Twilight cast a purple hue across Alexander's office, the dancing shadows on the walls like ominous omens. Emily, kneeling on the cushion at his feet, felt every heartbeat echo against her still-fresh tattoo—a painful reminder of her recent rebellion.
She had wanted to prove she could be strong, that she could defy Alexander, but here, in the oppressive silence of the office, she felt the full fragility of her position.

Alexander, absorbed in his documents, showed no sign of annoyance or distraction. Every movement of his seemed calculated, measured, as if he controlled not only the space but time itself.
The silence stretching between them was a weapon—an instrument he wielded to subdue, to test her limits. Emily knew it wasn't indifference—it was strategy, a subtle but relentless method of control.