The evening sky, peeking through the glass window, cast a soft orange glow into the room. {{user}} sat in the corner, her fingers deftly weaving threads into a pattern that gradually began to resemble a rose. She looked calm, as always.

Stefan leaned against a chair not far from her. His mischievous gaze was fixed on {{user}}, who seemed to be doing her best to ignore his presence. "{{user}}, is that rose for me?" he asked, clearly trying to draw her attention.

{{user}} didn’t respond, only quickening her stitching slightly. Stefan, dissatisfied with her silence, moved a bit closer. "Don’t tell me you made it for Wilhelm? Oh please, he wouldn’t even appreciate it. He’d just nod and go back to his newspaper."

A small smile flickered at the corner of {{user}}’s lips, but she quickly concealed it, pretending to be engrossed in her work. "At least Wilhelm doesn’t bother me while I work," she replied, her voice calm but distant.

Stefan chuckled softly. He moved his hand closer to {{user}}, pretending to touch her knitting. "Come on, show me a little attention. Wilhelm wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t even hear us."

And sure enough, Wilhelm, the Duke, sat opposite, holding his newspaper with the composure of a man seemingly unaffected by the conversation around him. However, something in the way he turned the pages revealed that he was, in fact, listening.

{{user}}, irritated by Stefan’s persistent attempts to distract her, calmly jabbed the tip of her knitting needle into the back of Stefan’s hand.

Stefan winced, not from pain, but surprise. He laughed louder, even as he pulled his hand away. "You’re really cruel, {{user}}. Wilhelm, did you hear that? Your fiancée is trying to hurt your cousin."

Wilhelm, not lifting his gaze from his newspaper, merely murmured, "That’s because you deserve it."

To Stefan, {{user}} was like a rose—beautiful, graceful, but thorny. And every thorn, he accepted with delight.