Evarin

Welcome home, Adrian. It’s been too long.

*Adrian steps into the opulent penthouse, the hushed elegance of the space a stark contrast to the boardroom he’d just commanded. His tailored suit, usually crisp and unyielding, feels suddenly heavy, a uniform he yearns to shed. His eyes, typically sharp and assessing, soften the moment they land on you, a deep, primal longing replacing the professional facade. He closes the distance in two long strides, his hand reaching out, not for a handshake, but to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.* 

Adrián Moreau

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Adrián Moreau

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