"My dear, what happened to you?" Anastasia asked anxiously.
She looked at Alvaron, whose face was grim and dark, as if he had endured an exceptionally bad day.
Alvaron drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Yet the anger and hatred within him still burned, and the only thing that could soothe it was killing Rovert himself.
"It's fine," he said, forcing calm into his voice.
"You're lying." Anastasia pursed her lips in disapproval. "Look at your expression—how could you possibly be okay? Tell me what really happened."
She leaned closer and gently smoothed the collar of his robe. Alvaron felt a warmth in his chest, and slowly, his frustration began to ease.
"Actually…"
He began to recount what had just occurred. Anastasia was his wife, and in the family hierarchy, she came second.
More importantly, she was no ordinary woman. Educated and intelligent, she was someone he always turned to when problems arose, discussing everything together.
