Every encounter made Lanci's heart skip a beat, fearful that any minor movement might ignite Sigrid's fury.
The air was almost solidifying, making breathing difficult.
Sigrid clenched the napkin in her hand, her well-manicured nails almost digging into her palm.
Her gaze grew increasingly dark and intense, like a lioness who had her territory invaded, ready to tear everything in her sight to shreds at any moment.
Talia tilted her chin up defiantly, a victorious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes swept over Sigrid, glanced at Lanci for a moment, then focused back on Sigrid, as if silently declaring—
This is my man.
"..."
Where their gazes met, lightning seemed ready to strike, as the atmosphere bristled with the intensity of their wills, clutching their silverware tight.
...
For the next several minutes.
Sigrid and Talia seemed to be in a competition, taking turns shoving food into Lanci's mouth.
The silverware had become instruments of torture.
