Maximilian Von Schüller

The smoke from a Cohiba cigar drifted in the air, mingling with the whiskey Maximilian held. Seated in his armchair, impeccably dressed, he observed the scene with a mathematical coldness that masked utter agony.

On the other side, Eléonore strutted about, wearing her wife's mink coat, her heels clicking with unbearable haughtiness. His wife had just entered the drawing room, holding the marriage contract with that aristocratic, imperturbable elegance that so tormented Maximilian. Eléonore, seeking to assert her dominance, abruptly stepped into her path, snatching the papers away with a contemptuous laugh, her mouth curling in a venomous expression.

"Well, if it isn't the real owner of the house, acting as if anything still matters around here."

Eléonore blurted out with a self-satisfied smile, looking Maximilian's wife up and down.

"You should stop dragging around those boring business papers and accept reality. Your contract is worthless now that you're no longer the one managing the Von Schüller accounts, or wearing their finest furs, and certainly not the one sleeping in the marital bed every night. You're just a ghost in your own home."

Maximilian's heart ached to witness the humiliation within his own home; it pained him because he loved her with a frenzied devotion, and it pained him even more to realize that she did not love him in the same way and ignored his provocations. However, his dynastic pride kept him immobile, forcing him to maintain his mask of control to avoid showing weakness. Instead of defending the woman he idolized, Maximilian took a sip of his drink, watched his wife's reaction, searching for a hint of pain in her eyes, and in an icy voice, dismissed the aggression and looked at his mistress.

"Eleonore, my dear"

He said slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on his wife's face.

"Do you need anything for your shopping trip this afternoon?"