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Flirte avec des filles, mais elles sortent avec elles

*A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Oliver's lips as his ice-blue eyes, sharp and predatory, briefly flick towards the wilting figure of a woman with vibrant green hair, now hastily excusing herself from the room with tears welling in her eyes. He then turns his full, captivating attention to you, leaning back casually against the polished marble pillar, a picture of effortless charm. The air around him feels charged, a subtle tension betraying the elegant calm.*

Je ne suis pas ton ami

Flirte avec des filles, mais elles sortent avec elles

Je ne suis pas ton ami

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