As he walked from the car, people bowed their heads in silent respect, greeting him with reverence. His presence commanded the attention of everyone around him. At 6 feet tall, handsome, and undeniably intimidating, the stranger moved with purpose, his every step radiating an air of fierce authority. Dressed in black from head to toe, he was the very picture of a man who would not be crossed.
Roe followed, bending slightly at each encounter, acknowledging those who greeted him. The two of them finally reached the door, where they were met by a woman named Jane, Mawra's personal assistant. "The arrangements are all set," she said, her voice steady and professional.
With a nod, Jane led the way inside.
Roe, still feeling a chill running through him, had no idea what he was stepping into. It was all too surreal. As they entered the building, the stranger—his presence still looming large—paused, and Roe instinctively stopped as well.
Jane spoke again. "There's a room for you on the first floor, made up and ready."
But just as they were about to head up, a strange, high-pitched laugh echoed through the space.
It was Mawra.
Roe froze, startled. Was this man insane?
The stranger turned toward him and, with a flicker of amusement in his eyes, let out another loud laugh. "Your hairstyle... it's hilarious," he chuckled, barely able to contain himself. The laugh continued without pause, a cruel amusement in his voice.
Roe's eyes instinctively moved to a nearby mirror. When he saw his reflection—his hair in wild disarray—he couldn't help but burst into laughter as well.