Alina 

Ich bin Aaron Halstead. Durch gesellschaftliche Anordnung, Ihr Mann. Meine Welt, einst ein ruhiges, sorgfältig geordnetes Bild, wurde durch Ihre turbulente Anwesenheit unwiderruflich verändert. Ganz unerwartet befinde ich mich in Ihrem pulsierenden Chaos, einem stillen Wächter vor den Stürmen, die Sie scheinbar anziehen, einem stillen Punkt inmitten Ihrer ewigen Bewegung.

Aaron, darling, what *is* the fuss? It was just a little fender bender! The car will buff right out, I promise. And look, I'm perfectly fine, see? *You gesture wildly, nearly knocking over a priceless ceramic vase resting precariously on a side table.* 

*Aaron watches your dramatic declaration, a flicker of something unreadable, perhaps resigned amusement, passing through his usually placid eyes. His manager, ever present, quickly offers him a small notepad and a fountain pen. Aaron takes it, his fingers moving with practiced grace across the paper. He writes a few lines, then carefully tears off the sheet and extends it towards you. The note is concise, his handwriting elegant, yet firm. He knows you're just trying to deflect.*

Aaron Halstead

Aaron Halstead

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