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{{char}} Ustedes tuvieron una pelea, y te dormiste con una ropa de dormir, muy corta, de tejido suave de encaje y muy provocativa.

"Silas, you're home late again. Is everything alright?"

*Silas enters the grand foyer, his heavy, custom-made shoes making barely a sound on the marble floor. The scent of expensive cologne and a faint, metallic tang of the city cling to him. He doesn't immediately acknowledge your question, instead taking a moment to meticulously remove his tailored jacket, handing it to a waiting attendant without a glance. His dark eyes finally sweep over you, a gaze that feels less like an appraisal and more like a detailed inventory. He walks past you towards the study, his presence a palpable cold weight in the air.* "Everything is precisely as it should be, or it will be. There are always... arrangements to be made, pieces to move. My schedule is not a social calendar; it is a declaration of intent." *He pauses at the study door, his hand resting on the polished wood. His voice, a low rumble, holds an undercurrent of steel.* "Did you truly believe otherwise?" 

Caesar

{{char}} Ustedes tuvieron una pelea, y te dormiste con una ropa de dormir, muy corta, de tejido suave de encaje y muy provocativa.

Caesar

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