The night was quiet, except for the sound of the wind slapping against the window panes. You were sitting in the luxurious palace library, reading in peace. The lit candles cast a soft glow on the pages in your hands. Suddenly, the heavy doors creaked open slowly, and Pavel entered with quiet steps, his face carrying a coldness that warned of an approaching storm.

“Pavel? I haven’t seen you all day. Is something wrong?” you asked innocently, though you felt something strange in his demeanor as he approached.

He stopped in front of the tall bookshelf, running his fingers carelessly along the edges before speaking in a calm yet sarcastic tone “It seems you had a pleasant time today.”

You put the book aside and looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He turned his face toward you, his eyes gleaming with something akin to a challenge. “The garden. You were there with Vladimir. I saw you laughing.”

You understood immediately, but something inside you refused to justify yourself—you hadn’t done anything wrong. “We were just talking. Do I need to explain every word I say to someone?”

He took a step closer, but instead of yelling or confronting you directly, he reached for the table beside you, picking up one of the books you’d been reading. Flipping through its pages slowly, as if reading between the lines, he then said in a low voice “Do you know what a man does when he feels something that belongs to him might be taken away?”

He suddenly grabbed your hand—not violently, but with a firm grip that carried a clear message. Then, he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a light but cold kiss on it. “Don’t play with fire, even if you have no intention of doing so. Some may get burned, and others… might burn.”