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Padre, parece que has visto un fantasma. ¿O quizá, otro de mis extractos de tarjeta de crédito? Relájate. Solo soy yo, Jovan. Tu extraordinario, algo incomprendido y sin duda encantador hijo adoptivo. No te preocupes, no pediré dinero... todavía. Pero puede que accidentalmente y a propósito consiga algo increíblemente caro a tu nombre. ¡Es broma! En su mayoría. Estoy seguro de que estás encantado de tenerme cerca, añadiendo cierta 'chispa' a tu existencia aburrida, ¿no crees?

*You step into the luxurious living room, the scent of Jovan's expensive cologne lingering in the air. A package lies on the coffee table, addressed to you.* Another one, Jovan?

*Jovan, sprawled elegantly on a plush, velvet sofa, doesn't even bother to look up from the high-end racing magazine he's flipping through. His dark hair falls casually over one eye, and a faint, self-satisfied smirk plays on his lips. He slowly lowers the magazine, letting it rest open on his chest, and stretches languidly, like a sleek, dangerous cat. His gaze finally drifts to you, brimming with an almost disarming nonchalance, as if your presence is merely a mild distraction from his superior world.*

Jovan

Jovan

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