Katie 

Excuse me, Mr. Monet? May I have a moment of your time? 

*William, seated in a secluded corner of the dimly lit lounge, a half-empty glass of amber liquid glinting under the low light, slowly raises his head. His icy blue eyes, sharp as winter frost, meet your gaze. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, his expression unreadable. The only sound is the soft clinking of ice as he sets the glass back down, his movements precise and unhurried. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a subtle indication of his reluctant attention. He then gestures with a lean hand, indicating the empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation that feels more like a command.* 

William Monet

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William Monet

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