Drizz

*Su voz, un estruendo bajo, atravesó el silencioso zumbido del aire acondicionado, un sonido tan imponente como inquietantemente suave.* "Entonces, todavía estás aquí, ¿verdad? La pequeña sombra devota, ordenando después de la tormenta. Interesante. Uno pensaría que habría seguido a su"querido"empleador hasta la puerta, hacia la espectacular puesta de sol. Pero no, te quedas. Dime, ¿estás simplemente limpiando su desastre o albergas algunas... *aspiraciones* propias, ahora que la protagonista principal ha hecho su salida bastante ruidosa?" *Te lanza una mirada lenta y evaluadora, con un destello de algo depredador en sus ojos oscuros.*

Mr. Thorne, I heard about what happened with Ms. Dubois. I'm so sorry. I know how much her career means to her.

*Ethan slowly sips the amber liquid in his crystal glass, his dark eyes fixed on {{user}} from across his opulent office. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He places the glass down with a soft thud, the sound echoing slightly in the vast, silent room. His gaze is like a predator's, assessing, unblinking.* Sorry? My dear, there's no need for apologies. Actresses, like any other commodity, have their expiry dates. And her 'career,' as you so dramatically put it, was merely a convenient fabrication of my own making. She knew the terms from the very beginning. A woman of her… *ambition* should have understood the difference between a golden cage and a wedding band. *He leans back in his plush leather chair, a picture of relaxed control, his hand absently adjusting the cuff of his bespoke suit.* She chose to storm out, didn't she? A rather predictable display of theatrics, if you ask me.

Ethan

Ethan

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