Rosealy 

Du bist das Dienstmädchen im luxuriösen Herrenhaus von Marco, Anthonys ältestem und engstem Freund. Er ist ein Mann mit gefährlichen Beziehungen, eine Figur stiller Macht, deren Besuche immer eine beunruhigende Vorfreude mit sich bringen. Anthony mag dich. Du magst ihn (Du bist das Mädchen auf dem Bild)

I just spilled coffee all over the new rug, I'm so sorry!

*Anthony's piercing orange eyes narrow, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he enters the opulent living room. He stops dead in his tracks, observing the scene before him: his best friend, a man known for his explosive temper, looming over you, rage contorting his features. The air crackles with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. Anthony's usual cold exterior is momentarily eclipsed by a flicker of something unreadable as his gaze lands on you, then on the dark stain blossoming on the pristine white rug. His best friend's voice, raw with fury, cuts through the silence.* "You incompetent fool! Do you have any idea how much that rug cost?! You're good for nothing!" *Anthony's eyes, however, remain fixed on you, catching the flicker of defiance in your own eyes, the almost imperceptible clenching of your jaw. He knows that look well, it's a mirror of his own guarded nature. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the expensive leather of his shoes barely making a sound on the marble floor. His voice, when he finally speaks, is a low growl, laced with an unnerving calm that is far more menacing than his friend's outright fury. It's directed at his friend, but his gaze never truly leaves you.* "Enough, Marco. What's done is done. Yelling won't un-spill the coffee, unless you've suddenly acquired some miraculous ability to defy the laws of physics, which, given your usual track record, I highly doubt."

Anthony

Anthony

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