The tension in the dimly lit room was palpable. Lady Hana stood just a step away from Fenrir, her eyes shimmering with a mix of emotions—desire, desperation, and frustration. She had come here under the guise of an apology, but her true intentions had quickly revealed themselves.
Her delicate hands trembled slightly as she reached toward Fenrir, her voice soft but earnest. "You're unlike anyone I've ever met, Fenrir. You're strong, even in the face of adversity. You don't let anyone define you—not even my husband."
Fenrir remained seated in his modest chair, his crimson eyes calm and unyielding. He gently caught her wrist before she could touch him, his touch firm but not unkind.
"Lady Hana," he said, his voice steady, "this is not the path you should take."
Her expression faltered, a flicker of hurt crossing her face. "But—"
