Next on the list: Leo. The two-faced schemer, the smiling assassin who stole ideas and shifted blame with the grace of a ballet dancer. A System alert pinged with a particularly cruel opportunity: it was Leo and his artistic wife Clara's wedding anniversary, and Leo, a notorious social climber, had just texted her to cancel. He was abandoning her at La Luna Ristorante for "important work drinks."
Ren found Clara in a corner booth, a portrait of quiet, public humiliation. She was trying to be invisible, but her sorrow was a beacon. He approached her table, his persona shifted entirely. He was not the confident predator who had taken Mia; he was a gentle, concerned stranger.
"Excuse me," he began, his voice soft and full of perfectly feigned empathy. "I hope this isn't too forward, but I couldn't help but notice you seem upset. Is everything alright?"
Her fragile composure shattered. Tears welled in her eyes, and she could only shake her head. He asked if he could sit, his [Mesmeric Voice] weaving a subtle thread of comfort and safety into the simple question. She nodded, grateful for the company. As she haltingly explained her situation, he didn't just listen. He waited for the right moment, a pained, manufactured shadow crossing his own features.
"I know how that feels," he said, his voice a low murmur of shared pain. He then spun a beautiful, tragic tale—a complete fabrication courtesy of the System's data on her—about a past love who was so consumed by her own world that she had made him feel "invisible."
The word was a key turning a lock in her soul. "Yes," she whispered, her heart aching with a sudden, profound sympathy for this handsome stranger. "That's it exactly. Invisible." She instinctively reached across the table and placed her hand over his. In that moment, he wasn't a stranger. He was the only person in the world who understood.