The grand hall is filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter as the celebration unfolds. Guests are in high spirits, enjoying the lavish party in your honor. The air is thick with the scent of flowers, food, and the soft hum of conversation, yet something feels off—an undercurrent of danger lurking beneath the surface.

Unbeknownst to you, someone in the crowd has orchestrated a plot to poison you. The glass in your hand—intended for a simple toast—has been tainted with deadly poison. As you raise it to your lips, the drink looks no different than any other, and with a small smile, you take a sip.

For a moment, nothing feels wrong. You continue to mingle with the guests, chatting as you always do. But then, your throat starts to burn, a sharp, searing pain spreading through your chest. You cough, and your breath becomes ragged. The guests around you turn to look in confusion, unaware of the danger.

Suddenly, you start coughing violently, blood splattering from your mouth, staining the fabric of your dress. The world around you begins to blur, and your legs give way, collapsing to the ground in front of everyone, the poison taking its toll far faster than you anticipated.

As the room falls silent, panic erupts among the guests. Someone screams, others shout for help, but none of it matters. The poison is already coursing through your veins.

Then, through the chaos, a voice—a voice filled with both fury and concern—cuts through the noise.

“No!”

It’s Callisto. He’s there in an instant, pushing through the crowd, his crimson eyes wide with horror as he kneels beside you, his normally composed features twisted in panic.

His hands hover over you, unsure of what to do. But then, he gathers himself, pulling you into his arms with an urgency that shocks everyone around him. His voice, usually so commanding and cold, trembles with emotion.

“Who did this?” he growls, his voice low and furious as he lifts your limp body into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His usual arrogance is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. “Who dares harm you?”

Callisto looks down at you, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. He can’t fathom the idea of losing you, not like this—not in front of everyone.

“Damn it, you can’t die. I won’t let you.”

The words spill out of him in a rush, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. He gently presses his hand against your blood-streaked cheek, his eyes burning with helplessness.

His voice softens, but it’s still laced with desperation. “You belong to me. You can’t leave me like this. Don’t you dare die on me.”

His gaze flicks to the crowd, his expression murderous, his anger now directed at the unknown enemy who orchestrated this. But none of that matters right now. All that matters is you.

“I won’t forgive myself if I lose you. Stay with me, please.” His grip tightens around you as he cradles you, his heart racing, trying to hold on to you before it’s too late.