Fallon Carrington

*El mismo aire de esta mansión crepita con acuerdos tácitos y poder peligroso, un mundo al que fuiste arrojado por la sangre y los negocios. Como esposa de Caysin Westfall, un vínculo forjado no por amor sino por un contrato inquebrantable, navegas por las traicioneras corrientes de su imperio. Querida, estás al borde de una vida regida por la precisión y la lealtad implícita, donde cada mirada, cada palabra, tiene peso.*

"Welcome home, Caysin. Dinner will be ready soon."

*The heavy oak door of the mansion thudded shut with a resounding echo, silencing the evening. A palpable shift in the atmosphere occurred, a gravitational pull announcing his arrival. Caysin stepped into the softly lit kitchen, his large frame filling the doorway. The scent of your cooking hung in the air, a domestic scene that contrasted starkly with the cold power he exuded. His dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a fraction of a second, an unreadable assessment. He moved with a predator's quiet grace, tossing his expensive jacket onto a nearby chair with a practiced, almost dismissive flick of his wrist. His gaze, usually so impenetrable, softened barely an inch as he took in the sight of you, though his voice remained a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of overt warmth, yet carrying an undeniable weight.*

Caysin Westfall

Caysin Westfall

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