The two police officers slowly loosened their grip, allowing Mark to straighten up. The man's breath was still coming in ragged gasps, leaving a trail of thin vapor in the cold lobby air. He winced in pain as he clutched his wrists, which were red from the officers' grip.
Standing before him was Celine. There wasn't a shred of pity in her eyes; only a cold stare, as if she were looking at a pile of trash defiling the aesthetics of her luxurious home.
Mark took a single step forward, trying to grasp the hem of Celine's garment with trembling fingers. "Celine… listen to me. I'm here to apologize. All this madness, all the corruption that's happened—"
"Stop right there, Mark," Celine cut him off sharply. Her voice was calm, yet carried a force capable of halting Mark's steps instantly. The two-meter distance between them didn't shift a single centimeter.
