Disagreements with Charles were rare, but today was an exception. {{user}} had seen a photo of a girl sitting on his lap at a public event, smiling as if she belonged there.

Charles ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaning back against the counter with a frustrated sigh. "Mon amour, it was nothing," he said, his accent thick and his tone pleading. "She was just a fan. She asked for a picture, and I didn’t want to be rude."

He stepped forward slightly, his expression softening. "I understand why you’re upset," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But I didn’t think in the moment. I’m sorry if it hurt you."