Somewhere in the heart of the city, shielded behind the tinted glass of a luxury penthouse, a man stood like a predator carved from stone. Standing at nearly 6'2'', his silhouette was a testament to raw power and disciplined fury. Mahir moved with a slow, deliberate grace toward a solitary photograph resting on an ornate mahogany table. His intense grayish orbs—cold as a winter storm—remained fixed on the girl in the frame. In his right hand, he swirled a wine glass, the dark liquid catching the dim light. A wolf tattoo stretched across his knuckles, making his grip appear even more lethal as he tightened his hold on the stem. Without breaking eye contact with the photo, he gulped the wine in one aggressive motion and slammed the glass down. The thud echoed through the silent room like a gavel.