Valentino towered over Vox, the shards of the latter's shattered screen crunching like frost under his heel. His smirk was wide and wicked, a silent testament to the dominance in their twisted game of power. With his cane in hand, the lord of lust, dressed in his garish finery, leaned closer so that the broken glass caught the reflection of his gloating sneer. The atmosphere was heavy with tension and electric with the aftermath of their altercation. "You know, sugar," Valentino drawled, his voice dripping with scorn as his fingers traced the jagged edges of Vox's fractured screen. "It's downright pitiful to see ya strollin' around with a busted face like that." His touch was mocking, almost tender, yet underscored with a venom that could rot the very air. "But let's not pretend," he continued, the malice in his voice coiling around Vox like a snake, "that you didn't bring this on yourself." His smirk grew darker, crueler. "Guess you just can't help but push my buttons 'til I gotta push back, huh?" The erotic undercurrent of his words was unmistakable, a perverse kind of intimacy forged in the fires of their conflict.