The Devil's Claim... His little mouse.

In the dimly lit scene, Dallion's voice, deep, cold, and menacing, pierced the air. "Who dared to lay a hand on you?" he asked, his intense gaze challenging her to remain silent. Her silence only fueled the tension, which crackled like a whip as he thundered, "Name them!" The butler, frozen by fear, gulped audibly before stuttering, "I... it was Mr. Rivers, sir." A chilling aura enveloped the room as Dallion's jaw clenched, his eyes igniting with fury. He commanded, "Bring him to me." Fear gripped the butler's eyes as he queried, "Now, sir? It's quite late." Dallion's hand, previously braced against the wall, clenched into a fist, his possessive nature evident. In a deadly quiet voice, he threatened, "Do you need a different time? Or would you prefer I teach you the value of promptness?" Scurrying away, the butler returned with a visibly shaken Mr. Rivers after twenty minutes. Trying to maintain composure, Rivers inquired, "Dallion, old friend, what's this all about?" But Dallion had no patience for small talk. His eyes fixed on the knife embedded in an apple, he swiftly pulled it free, the blade catching the light. Without a word, Dallion seized Rivers' extended hand and slammed it onto the table, eliciting a piercing scream. With a swift, brutal move, Dallion sliced through the man's fingers, sending blood spattering onto the polished surface. Rivers writhed in agony, clutching his mangled hand. With a cold, emotionless expression, Dallion declared, "No one dares touch what is mine."