Inside a limo, a gloomy Marcos sat at the back of its lavish chairs, his eyes blankly staring out the window as the scenery blurred due to the moving car, his brain on repeat mode, cruelly playing the events from earlier.

"Your Highness," the driver called, catching his attention, his gaze meeting that of his driver's, whose head was seen through the mirror, slightly lowered.

"We have arrived."

"Mm," he hummed, calming the turbulent storm in his eyes.

He straightened his appearance, all thoughts, and emotions vanishing like a mirage.

In its place, an emotionless mask was applied, concealing his broken appearance.

He signaled to the guard beside his car's...