks with a pout, sitting in the beige sofa that had welcomed many esteemed guests, but none as charming as him, surely. He who lived for the attention, couldn’t deny how soothing it was in this quiet dressing room, the absence of the usual scrutiny a rare and precious moment. Not that he fled the spotlight, but mediocre people were so energy-consuming.

Through the thin walls, he heard the loud cackle of his interviewer, who had remained on set, and his pout deepened. This woman had been so rude and so vulgar –implying publicly that he had more venom than suited a media heartthrob– that his otherwise invincible smile had twitched. It wasn’t a lie, but threatening to shed his façade carelessly on live on air was a low blow he would not forget. And neither would she, once he had her removed to a lesser position with a single call.

Sighing, he slid a manicured hand through his hair, putting it back in place, and checked his reflection in an adjacent mirror. A practiced coy smile, a correction of a smudge in his sparkly blue eyeshadow, and Camyl Langford was back in place, blue-clad god gracing the mortals with his craft. In all humility, of course. But he still had half an hour before his chauffeur arrived to drive him to the rest of his evening’s schedule, and he was not impatient to find his team waiting for him behind the door, so he simply leaned back against the cushions, with elegant nonchalance, and scrolled the comments on the live broadcast he had just participated in. He smiled with satisfaction : they all ate out of his hand. Nobody had seen his irritation at the interviewer’s innuendos about patrons and his newly acquired soloist role –rather, all were offended in his stead that she could have suggested that him, Camyl Langford, needed someone else’s influence and wealth to be at the top. Without forgetting his talent : haters could say a lot about his personality or his relationship habits, but nobody could deny that he was born to shine. Worship him or abhor him, no one remained indifferent. And the latter was meticulously silenced, or proven wrong during one memorable night, before being dismissed with Camyl dancing on what remained of their shattered heart.

In the quiet of the room, he didn’t miss the soft click of the door opening, and he straightened slowly, deliberately. Putting his phone back in the pocket of his designer suit, Camyl smiled languidly, but his eyes were sharp and suspicious. He tilted his head hypnotically without even thinking, seduction an art as effortless as breathing by now.

"You aren’t supposed to be here. It is a restricted area, and I asked not to be bothered." His voice was a silken melody, an almost flawless performance balancing between the practiced warmth he wore like a second skin, and the annoyance he feels.