Cruelle, Darling

...The Viper's Pet~Pt. 3 (Fin)

~Author's Note: For those of you who are new: STOP! There's an installment before this since this is kinda like a sequel. Link is provided down below!! :) (Smile)~
~WARNING: this part is pretty damn long *sorry* I really didn't want to make a Part 4 or Epilogue. >3< Thank you guys!! OH! Also, make sure to have a French to English translator ready ;) Enjoy~

Cruelle's hold on you stiffens when your weight falters yet again from swooning, although he doesn't seem to mind. However, you can't help the fan girl syndrome from seeing so many sports, film, fashion, and every kind of idol gathered in one place. Everyone is so beautiful, like you're at convention for Greek gods and goddesses, and, somehow, Cruelle's Hussars Uniform seems modest in comparison to what other celebrities are wearing—everywhere you look, there's towering plumage, diamond and bead-adorned clothes on both sexes, furs that drag behind like a train, or dresses so lacking in fabric it makes you feel silly for complaining about the ones you had to model.

While you're busy gawking at the pageantry, Cruelle suavely greets the string of people that approach him with appraisals and subsequently brush them aside to pull you along to secure your arrival with the event planners. He approaches a man with glasses holding a clipboard and doesn't even have to say anything for the guy to recognize him.

"Mr. De Vil!" he smiles, awestruck, and checks off his name on the guest list. "Glad you could join us tonight. And...?" he points at you with his pen.

"Oh! I'm (f/n) (l/n)," you say and jokingly add, "The muse."

You blush when the guy cocks an unamused brow and scribbles on the paper while Cruelle chuckles low. He tugs at your body. "Come on, muse, I have to locate some colleagues of mine," he says and leads to you a very wide hall decorated with bright blue LEDs and ribbons.
Wherever Cruelle goes, the crowd seems to literally part before him, whether out of pure intimidation or awe, who could say, but it's unnerving how everyone's gaze falls on you in a confused, disdainful manner, like they know you don't belong there. Cruelle doesn't notice it, however, and soon calls out in French to a group of three men and a woman standing around a cocktail table.

They all cheer when they see him and move towards him as he does to them, his arm unwinding from your side. And here comes the part where I become the outsider... you huff and stand awkwardly as they all kiss cheeks and chatter in the foreign language. Their skin is the same alabaster as his, their faces all perfectly angled and rounded in the right places, although none of them seem as muscular as Cruelle. Regardless of all of this, Cruelle remains the most breathtaking of them all. The air about him isn't weighed down by self-consciousness or care for judgment, allowing him to be the most confident person in the room—who knew his immense ego could make him so attractive?

The blonde man is the first one to notice you. He taps Cruelle's arm and asks him something, and, though you don't speak French, Vanessa's name popping up gives enough indication to what was being said. "Est-ce vrai que Vanessa a cessé d'être votre muse?" he asks and eyes you, a crooked smile appearing. "Ou elle est juste un autre amant de la vôtre?"

The quartet laughs while Cruelle makes a loud click against his teeth and rolls his head. "Gardez vos inappropriées hypothèses pour vous, Klein," he growls and turns to face you. You unconsciously perk up at having his attention and he smirks. "Elle est ma muse, une très bonne muse si j'ose dire."

"Elle est vraiment votre muse?" the dark haired man to his right asks.

Cruelle lifts the cigarette stick to his curved lips and crosses his arm over his chest. "Oui," he hums, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Elle est mieux que Vanessa?" scoffs the red-headed woman.

There's a pause. Cruelle's smirk widens and right before he walks to you, he says, "Indéniablement." He wraps an arm over your shoulder and pulls you away.