Adonis sat in his throne room, a glass of red wine in his left hand, and a tennis ball clenched tightly in his right. His eyes, dark with fury, reflected the wildness of a predator on the verge of striking. The thronet room, with its lighting, seemed almost oppressive under the weight of his anger.
His mind wandered far, consumed by thoughts of Serra. The more he thought of her, the more his rage grew. His spies had informed him of her visit to a particular house, detailing its location and description. From their descriptions of the house and its location, Adonis knew it was Louis's.
"Damn! She left only to be with him," he scoffed, his grip on the glass of wine tightening until his knuckles turned white. The glass threatened to shatter under the pressure, mirroring the tension within h
