The voice, thick with emotion, lacked strength.

It wasn’t sincere enough to be called the truth, yet it carried too much weight to be dismissed as a lie.

Because of that, Daniel understood.

Selvia was using alcohol as a crutch to express the turmoil she had been suppressing.

She wasn’t looking for answers—just for someone to acknowledge how exhausted she was. A fleeting indulgence, seeking comfort in the presence of another.

If she weren’t drunk, I’d never see her like this.

After all, Selvia was the Emperor of the Empire.