(Third Person).
~Stormveil~
Gabriel pushed open the bedroom door with a sharp shove, the weight of the day clinging to his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
The faint scent of lavender from Margareth's perfume lingered in the air, soft and calming—yet it did nothing to cool the heat simmering in his chest.
Margareth was seated at the vanity, carefully unpinning her hair. She caught sight of him in the mirror, her eyes narrowing at the tension etched into every line of his face.
"You're home late," she said softly, turning on the stool. "What happened? Is everything all right?"
He didn't answer right away, instead tugging off his jacket with jerky movements and tossing it onto the bed. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "Reginald Fellowes," he muttered, his voice low but simmering with venom. "That rotten, power-obsessed old fool… he disgraced me today."
Margareth blinked. "Disgraced you? How?"
