Daemar's brows arched in confusion as he stared at Lior, his lips parting as though to speak, yet no words came. Before he could manage anything, Lior suddenly stood up from the bed, his movements unsteady. The lady, who had been sprawled beside him earlier, also rose with trembling limbs, fear clouding her delicate features. Her steps staggered towards the entrance, but Daemar, too agitated to allow her escape, acted swiftly. How dare she lay hands upon his consort? Touching Lior so boldly—perhaps she truly had a death wish.
In a flash, Daemar's hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her slender neck. She froze, her breath hitched, a frightened gasp escaping her lips as her air was cut short. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers, and her wide eyes shimmered with terror. His gaze was sharp, like the edge of a drawn blade, as he growled, voice low and lethal,
"Who sent you? What do you want?"
