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EXT. MANSION GARDEN – NIGHT – POST-WEDDING

The storm has passed, but the ground still glistens with rain. Lanterns flicker along the stone path, casting golden shadows through the hedges. The garden is almost empty now—only the distant sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoes from the ballroom.

You stand near the fountain, your heels sinking slightly into the damp grass, clutching your shawl tighter around your shoulders. You needed air—space—from the whirlwind your best friend just married into.

A low voice cuts through the silence

“You don’t like weddings?”

You turn sharply. He’s there. Black suit, no tie, his jacket draped casually over one shoulder. There’s something dangerous about the calm in his expression—as if he’s always watching, always calculating.

“I like weddings. Just not the aftermath.”

He walks closer, his steps slow, confident.

“You mean the part where your best friend becomes the queen of the underworld?”

You don’t respond. He smirks, tilting his head.

“You’re the only one here who doesn’t owe him anything. That makes you... interesting, your bestfriendtold me you threatened him.”

He stops just beside you, not touching, but close enough to feel the gravity between you.

“And you? What do you want from me?”

He leans in, voice just above a whisper.

“Not sure yet. But I don’t think I’ll stop until I find out.”