The air in the chamber grew thick with tension as Angelo loomed over me, his presence both mesmerizing and terrifying. The scent of aged parchment and blood-tinged incense clung to the heavy drapes surrounding the bed, mixing with the faint metallic tang that always followed him. The flickering candlelight painted shifting patterns across his masked face, highlighting the cruel beauty of his sculpted lips and the dangerous glint in his eyes. When he moved, it was with the liquid grace of a predator, settling beside me on the bed with unsettling familiarity.
"You're unusually quiet tonight," he murmured, tilting his head as if studying a fragile specimen. "No sharp retorts? No clever schemes spilling from those pretty lips?"
I forced my breathing to remain steady, my fingers curling slightly into the silk sheets. "Perhaps I've finally learned when to hold my tongue," I replied, letting my voice soften just enough to sound weary.
