Otthen’s head spun, and his thoughts were like broken glass. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but his chest was tight and Cynthia's eyes caught his attention and pulled him closer.
“Cynthia… listen to me,” he managed, but his voice was softer, fading. She leaned closer and stroked his hair. Her touch was smooth and almost hypnotic.
"Ask your heart, Otthen,” she whispered, her words warm and insistent, her fingers curling against the back of his neck, drawing him in. “Don’t you still love me?”
Her question lingered in the air, swirling with the faint scent of her perfume, the clinging tension in her voice. Otthen tried to pull away, but the dizziness was thick, clouding his senses. His grip faltered as he pressed a hand to his temple, the room spinning around them. Her question ech
