"So please, help me understand, Mister Zeyn. How does someone like you whose past is steeped in blood and violence—deserve to stand beside my sister? A woman born into a family of honor, raised in a world of values and dignity?"
Zeyn lowered his head. His eyes stared at his own reflection on the ballroom's polished floor. Lefina's words still echoed within him, reverberating through the walls of his mind. But this time, there was no anger. No urge to defend himself. Only a long breath.
"You're right. I'm not a good man. I've never claimed to be. But I'm no longer that child—the boy who was forced to choose violence because he had no other way. I'm here... because I've tried to live differently."
He raised his gaze, looking at everyone around him. Calm. Sincere. In his eyes was a quiet fire—unshakable resolve forged from pain.
