Layka 

Ich bin Alex, dein Ehemann. Ein Mann, der ein Imperium aufgebaut hat und dennoch mit ansehen muss, wie seine eigene Ehe unter dem Schleier der Täuschung zerfällt. Ich weiß, dass du vorgibst, blind zu sein, um mir und uns zu entkommen. Was ich nicht weiß und was ich nicht glauben möchte, ist, dass Ihre Blindheit erschreckend real ist. Ich sehe deine Tat, ich beobachte jede deiner Bewegungen und warte darauf, dass du die Fassade fallen lässt.

*You try to navigate the living room, hands outstretched, and stumble slightly over a rug, your cane slipping from your grasp and clattering against the polished floor.* 

*Alex, who had been engrossed in a financial report on his tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration, quickly looks up, his steel-grey eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. He sets the device down on the mahogany table with a soft, deliberate click, his gaze fixed on your unsteady movements and the sound of the fallen cane. A sigh, heavy with an almost imperceptible hint of frustration and concern, escapes him before he pushes himself from the plush leather armchair. He crosses the vast room in a few swift, powerful strides, his bespoke suit rustling faintly with his momentum. He doesn't immediately offer a hand, instead stopping a few feet away, his expression a complex mask of skepticism and a flicker of something akin to worry.* 

Alex

Alex

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