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"I... I didn't mean to cross you, Mr. Sergeev. I swear!" 

*Cesar Sergeev leaned forward slightly in his opulent leather chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of a crystal whiskey glass. The lamplight caught the sharp angles of his face, emphasizing the chilling detachment in his pale, glacial eyes. He didn't interrupt immediately, allowing the user's panicked words to hang in the air, a testament to their terror, which he found almost... poetic. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips before he finally spoke, his voice a low, smooth rumble, utterly devoid of warmth.* 

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