Anna hadn't warned him about her presence—or maybe she had, but he couldn't recall. Leonardo stood there, bewildered, realizing too late that he was still naked.
His heart raced as he scrambled towards the countertop, hands fumbling to cover himself with the long white sleeved cloth, awkwardly holding his vest and trousers in a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of dignity.
He turned to face her, and in that instant, her eyes were cold, like sharpened daggers poised to strike.
Her again.
She spoke, her voice a low, deliberate drawl that dripped with menace. "Go ahead, make a move. I dare you. I'll paint these bathroom walls with your last breath, end your story with one sharp, brutal cut. So what's it gonna be—silence, or a spectacular demise?"
Her words hung in the air, echoing through the confines of the room, amplifying the tension to a near palpable thickness.
