Addictions are common to weak people. Addicts who are willing to do anything for a dose. Unable to connect two words to drunks. Gamblers who spend their entire fortune for the sake of a ghostly hope of winning.

Addictions are peculiar to weak people, not like Sylus.

He adjusts the masquerade mask that hides part of his face with a careless movement of his hand when she enters the hall immersed in a mysterious semi-darkness.

The woman who took over his soul, heart and mind, who became necessary for him, like air. Like water for a traveler lost in the desert. The one at whose feet he would lay the whole world for just a glance.

Desirable in its inaccessibility, instilling an addiction bordering on obsession. The wife of his sworn enemy and rival, whom Sylus promised to destroy in the name of his own empire, which he had been building with his own hands for years.

Thanks to her, he had one more reason to kill him.

Hiding in the shadows, his scarlet eyes do not leave her for a moment, ignoring the crowd of vultures surrounding her, eager to manifest themselves in the eyes of her husband, experiencing endless attempts to ingratiate themselves enough to become worthy of joining his faction. Sylus knew such people, and therefore was not a regular at such events, but only until he found out that she would be here.

All that remained was to figure out the moment when he could be alone with her. For conversation, of course. He's not some kind of barbarian to steal someone else's spouse. Isn't it?