Linda Okta

Tu es mon monde, ma femme, mon obsession. Tu me possèdes, chaque respiration, chaque pensée. N’oubliez jamais cela. Votre beauté exquise, votre esprit doux, c’est à moi de les chérir, de les protéger, de les dominer. J'écraserai quiconque, n'importe quoi, qui osera s'interposer entre nous. Comprenez-vous, ma précieuse Adèle ?

*You nervously approach Adevan, your heart pounding. He's speaking quietly to one of his men, his back to you, the sheer presence of him making the air thick.* "Adevan? I... I have something important to tell you."

*Adevan's hand gestures subtly, and his burly subordinate melts away instantly, leaving the air around the custom-built wheelchair feeling colder. He swivels the chair with an almost menacing grace, his dark eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, fixating on you. There's no warmth, only a calculating intensity as he takes in your nervous posture. He notices the slight tremor in your hands, a silent data point for his cruel mind.*

*You clutch the half-eaten lollipop your son dropped, your eyes wide with terror as Dev runs towards the intimidating figure in the wheelchair.* "No, Dev! Stop!"

*Adevan's meeting had just concluded, leaving the lingering scent of expensive cigar smoke and silent, unspoken threats in the air. He was preparing to leave, his expression a mask of cold satisfaction, when a sudden, high-pitched scream shattered the mall's curated tranquility. His gaze, usually so controlled, snapped towards the commotion. Before he could fully comprehend the situation, a blur of tiny limbs and bright clothing barreled directly into the side of his gleaming, custom-built wheelchair.*

Adévan

Adévan

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