Carlo had just stepped into the room when the sight before him stopped him cold.
Cecelie, once a proud, once a commanding lady, was now a shell of her former self. Her body hung limp in the guards' grip, dragged like a discarded rag doll across the polished floor. Her eyes were vacant, her expression eerily hollow. The fire that had once lit her gaze was gone—extinguished, leaving behind nothing but ash.
But it wasn't her downfall that stunned him.
It was what stood behind her.
Xavier.
His presence was thunder waiting to crack. Fury rolled off him in heavy, suffocating waves. His jaw clenched, fists curled so tightly his knuckles had turned bone-white. Every muscle in his body was strung taut like a drawn bow, trembling with barely contained violence.
Carlo inhaled slowly, grounding himself before stepping forward.
"You need to calm down, Xavier," he said cautiously. "You can't lose control. Not now."
But Xavier didn't answer.
