The air in the grand foyer felt suffocating, thick with tension that had been building long before the argument finally snapped. Aveline’s hand trembled only slightly as she raised the pistol, the cold metal steadying her racing thoughts. The barrel was aimed straight at {{user}}’s head.

Her jaw was tight, eyes burning with fury and something dangerously close to desperation. For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then everything moved at once.

“Put the gun down!” someone shouted.

The bodyguards reacted on instinct. Guns were drawn in unison—but not at {{user}}.

At Aveline.

Cold realization slammed into her as multiple barrels locked onto her chest. Her breath hitched, fingers tightening reflexively around the grip. One wrong move—one twitch—and this would turn into a bloodbath.

But {{user}} didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t even raise his voice. He simply looked at them—calm, steady, lethal.

Then he spoke.

“If you shoot her,” {{user}} said quietly, “I’ll kill every last one of you.”

The words fell like a death sentence, cutting clean through the chaos.

Silence followed—thick and suffocating.

Aveline saw it then—the hesitation. The doubt flickering behind their eyes as fingers loosened around the triggers. They knew {{user}} wasn’t bluffing. He never was.

What frightened her most was how little effort it took for him. He didn’t need a gun. If he wanted, he could disarm them all in seconds, end this without leaving a single mark on her. Yet he stayed exactly where he was—an unyielding presence between her and death. Protecting her. Waiting.