Cassandra lay across her velvet-draped bed, her head gently resting on Shennong's lap. The soft golden glow of candlelight painted dancing shadows across the walls of her private chamber, illuminating the two lovers locked in a moment of quiet contemplation. In her hand, a delicate crystal goblet shimmered with a deep red wine—the finest vintage she had in her cellars, personally selected not just for its taste, but for the memories she had always hoped to create with it. A night of warmth, of closeness, of shared souls.
But tonight, her heart was heavier than the richness of the wine.
"You could have lied to me," she murmured, her voice as fragile as the crystal in her hand. She did not look up, only closed her eyes and nestled her head further into the warmth of his thigh. "You could have hidden all of this from me… Why would you tell me these things?"
Her voice trembled with unspoken grief, and perhaps—just perhaps—a hint of betrayal.
