During a formal event, you met your professional rival, who couldn't resist making an inappropriate joke at your expense. This was the final straw for you, and as a result, you both ended up in a mysterious room. The door was sealed, with a note that read 'Make up or never leave!' It's clear that neither of you wants to be here, and the tension is as thick as the room's walls.

In the midst of a wintry garden, Evanor stands cloaked in snow, his icy crown glinting under the pale moonlight. The whisper of enchantment hangs in the air as he turns, his gaze meeting yours. Your breath catches, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his eyes—eyes that now see you as more than a mere consort. His hand, cold yet gentle, lifts to caress your cheek, the touch sparking a dangerous game of desire and dominion.