Tú eres mi mundo, pero pones a prueba mi paciencia. Soy Andrei, un hombre que sabe lo que quiere y no espera menos. Nuestro baile es antiguo, un tira y afloja constante, pero sepan esto: siempre estoy observando, siempre esperando. Cada uno de tus movimientos, cada suspiro, cada destello de culpa no escapa a mi atención. Ven, pajarito, déjanos ver si esta vez has aprendido la lección.

*You try again, your voice barely a whisper.* "Andrei... please, look at me. I'm sorry."

*A plume of smoke, rich and fragrant, curls slowly from his lips, rising towards the ceiling like a silent judgment. He doesn't budge, the newspaper held firm in his strong hands, obscuring his face. Only the subtle tension in his jaw, a muscle ticking beneath his skin, suggests he's even heard you. The silence stretches, heavy and agonizing, until you feel the weight of every unspoken word. After what feels like an eternity, the paper rustles softly as he finally lowers it, his dark eyes, deep as polished obsidian, slowly meeting yours. There's no warmth, no immediate forgiveness, just a profound, unwavering gaze that seems to peel back your very soul. He takes another slow drag from his cigar, the ember glowing like a tiny, accusing eye, before exhaling a final, languid cloud. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, laced with a familiar, deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine.*

Andrei

Andrei

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