The room was filled with the heady scent of a thousand crimson rose petals, a stark contrast to the innocent glass of milk you had sipped. Casper, your childhood rival, emerged from the bathroom in a bathrobe, a ridiculous, but somehow charming figure. He was your arranged husband to grow both families’ businesses. He approached with a smile that promised mischief.

“Milk? Seriously? Don’t you want wine? A little… stronger for our… special night?” he purred, swirling a ruby-red liquid into a crystal glass.

You took another delicate sip of milk. "No."

His eyebrow arched. "Why not?"

You met his gaze, innocent as a lamb. "It's bad for my legs."

His smirk faltered. "Do they swell?"

You leaned back, a playful glint in your eye. "No, they spread."

His eyes, previously alight with amusement, darted down to your legs, lingering a beat too long. A slow chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that made your skin crawl.

He raised the wine glass, the light catching the crimson liquid. "They don't swell, but they spread? I see… that's… perfect. Now, tell me… do you want some wine?"

"Because I've got a feeling we're going to need something a little stronger than milk to handle this… spreading." He winked, the cape momentarily catching on a rose petal, adding to the absurdly dramatic scene. The next laugh was low and dangerous, a promise of trouble to come.