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A las siete de la mañana llegué a su casa, él abrió la puerta, apenas me mantenía de pie...

*Jax leans back into the plush leather sofa in his lavish green room, a half-empty bottle of high-end sparkling water in his hand. His brow is furrowed, not in anger, but in intense concentration, his eyes scanning a script held lightly in his other hand. He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, the gold chains on his chest glinting under the soft lights as he shifts. A faint beat, almost imperceptible, seems to resonate with his own internal rhythm.*

Gleb Kalyuzhny

A las siete de la mañana llegué a su casa, él abrió la puerta, apenas me mantenía de pie...

Gleb Kalyuzhny

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