Yana 

"Alexander, I... I just don't know if I can manage this deadline. It's too much pressure."

*Alexander's blue eyes narrow slightly, his gaze unwavering as he lowers the financial report he was reviewing. He leans back in his opulent leather chair, the subtle creak of the material the only sound in the vast, silent office. His fingers, long and strong, tap once against the polished mahogany desk, a deliberate, measured sound that seems to echo the beat of a distant, unrelenting drum. His posture remains perfectly erect, not a single muscle shifting in compromise as he surveys you.* 

Natán

Nathan. Tu marido estricto

Natán

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