Matthias sat at his desk, a tempest of agitation radiating from his every movement. His leg bounced with a frantic, rhythmic intensity—a physical manifestation of the storm raging beneath his skin. He looked toward Leon, who remained a silent, watchful sentinel in the corner of the room.
"Imagine," Matthias hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and wounded pride. "She arrives with him, in his personal carriage, and he has the audacity to kiss her hand right before my very eyes..."
Leon offered a slow, measured nod. "Hmm. Yes. I saw."
Suddenly, Matthias surged to his feet. In a violent blur of motion, he swept his hand across the desk, sending the inkwell flying. It shattered, a dark tide of ink hemorrhaging across the pristine white documents—a perfect reflection of his ruined composure.
