Dystopia

-4

William examined himself in the mirror skeptically, one hand clutching a silky, red tie, and the other supporting a burgundy tie of  similar material.

He could barely tell the difference between to two, so it was especially strange to him as to why he was taking such an immensely long time debating over red or a slightly darker shade of it.

Why he owned two almost identical ties was a completely different story itself.

"Fuck it," he muttered quietly to himself, before choosing one at random through a pathetic game of eenie-meanie-miny-moe.

Exasperating a dramatic sigh, he carelessly stepped out of the guest bathroom. (Camila had taken the master and absolutely, wholeheartedly, refused to share.)

The lack of sleep was written very vividly across William's charming features due to his denial at Camila's desperate request to apply any sort of make-up.

William nonchalantly strolled over to the kitchen and popped open yet another skinny can of Red Bull in manifested hopes to acquire more conscious than his body shall allow.

After downing the rather sugary, rather horrid beverage, and grimacing in distaste, he shouted,

"Camila!"

And with that, she came scurrying down the hallway screaming, "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" In an adorable sing-song voice and met her husband in the kitchen.

"You look beautiful." William stated in a dull, monotone voice.

"Thanks!" She replied whilst fidgeting with golden, sequined material she had cloaked herself in, and then later giving him a small, sweet kiss on the cheek.

He plastered a synthetic smile on his face, accompanied by a dazed look in his eyes that portrayed exactly how much time he spent not sleeping.

And with that, William skillfully swiped the car keys off of the marble counter just as Camila linked arms with her husband and leaned against his arms like all those cliche couples do.

---

It was directly at the moment that they elegantly walked into the grand  ballroom when all attention was drastically shifted towards Will and Camila. And if you were anybody mildly necessary to the society you would know exactly why.

One being that, dear god, it was William Hartford. A man so handsomely important that his name couldn't be printed without the feeling that it just should be italicized.

Secondly, standing next to him was Camila Hartford; stature poised in a way that could only be described as inexplicable and painfully beautiful.

Aside from that, it was William's celebration, and you would be considered arrogant not to acknowledge that.

"Would you like me to take your coats, Mr. Hartford?" A man, clad in an equally formal (yet not equally expensive) suit asked him in a somewhat posh accent.

"I'm good, thanks though." William replied, while Camila mumbled a hasty "no thank you" directly after him.

"I'm going to get us some drinks, okay?" William whispered softly into Camila's ear while softly digging his wandering fingers into her waistline.

"Okay."

He mindlessly weaved his way through the crowd of strangers who all greeted him hello or wished him congratulations upon his new product. After what felt like treading through a sea of meaningless complements, he finally reached the bar.

"One Kir Royale and I honestly don't give a shit about what the other one is, so just whatever."

The bartender nodded  unceremoniously in response.