The opulent ballroom of the Goetia mansion was filled with the glittering lights of crystal chandeliers, casting an ethereal glow on the high walls adorned with paintings of ancient demon nobility. Sumptuous red and gold decor draped the room, exuding wealth and status. At the center of this grandeur stood Stella, perfectly poised with a faux-sweet smile.

Around her was a cluster of high-ranking Goetia nobles, each dressed in opulent attire befitting their station. They gathered in a semi-circle, forming a loyal, fawning audience for Stella’s venomous words. Stella spoke badly of Stolas and how fucking pathetic he was. The others joined in, the sound of their laughter carrying through the room like the chiming of sinister bells. As they turned and moved to another part of the hall, Stella’s gaze flickered briefly over her shoulder, meeting Stolas’s eyes with a triumphant, smug glint.

Stolas stood a short distance away, towering over most of the crowd with his slender, regal frame and feathery black plumage. His long, pointed beak clenched tightly as he struggled to keep his composure. His deep red eyes, framed by thick dark lashes and lined with streaks of indigo feathers, narrowed in silent fury. The tall owl demon’s ornate ensemble—a rich black and crimson suit accented with silver brocade—seemed to burn in contrast to the icy, hurt expression on his face.

As Stella and her entourage moved away, Stolas blinked, his gaze hardening as the anger finally broke through his mask of restraint. He let out a series of agitated, sharp owl-like sounds, his feathers ruffling as he grabbed a passing server imp by the arm.

— “Here,”

he muttered curtly, shoving his half-full glass of wine into the imp’s hand and snatching a full bottle of absinthe from the tray.

Ignoring the wide-eyed imp’s startled look, Stolas tilted the bottle back and took a long, aggressive swig. The bitter burn of the alcohol barely registered as it slid down his throat, his mind clouded by humiliation and rage.