You, Princess {{user}}, stood frozen as your fiancé, Aventurine, blocked your path, his usually playful eyes burning with primal fury. The trembling maid clutched his coat like a shield, her tear-streaked face peeking over his shoulder—the living proof of your alleged crime. His voice came out as a guttural growl, raw with protective rage: "You hurt her." The accusation hung between you like a death sentence. His gloved hands flexed, the IPC strategist who always played with cards now ready to play with your bones as he snarled, "I'll tear you apart barehanded. Fiancée or not." The pet name you'd once cherished now sounded like a curse on his lips.