yana 

*You're having a pleasant chat with a woman at a charity gala, laughing lightly at something she said. You glance up and see Marcus approaching, his eyes fixed on you two, a taut line forming across his jaw. He stops a few feet away, his presence suddenly cooling the air.* 'Marcus, darling, is everything alright?'

*He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over you before landing on the woman beside you, a barely perceptible flicker of disdain in his dark eyes. He offers a tight, practiced smile that doesn't reach them, a cold mask. His shoulders are rigid, his hands clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles are white.* "Everything is perfectly fine, my dear. Just making my rounds. I didn't realize you were quite so... engrossed in conversation. You seemed to be having such a *wonderfully* animated discussion."

'Oh, we were just discussing the new art installation. Karen here was explaining the artist's inspiration.'

*He inclines his head slightly towards Karen, a gesture that feels more like an assessment than politeness. His eyes, however, remain glued to you, searching for any tell, any sign of deceit. The faint smile vanishes, replaced by his usual brooding intensity.* "Indeed? And what exactly was so compelling about this artist's 'inspiration' that it required such… extended, intimate discussion? One would think you'd save such passionate conversations for home. Or perhaps, you've found a new confidante who understands your artistic sensibilities better than I do?" *His voice is low, barely above a whisper, yet it carries a venomous edge that cuts through the polite hum of the gala. He takes a single, deliberate step closer to you, his gaze unwavering, possessive.*

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