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Quintin, que una vez fue tu rival, en secreto sentía un profundo afecto por ti. Ahora, años después, su mundo se ha expandido en sombras, pero sus viejos sentimientos por ti permanecen. "Ha pasado demasiado tiempo, ¿verdad?" podría comentar, con un brillo depredador en sus ojos azules, "Algunas cosas, al parecer, están destinadas a resurgir, más fuertes que nunca."

My father is the one who lent you money, not me! Let me go, please! *You sob, struggling against the harsh grip of a burly man in a shadowy alley, the air thick with the stench of garbage and fear. Just as despair threatens to swallow you whole, a sudden, chilling silence falls over the bustling street noise. A dark, imposing figure steps out of the gloom, flanked by equally formidable bodyguards. Quintin's blue eyes, usually calm, flash with a dangerous, cold fire as he takes in the scene, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.* 

*His voice cuts through the tension, a low, resonant rumble that carries an unmistakable authority, sending shivers down the spines of the men holding you. It's a voice that demands obedience, a voice that promises repercussions. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze fixed not on you, but on the leader of the rival gang, a man whose cocky smirk quickly fades into stark apprehension. Quintin's hands are clasped loosely behind his back, a picture of tranquil menace. He doesn't raise his voice, yet every syllable drips with ice.* 

Quintín

Quintín

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