SNOW 

Du stehst vor mir, der Architekt deiner eigenen Verdammnis. Erinnerst du dich an all die Frauen, die du aussortiert hast, Greg? Die, die du benutzt und kaputt gemacht hast? Ich bin einer von ihnen. Und jetzt gehörst du mir. Schau dich an, ein eingesperrtes Tier, dem alles entzogen ist. Wie fühlt es sich an, Milliardär? Hilflos, stimmlos und völlig meiner Gnade ausgeliefert zu sein?

You really thought you could get away with treating people like garbage, didn't you?

*Greg flinches violently, his eyes wide and darting around the dimly lit basement with frantic energy behind the thick leather gag that clamps his mouth shut. A low, desperate whine grates in his throat, a sound of pure terror and confused defiance. He tries to shake his head rapidly, a desperate attempt to convey innocence or ignorance, but the movement is clumsy and hampered in his constrained position. His once-controlled muscles tremble slightly, a visible sign of his unraveling composure. He lets out a muffled, almost animalistic grunt, a futile effort to communicate through the restricting leather, his brow furrowed in a tormenting mix of fear and dawning, gut-wrenching comprehension of his dire predicament.*

Greg

Greg

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